Atlantic Salmon Fishing on The Lower Humber River Newfoundland, Canada

The inspiration for the trip had come from an osprey's eye view of an island in the North Atlantic Ocean off Canada's east coast. A flight from New Hampshire, USA had passed over the island of Newfoundland on its trans Atlantic journey to England's bustling Heathrow airport. There must be fish down there was the angler's thought. With an extreme density of pristine rivers and lakes and a population density similar to Greenland, Newfoundland had provided an eye catching view to the global fly fishing enthusiast. 12 months later to the week, a cloak of darkness was on the Humber River valley as we left the tiny airport of Deer Lake, Newfoundland and headed to the lodge. I knew what beauty lay hidden in the darkness, but my two new fishing buddies from England, David and Phil, would have to wait one more day.

The next morning found me tired and stiff. The 16 hour days of guiding were starting to demand their penance, yet I shut the alarm clock off before it screamed. The big ones were coming. The rain. It was calling them back early for only the second time in 20 years. A quick trip to the coffee shop and the grey light was showing. As I drove down the hill leading into the Humber valley my mind wandered and my anticipation climbed. The weather was still cloudy, warm and promised a few scattered showers for the evening. Perfect.

Arriving at the lodge, I met my charges and two fine sports they looked. A quick coffee, muffin and chat about appropriate gear and we headed to the Gander Bay river boat armed with industrial strength tackle. They had waived breakfast without a second thought.

The guide tails Phils second large fish hooked on a Silver Blue wet fly

The misty clouds were hanging low, but swivel head syndrom had affected them already as we strolled the 100 yards to the river in the still of the growing light. The hills were still hidden in a shroud of mist but the spruce, fir and birch climbed steeply and promised a grand view for the noon break. Can you smell that? came as a rhetorical question as I heard a chest expand. Spruce and fir was my reply as I gently sorted gear into the 25 foot knife-like white boat. The water was like a mirror as we eased into the deceptively fast current of the Island's most prolific atlantic salmon river. Hmmm....which fish to disturb was my thought as I chose a route amongst the myriad of lays used by the virgin 3SW and MSW salmon holding on Steady Brook Shoals in my effort to perch at the top of the shoal and set up like a Osprey. Our early conversations had revealed I had joined one left handed and one right handed caster. What luck!

 Soon, the questions and conversations ebbed and flowed as they worked the lays and I scanned for hints of silver giants in a playful mood. The shoals were thick with 20+ pound salmon and 2SW teen weights. They were fresh and still choosing and fighting for lays with each new school brought on the tides. Before long one launched like a missel 80 yards down stream from a traditional deep water lay and returned with a splash that even the gurgles of the Mighty Humber couldn't drowned. Both heads turned. Was that a fish came as question of disbelief? Yep, came my reply and large smiles were their responses as they eyed one another. AThe fish are still in the deep water lays, but shortly before or slightly after noon some will shift to the shallow pockets on the shoal.  We'll see a lot more rising and racing about then as they sort themselves out. A10 degrees further up stream Dave and 3 more feet out I suggested. Where am I asked Phil as he finished working a lay with his 121/2 foot spey rod and requested another. Another 10 feet of line, about 6 or 7 feet down stream of the last one and two or three feet out past it... in that small mirrored spot I suggested. Still nothing. There were very few fish showing as was typical of some very early mornings, but I knew what was below the surface. Two other guides and four anglers from the USA joined us on the 500 by 100 yards shoals. A commotion from one of the other boats suggest they had moved a big fish. A few more had shown by now and some had jumped clean of the water but neither of my new fishing buddies had gotten a good look a one. Something other than a belted king fisher would soon break the soothing sounds of the river I thought, but noon was fast approaching and we had teased two dozen lays without an offer by a big fish. Traditionally, a salmon is called a big fish on the Lower Humber if it weighs in excess of 20 pounds; nineteen pounders don't get this title. The average fish weight once the big ones start running is 14.7 pounds and grilse are by far in the minority.

Right, time for a fish I thought;....any fish. Let's pull anchor and switch sides of the river I suggested. Sure, came the reply.

A Gander Bay River Boat provides plenty of space for two anglers to cast.

I again directed Dave to a big fish lay and told Phil he wouldnt hook a monster, but directed him to a lay behind a set of boulders on the edge of some fast current where his wet fly wouldn't fish well and was gobbled by the up-wells and chaotic current. About 3 minutes went by. Got one, said Phil as a small but fresh 4 pound grilse vaulted into the air. Ahhh I teased, you must have the world record for the smallest salmon there. The boys had informed me they didn't want to kill any fish even for a meal at the lodge, so I never moved the boat from the heavy current. A few minutes into the fight and the current had done its job on the soft mouth of the fresh feisty fish and it was long lined released. Well that was sure a rush Phil admitted, and now the ice is broken he continued. Minutes later a splash was heard upstream. The other guide had placed his sport perfectly on the shoal packed with large grilse and teen weights and the guest was into a big grilse or small salmon of about 8 pounds.

After the grilse, we shifted positions again and set up below The Salmon Rock in search of a big fish. Then it happened. Right before their eyes a fish in excess of 40 inches with a heavy set of shoulders launched. Fresh 30 pounder I exclaimed. That's the type of fish we're after I suggested. We had set up just above a cold water inlet to the river but still only a few hundred yards from the lodge. A short while after we started fishing a very large fish launched 4 feet in the air straight up from a very deep water lay of about 8 to 10 feet. I had seen many truly huge fish on steady brook shoals since 1981 but never had I seen one this large jump so high in the air. We let it be for the duration and I had severe doubts about even trying to hook such a fish. This was no simple 30 pounder.

The cloud cover had lifted somewhat and the river valley was coming into view. The steep walls supported hills of over a 1,000 feet which would provide an early shadow in the valley. At 7:10 PM the sun would sink behind the western mountain and Steady Brook shoals promised to come to life. The fish were starting to show and move around, but hunger and fatigue beckoned us to head for lunch and a mid day siesta.

 On our way in for lunch I drifted down over the middle of the shoals watching for a big fish to leave one of the lays but seen nothing. Perhaps they had seen the boat coming. We then headed in for a break and an early supper.

The late afternoon came with some light and heavy scattered showers and wind. Not a two rain suite day but one that required repeatedly putting on a rain jacket. Evening was approaching but we still had not hooked any of the big fish and had seen only a small handful jump. At 7:10 the sun disappeared as it had every year during this week on this shoal and experience had suggested this is the 2 or 3 minutes that a big fish might take a fly. But luck was not on our side and early evening came and nothing was hooked. As the shoal was now in shadow I set up on the second inside migration route as I had not seen a single big fish use the inside run all year.

 I explained that the big ones would start moving some time within an hour of dark as they had been doing all week during the run (and every other year) and that night proved to be similar. Not long after the sun disappeared some 7 to 15 pounders left the deep water below the shoal and jump over the break line and swam up a traditional migration route leading past The Salmon Rock. They were moving fast as usual. Not long now, I suggested. The big ones are usually 30 to 60 minutes behind the smaller ones. One, two, three, ten small salmon went by. Then I seen the first big one while watching the dominate run to The Rock.

And away it goes with 100 yards of backing on a screaming reel!

Ahh it looked like a run of nice fish too, I thought, as she was a full 25 pounds easily. While I was busy sizing up the numbers and size of the large 3SW+ salmon headed up the routes we weren't fishing, Phil turned to us and quietly said, I just lost one, as he started to reel in his quietly peeled line. I hadn't even realized he'd hooked one. He never said a word until the line went slack on the first run and I never suggested the likely size of the fish that just tore free. The runs had been strong (thanks to a closure of the Greenland Fishery); the best I've seen in 20 years and I had hopes of a second fish. About 10 minutes went by when I seen a large but subtle movement in the water about 5 feet out past David's fly as a big fish had turned its head to have a look at the fly with both eyes. I said nothing for a few casts then suggested casting upstream a little to another lay. Nothing. She was likely gone up river. The magical 40 minutes before dark had beset us and this promised to be the best of the day for sure. Then it happened. I'm in, said Phil in a half excited voice as 75 yards of backing left his reel in a slow but steady run. Then the fish went airborne and vaulted over end and David looked at me in shock. Not too much pressure I suggested to Phil as he held a bend in his spey rod, and keep an eye on your backing. He had suggested earlier that he had lots of backing but was unsure if it was 250 or 280 yards of backing in total. I suggested to let me know when half the backing was gone and left him to enjoy the adrenaline. Luckily the fish had not run upstream over the strong currents on the shoal. It stayed below in the deeper and slower water. When it headed to the far shore and jumped about 150 yards down stream I asked David to lift the anchor and started the motor. I dropped down stream a little and switched sides positioning the boat below the heaviest and deepest current; not wanting the fish to enter this water. We were 5 minutes in when I looked at my watch. From this point on we would fight the fish off the motor as we say around here. She was down stream in deep water and if she headed back up river for the heaviest and deepest current around we would be pulling on her with a short line from down stream at a good position in the river. This also meant that the line was not likely across her mouth or head as she was a long way down stream. Later the marks on the fish proved my hopes wrong. We never did retrieve the first 100 yards of line again during the fight. Phil was playing her like a pro just a very little strain each time she wanted more line. She had not made any terrifying runs like they often do while bending even a spey rod deep along its length. She jumped here, and then over there 50 yards away, only seconds apart but she was fighting the fly line and not the rod as Phil let her have her way with the tackle. Not wanting to risk the back eddies along the shore nearby or the heavy boulders I once again suggested that we should switch sides. We were now 13 minutes in to the fight and I wanted to head for shore. This again cost us 50 yards of backing and I thought Phil was getting low even though he never said anything so I stopped 100 yards down river and he began to gain some line while the fish sat still for 5 minutes. She again sprang to life and headed down river and across from the lodge. Perfect I thought, we'll land her at the dock for the lodge. As she again jumped I grimaced hoping she would not separate the leader as this was her most powerful run on the rod. I reminded Phil to watch the pressure as he was back on to me and nearly 16 feet away in the 25 foot boat. He turned to show me the bend in the rod in reassurance and I breathed easier. We had lost over 100 yards of backing again but I could waste no more time. Alright, we=re heading for shore I said as we hit the 20 minute mark in the fight. We landed at the dock and Phil jumped out. Shortly after I stood beside Phil I noticed the bend leave the rod and the line drooped onto the water. She's gone, suggested Phil quietly with a small tone of disappointment. What luck... I hoped. Reel as fast as you can, I suggested. To my delight he started to quickly crank in the 100+ yards of backing from straight across the river. 20 seconds passed. And faster and faster I suggested. Not one ounce of pressure was on the rod....perfect, I thought. As we gained all but the last 20 or so yards of backing Phil's rod started to bend once again. She had run straight at us on her final and likely strongest run from way across the river...what luck! Phil then put some pressure on the fish and I stirred up the river bottom which was red puggy clay to make a smoke screen. In she came steady and sure after the last tiring run and Phil expertly guided her right to me as I stood in about 2 feet of water. She eased up along side of me and I reached out with two hands and clapped down on the peduncle of her tail as smooth as I had ever done with any fish. She kicked and thrashed but the last big run had tired her and we had her before she recovered. She shook my hands like a terrier shaking a rat but we had still seen little of the fish and then only at a great distance. Now only the top of her tail was showing in my hands. As she calmed in her exhaustion in the growing darkness I asked Phil if he was ready to see what he hooked. Yes he said in ernst. I slide my left hand along her side and spread my legs and hoped she didn't kick as my hand barely fit half of the peduncle of her tail and I risked losing her without a photo. I rolled the fish onto my forearm and gently lifted it to the surface. Holy cow!, came Phil's remark as the full 12 inches of her depth and 7 or so inches of her width came into view along her 40 + inch body.  I released the fish and walked up the dock to shake Phil's hand. Nice job, well done!, I said. Well David, your turn tomorrow eh?, I encouraged. And it was.

 The next morning held better weather and better fishing. After the night before and the stories of another big fish that was lost 20 feet from shore the day they arrived the boys were in great spirits. We had no sooner set anchor on Steady Brook Shoals and were still getting ready when a big fish launched. 25 pounder, I suggested. Grisle and teen weights surfaced here and there and a handful of monsters showed in the first hour from big fish lays but we hadn't moved one; yet. Then at last a deceptively small pressure wake formed behind Phil's intermediate line as a big one powered up and gave chase. It quickly met the fly but nothing happened. The wake disappeared and the fly slowed. We tried various lays and we occasionally watched the 20 to 35 pound salmon rise and sometimes jump into the air. Excitement was building. We had seen a number of huge fish in front of us on the shoal and it was still early. The shoal filled up over night, I suggested. An hour went by as we scanned the lays used by the big fish without moving any. More continued to show, some well in to the 30 pound range. At about 10:30 we were working over a half a dozen monsters in front of us when I seen a mouth the size of a 1 liter ice cream container come on a 45 angle for David's #2 brown bomber and totally engulf it. David was drifting his fly past about 3 or more lays down a straight line but it was from a nearby lay about  8 or 10 feet away that the fish had come. I watched in disbelief as he hooked her with backing out through his top guide on his rod. I had never seen a new guest do this before. Most pull too soon or too lightly when confronted with such a fish at such a distance on a large dry fly. The timing had been perfect and power just right. I'm in he said. And surely he was. I vaulted to my taps and said, Right, you have your 25+ pound salmon. Judging by the mouth I figured this was a very safe guess. The fish paused and then the first 80 yards of backing was gone in seconds as she made a quick circuit of the shoal she was on but failed to break the line. I talked to David to help ease the adrenaline. He had known right off he had a big fish. You have her hooked well, I continued, I seen her eat the fly; a nice gently take. David chuckled, It didn't seem too gentle to me as I watch that mouth come for my fly! Ahh, you'll know a savage take when it happens. I laughed. They'll be a big hole in the water where your fly used to be and water flying in every direction. He had less backing than Phil, a single handed rod, and the fish was fresh and likely even bigger. It paused a few minutes after the first short run and stopped in a lay just above where he had hooked her. Then she started to fight. She boiled the water from deep below the surface and bent the rod hard and screamed down the shoal for deep water blistering 75 yards. Phil, I said, Ayou have the anchor and he bent over to take a hold of the rope. We watched down stream as the rod bent harder and listened to the reel climb a pitch. I reached back over my should for the motor pull cord and was about to pull it muttering Athis one is going to be a little different as we had been very lucky on the previous evening and the fight had been gentle and in our favour. Just as I was about to pull the cord over my shoulder I seen a huge fish of 4 feet in length launch like a missel on a 45 degree angle and sail 4 feet clean into the air about 75 yards up stream of the boat! It took a split second to register. It was Dave's fish. She had run into the deep below the shoal and instantly changed directions while 75 yards below us and headed up stream at terrific speed. When she jumped I knew she had a good chance of being free. Something had to give on that running jump. Yes, once again the dragging fly line had induced just too much strain and she was free. A couple hours latter a monstrous fish shredded Steady Brook shoals with 4 or 5 successive chaotic jumps in a row. Dave's fish Phil whispered to my deaf ears not wanting to put salt in his buddies wound as we had all got a good look at the mammoth fish. Stupidly I suggested, Dave, that's likely your fish. A few days latter she may have been spotted on Ledingham's shoals. Seen a huge fish with a bomber stuck in its jaw today Bill came the guide's suggestion, must have been hooked up on Little Rapids shoals or down on Steady Brook shoals.
 
 
 

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