Miramichi River, Little Southwest River

Our last full day we were once again to fish from Upper Oxbow Lodge with Brett. Brett wanted to take us quite a long way up the river, so we left Country Haven Lodge with Axel bright and early at 0600. Again, after some coffee and much chuntering about Ford trucks we unloaded into Brett's Chevy and headed off. The light was just beginning to make it over the tops of the trees as we drove up the course of the Little Southwest. We left the main track and began to again crash through trees and undergrowth along a forgotten track than eventually popped us out on the banks of one of the most picturesque pools I have ever fished.

The pool is called Clelands, and is one of the most northerly pools on the river before the tributaries such as the North Pole Stream, and although it is a bit of struggle to reach is therefore not fished too much. To arrive on the fishing side we had to wade across the main river, which is a reasonably tough wade. This was made more so as we had to carry Axel's Dog Jake across the river. We took it slowly, crossing as a group before starting fishing on the upper pool. There are some huge boulders strewn along the river, and like the Little Sevogle it has a mountainous surrounding which make it stunning. They also make the topography of the river bed full of large boulders, swirling water and lovely looking lies. Almost as soon as we arrived a couple of fish jumped near the main lie.

Axel and I both fished own the upper pool a couple of times with various patterns, but could not get a touch. Axel took Jake (his dog) and headed down to the lower section to try his luck with a bomber as I fished the upper pool once more with something a little larger. There was a yell from down stream that Axel had rolled a fish on the bomber, and he took up station like a heron in the middle of the river continuing to persevere with various sizes and colours of bomber. Brett took his leave and said he would start lunch up by the truck. He had a real treat for us, a moose fillet which he was going to cook on the BBQ. As the meat sizzled on the open flames the smell wafted down the river and had both Henry and I salivating.

Shaking it off I decided to move down and join Axel on the lower pool with the dry fly. I saw where the large boil ricochet off the boulder and began to surreptitiously plant my green butt bomber along the seam.... The sun split the cloud and as I moved down the seam the sun spilled across it. In that instant the fly disappeared in a boil and I struck. The fish immediately left the water and tail walked across the lie before tearing off down stream. I was fishing with the single hander Miramichi style, so this was interesting! The fish shook its head frantically trying to dislodge the irritation embedded in its jaw. I could see the fly was hooked squarely in the scissors, so for once I had been fast enough on the strike.

Finally after another couple of swirls and a hairy moment by the beach the fish came to hand and I grabbed the wrist and hand tailed it. Not a huge fish, but a very welcome grilse, and a good scrap on a single hander. We got a few photos and then quickly revived the fish in the current before carefully returning him. Nothing gives me more pleasure than watching them swim away, hopefully to go and add to his race. At that moment the car horn sounded and lunch was ready. The smell of moose was too much to take and we all made the wade across the stream.... including Jake.

When we arrived at the truck it was obvious that Brett was a master of the stream side lunch. A table and chairs had been laid out with cutlery, the moose and vegetables were roasting on the BBQ and Brett offered us all cold drinks from the cooler. There is no messing around down here! Now Henry and I have been desperate to taste moose since we were here last year. Moose hunting is strictly controlled, and you can't buy it. You have to either shoot one yourself having had a license in the local lottery, or been given some by someone that has. The meat is much leaner than beef, and we had heard so much about it. Well, we were not disappointed! Utterly delicious.... for those of us who like meat that is.... I was going to need help out of my waders!

After lunch we fished one more pool before heading back to Country Haven for the afternoon session. Jeremy was waiting for us, and after saying goodbye to Axel who was heading home we went off to Brophy's pool on the main river. I know I keep saying this, but this pool was absolutely stunning. The main river splits around an island here, and with the help of a small old style canoe Jeremy punted us across to the island. John and Pat Brophy were brothers who were both guides, and John guided on the Miramichi for over fifty years... yet more history to soak up. As I fished down the pool fish moved here and there betraying their presence, but yet again I failed to tempt a hook up. This was mostly accompanied by comments from Henry about a rubbish fisherman etc... I was kind of used to this by now...

Salmon fishing is salmon fishing, but for me as the sun went down and I threw my last cast hoping to feel that shoulder jarring take I felt like I had really experienced something truly special. The Miramichi has a timeline and history all of its own completely independent of European salmon fishing stigma. Time to head home.....

Miramichi River, Main Southwest River

While staying at Country Haven Lodge Henry and I were joined by James and Jonathan Paterson who drove up from New York to fish with us. James and Jonathan have fished all over the world with me, and I was looking forward to spending some time with them on the river bank,along with the harsh banter and ribbing that would take place as well! Jonathan had caught a lovely fish on arrival of about 22 lbs on a bomber, and risen another on the dry fly as well. James and Jonathan also chose to fish with their 14' 9# rods and actually found it remarkable easy to cast the bombers on them, so it just goes to show.

We left the lodge that morning by boat from directly in front of the lodge with Jeremy and Ken Vickers who would be our guides for the day. Jeremy and Ken are third generation guides on the river and have spent their whole lives fishing it, guiding on it, hunting on it and leading the life of a riverman. After a short run of maybe 15 minutes or so we arrived at Crawford pool, a lovely run that we would fish from both sides. On arrival fish were moving everywhere, and at one point I counted four jumping within 30 seconds. Needless to say that does not mean you are going to catch one, but it does mean there are fish in the pool in greater numbers meaning your chances of hooking a taking fish are very much increased. Today I followed the Patersons' example and fished with a two handed 14' 9# rod.

On the second run down James hooked a lively grilse of about 5 lbs that was particularly acrobatic on the dry fly, so honour was restored and Jonathan could not give him quite as much grief as before. Some fish had been jumping just above the rapids that we had been fishing below, and being the adventurous sort of character that I am.... ahem.... I decided to put a wet fly on and wade above and see what I could tempt. On the third cast I hooked a good fish that attacked the small green butt Black Bear as it came careering across the V of the pool above... but needless to say I failed to hang onto it. After the deep disappointment and the obvious vocal sympathies and abuse of those I were fishing with it was time to head back to the lodge for some fantastic home cooking.

Normally in the afternoon everyone takes a break, has a sleep or relaxes before going out again at about 4 pm. However all of us had developed a serious taste for the Canadian Coffee know as Tim Horton's. Henry had been mentally drinking their French Vanilla Cappuchino all morning, so as we were intending to visit the Miramichi Salmon Museum and Doak's Fishing Tackle in Doaktown we made a little expedition to appease the craving. I know it sounds daft, but it really is that good!

For the evening session we split up again, and Henry and I headed off to Shelley's pool with Jeremy. This time I insisted that Jeremy fish as well to increase our chances, and as anyone knows the best way to learn is to watch the guide fish his home water as they invariably catch something. This was to be no exception. Shelley's is a little further up river than Ted William's pool, but below the Orr pool. Having walked down the bank we were again greeted with a simply stunning piece of fly water. A lovely glassy stretch punctuated by some delicious looking riffles created by nicely space boulders producing some lovely lies. There was hardly a breath of wind and the evening was warm and calm. As I fished down Jeremy came in behind me and began fishing. He was throwing a long line at 45 degrees, but fishing with a small brown Bomber. The fly would fish for a couple of feet on the dead drift before he would pick it up, move down and recast all in the same movement. After no more than 10 casts there was a bulge out in the current, the rod shot up in the air as he struck, and the fish launched itself into the air. A lovely grilse of again about 5 lbs. He was quite dark and beginning to develop a kype, or "Hook Bill" as they call it over there.

I started fishing again, and fish were showing across the pool including a fish of 25 - 30lbs that tried to jump but could not lift its vast bulk out of the water and end up waking like a submarine. I persisted with the Bomber as I REALLY wanted to catch a fish on dry. It may not be as successful as wetfly, but it is incredibly exciting. Jeremy hooked another fish, a little large this time so I went down and played net man for him. At least Henry had something to take some piccies off as I was failing to produce the goods! Another fascinating day on this huge watershed, and time to head home for dinner. Barbecued steak tonight...

The Miramichi, New Brunswick, Canada

The Miramichi is one of the largest Atlantic Salmon fishing systems in the world with huge numbers running the river. Henry and I left very early from Salmon Lodge on the Grand Cascepedia and drove the four hours south from Gaspe back down to Country Haven Lodge in New Brunswick. Country Haven is operated by Byron Coughlan and is located in Gray Rapids near Blackville on the South West Miramichi. From here his clients have access to huge areas of the Miramichi system. Much of the Miramichi is privately owned, and Byron owns 11 private pools, leases a few more and has access to some 25 in total throughout the system and on the tributaries. The main river itself although large is not daunting, and many of the tributaries such as the Cains, Renous, Little Southwest and Sevogle are a lovely size to fish. The Cains especially reminded me of some rivers I have fished in Scotland.

Although you can fish a standard 14' two handed rod and traditional methods the Miramichi is also world renown for dry fly fishing. It has the highest temperature of any Atlantic salmon river in the world and fish will regularly take in much higher water temperatures. This makes the fish very aggressive in hitting surface flies, and on the Miramichi the Bomber is king. Many of the locals fish with nothing else. They also tend to use a single handed rod, and this is certainly easier when dry fly fishing as it allows better line management and delicate presentation for fishing drys. The idea is to work down stream scatter casting as you go, and the key is to have no drag on the fly. This requires a lot of casting and at different lengths of line. Effectively the further you can cast the more water you can cover.

On arrival we were met by Byron Coughlan, the owner, and Axel Lerche. Axel emigrated from Germany and is one of the most enthusiastic fishermen I have had the privilege to work with. He is one of the directors of Salar enterprises, but more of that later. First, there was fishing to be done! We headed out immediately to a private pool called the Orr pool. Axel and I both fished for a few hours before lunch, and during this time Axel filled me in on some of the history of the surrounding area and the river itself. He also tutored me further on fishing the bomber on a larger river, and various tried and tested techniques that have proved successful here. The weather was bright, and even though we saw a number of fish nothing decided to latch on.

After lunch Axel had to head back to Bathurst for some meetings, so Henry and I fished with Pete Randall in the afternoon. Although Pete is semi retired now, it was a joy to fish with someone who has spent so much time on the river. Our destination, the fabled Ted William's Pool on the Main Southwest Miramichi. Ted William was a famous baseball player back in the day for the Boston Red Sox. Having fished the Miramichi he fell in love with it, bought a camp and spent many months fishing here. Pete Randall lives on the other side of the pool, so every morning he has his breakfast reading the water and watching the salmon as they moved on their journey up the system. To say he knew this pool well was an understatement...

The pool is idyllic, with lovely glassy water rolling over various large boulders creating obvious lies. I should clarify what these pools are like on the Miramichi, as many of them are sometimes 200 - 400 yards long, so there is plenty of fishing. To fish down it once takes at least an hour, so fishing down with a couple of patterns can take a big chunk of time, and a fish could hit at any time. The pool was positively boiling with salmon, and many were rolling and showing while I fished, constantly keeping me on edge. A fisherman on the other side hooked a lovely fish on a bomber, and I could see the take from where I had been sitting. Memorable.

I fished down with a bomber first, and had one roll on the fly but I was too late with the strike to set the hook properly. I then went down with a Green Machine (a very popular wet fly here) and lastly I fished down with a single wet fly called a Red Butt Black Bear on a size 8. As I drew down the last rock and was loosing the light completely the line stopped and slowly tightened. I lifted the rod and felt the thump, thump of a large salmon attached to me. My heart was in my mouth that finally I had hooked one, but before I had a chance to wind in the slack we parted company from one another. Arrrrgggggh! In retrospect I found out what I should have done was to strike the fish.... hard. In the slow water the take had been very light and I should have set the hook. Ah well, that's fishing! Time to head for home....