8 Atlantic Salmon Caught and the Lesson Learned From Each
Fish #1: Meathunters
Location: The Dennys River, Meathunters Pool.
Date: Third week in June, 1972.
Water conditions: Perfect (we didn’t take water the temperature of the water back then — we just
fished.
Method: I’m in the front of the canoe, my father is in the back. I’m fishing, he’s guiding. He knows
the pool and the lies within the pool. I’m doing what I’m told. The canoe is anchored so that I can
carefully swing the big 4/0 streamer called the Sam Ward Special (a very large Cossaboom)
across to where the salmon will sometimes be. We had already fished the upper part of the pool
and had dropped down. We were now at the tail. As soon as the canoe became steady I stood
and began to cast. We were anchored left of center in relatively smooth water, far enough from the tree lined bank that I could make a back
cast.
The river flowed from right to left so my back casts sailed between my father in the back and me
in the
front. As I write this I can only imagine what was going through my father’s mind as I swung that
big Sam
Ward Special back and forth in front of his face. The fly is not available commercially — it’s
basically a heavy
pickerel hook with some squirrel tail tied behind the head. It could have easily served as some
kind of
medieval weapon designed to extract the eyeballs from charging enemies.
After working out longer lengths of line with each cast the fly got close to the overhanging alder branches
on the other side of the river. We could see the fly swinging just a few inches under the water. It had only
swung a few feet when the fish charged out from under the alders and grabbed the fly. I didn’t have to set
the hook. The line was tight and the fish turned on the fly and hooked himself. If this happens now I would
immediately know what I had hooked and what to expect but this was my first Atlantic salmon. A ten pound
Atlantic salmon is in a completely different league than a 10 inch brookie! A ten inch brookie shakes his
head, a ten pound salmon shakes you. It shakes you, it shakes the canoe, and it shakes the guy trying to
keep the canoe steady.
This fish did not act like a normal Atlantic salmon. It felt heavy and pulled hard but it didn’t make the normal
high speed run, it jumped only once, and stayed below us in the pool. We still had our hands full and had to
make some quick decisions. We had the anchor rope to deal with. If we decided to try to land it from the
canoe the fish could easily go around the rope and break off. We could go to shore and get out of the
canoe — which in most cases is the smartest choice — but this fish didn’t seem to resist my reeling and
he came to the boat pretty quickly. Dad grabbed the net and scooped him up and all of a sudden there on t
he bottom of the boat was my first Atlantic salmon! We paddled to shore, got out, and celebrated with a
cigar. The mosquitoes prevented us from staying very long. Besides, Dad wanted to tell everyone back
at the camp about the fish. I, on the other
hand, made light of the whole thing. Teenagers will be
teenagers — I think I made off like it was no big deal
for a great fisherman like myself. I think I even
had on a brimmed hat like that of Edward Hewitt.
The reason the fish hadn’t fought like a typical salmon was that he was hooked through his tongue. That
big two ought hook had penetrated it completely and the fish must have felt like his tongue was being
extracted.
Lessons learned: Local fly patterns can be effective. You don’t need to be an experienced/knowledgeable
salmon angler to catch an Atlantic salmon.
#4/0 Sam Ward Special with #6 Green Machine for comparison
#2 The Rockpile
The Rockpile is a place on the Dennys where the water mounds up as it passes over a pile of rocks.
The water is rough and covered with white caps in an area about 10 feet wide and 20 feet long. It is not
really a pool – its a formation within a pool or stretch of water below the Denny River Club House. It rarely
gets fished – in fact in 15 years of fishing the Dennys I never saw anyone fishing that stretch of water.
So there must have been a reason that my Uncle Robert asked me if I wanted to go there and fish the
pool with him. He probably heard that someone saw a fish jump there or something. In those days, one
of the primary strategies we used was to collect intelligence about where the fish or where a fish had
been seen. If you saw one yourself, you marked the location and then keep that location a secret – telling
only members of your own fishing party. And then only after you had tried for the fish enough times to be
satisfied that it was time to let others in on the opportunity. Some individual fish were located or seen by
someone who couldn’t keep their mouth shut so basically everyone knew about the fish and everyone
tried for the fish when they got a chance.
Anyway Robert asked me to join him and we drove from Robbinson’s Cottages to the Club in his car. I
had my 8 foot for an 8 weight Fenwick fiberglass rod. It was my only rod and I used it from the first day I
ever fish for Atlantics until many years later when I could afford a graphite salmon rod. By this time I had
begun experimenting with tying different flies and had been spending a week or two on the West Branch
of the Penobscot fishing for landlocked salmon – which are pretty much the same genetically as an Atlantic
salmon. The only difference being that they were “landlocked” by some physical obstruction during the ice
age that prevented them from being able to run back out into the ocean. One fly that worked very well on
landlocks was the elk hair caddis so I decided to make a variation of it to be used on Atlantics. My variation
consisted of a big deer hair bomber with a deer hair wing laying down over the body. It was 2’ long and ⅝”
in diameter. The body had a dark brown hackle palmered over it. The fly was big, bulky and a boring dull
brown.
Top to bottom: Rockpile Caddis, Green Machine, Sam Ward Special
(#6 Green Machine shown for comparison)
Fish # 3 — The Machias River
One of the best Atlantic salmon fishermen that fished the Dennys and the Machias was Doc
Payson. My Uncle Robert Scott and Massachusetts Fish and Wildlife Photographer, Jack
Swedberg met Doc shortly after they had started fishing the Dennys with their fathers in the
50’s. They met him by accident when they came upon him with a fish on, at his secret pool.
Doc had snuck in on foot and had carefully tied back some of the alder branches so that he
could fish the pool. Robert and Jack had paddled up from Robbinson’s Cottages just to explore
the river. When they came around the corner they saw Doc standing out in the pool fighting a
15 pound salmon. Doc was not happy about being discovered but got to know Robert and Jack
and felt he could trust them. A life long friendship developed.
Doc had built a cabin on the Machias River which was not easy to get to. You couldn’t drive to
it. You either had to hike in or take a canoe up the river. Since we wanted to fish a few pools on
the way to Doc’s we decided to canoe. There was no electricity or phone so if you wanted to
visit Doc you just showed up. Which is what my father and I did one gorgeous June day in
1980. We put in just above Whitneyville and began paddling upstream. As was the normal
routine, I’m in the front seat and “The Captain” as we now refer to my father, took command
from the rear seat.
The crisp early morning air and bright blue sky made the job of paddling up river enjoyable. We tried a couple of likely looking spots from the canoe but didn’t move a fish until the very last riffle before getting to Doc’s cabin. We maneuvered the canoe into position just upstream of the run. Captain held the canoe in position while I started to cast. Again I’m using my one and only fly rod and reel — 8 x 8 Fenwick with a Pflueger 1494 ½ reel. The line was probably a cheap double taper whatever and had been flipped end for end at least once. I’m sure it was cracked and dirty from use and the backing was a greyish white and inadequate at best. The leader was a ten pound test Berkeley 7.5’ tapered leader with a couple of feet of Maxima 8 pound tippet material tied on with a five twist blood knot. The fly was a hand tied very plain size 6 muddled minnow. It was either the second or third week of June, the water was at a very nice fishing height. It was basically a picture perfect scene — one that would make a very nice watercolor painting. Big boulders with water swirling around them. Dark blue water surrounded by sparkling splashes and white highlights. Bright blue skies filled with large cumulus clouds and the ever present sound of moving water that you feel more than hear. I knew enough to start with a very short line — just the leader. Still sitting I dappled the fly in the current next to the canoe then with each subsequent cast extended the line a foot at a time and covered more water, watching the fly intently, looking for any indication of a fish. A flash, a movement, a bulge in the water’s surface, anything out of the ordinary. Even if you just intuitively think you saw something you put another cast over that same exact spot, maybe also altering the way the fly crosses over the lie. When the line was too long to cast while sitting I stood and continued to swing the fly in every likely eddy and the little tailing runs that form downstream of every exposed boulder. Every submerged rock was covered by a cast, every dark spot, every inch … searching, watching, trying to see beneath the surface and then it happened. A flash of silver and a little bit of flesh appeared on the surface as the big fish took the fly. His nose has to break the surface in order to get his mouth around the fly. You can’t set the hook like you would on a trout. You must wait and let him take it fully into his mouth and let him turn as he attempts to get back to his lie. I knew nothing about strip sets back then, which would definitely work better than lifting the rod but that is what I knew so that is what I did. Set hard though, pull that sharp point through his jaw and make sure the barb has sunk deeply into his flesh.
I didn’t need to learn the hard way about setting hard. I had heard the story many times about my father losing six salmon in a row from not setting hard enough with his Orvis Battenkill. I always set hard — eight pound Maxima tied with good knots will take a lot of pulling before it breaks. Probably more than I could apply with a bent rod set. I knew the salmon was hooked very well and there wasn’t a chance in hell that the fly was pulling out. I fought the fish, the Captain netted it, we dispatched with a Swiss Army knife, covered it with wet grass, and continued on to Doc’s. That’s when things got interesting, that’s when I learned a very valuable lesson. One that I use on a regular basis.
To Be Continued …
Just like fish #3 I just kept casting to the fish repeatedly. This time I didn’t even stop to rest
the fish – I just kept dropping cast after cast just upstream of the fish. Every so often – like
15 to 20 minutes or sometimes a little longer, he would reward my efforts by coming up to
the fly and knocking it around with his nose. This went on for a couple of hours until it got
dark enough that it was time to call it quits. On my last cast, instead of throwing the loop I
fired a cast straight over the fish right to the bank. When the fly hit the water on a tight line
I immediately started reeling it in as fast as I could with that old Pflueger. The big bomber
hit with a plash and started waking its way across the lie. The fish charged at it, grabbed
it furiously in a huge swirl and took off down stream leaping out of water as it went. It was
a magnificent 12 pound bright male fish with sea lice still attached.
#6 – The Scott Drift
“No, nothing. I only fished down through once though.” I said. Thinking back about this now,
I think they should have turned around and left me have the pool to myself. But they didn’t.
Instead they asked if I minded if they fish. I told them it would be fine. It really wasn’t fine but
I was intimidated and decided that I’d use the experience as a way to learn something.
These three guys fished together, a lot. Not only did they fish the Dennys together but they
also traveled to New Brunswick and fished the Miramichi together, so they must have had a
rotation to whom would go through the pool first. This time it was Lippy’s turn and he started
to fish at the head of the pool. I watch his small green fly swing across the pool. There were
no wasted movements on his part. Dead straight pick up and lay down casts one after another.
No false casting and every cast landed delicately on the water. He covered the pool very
thoroughly but didn’t move a fish. Donald went next and used a big Sam Ward Special.with
equal dexterity. I noted that he covered a few areas that Lippy had missed on the far side of
the run, but otherwise he fished the pool in the same manner as Lippy had. Third to fish the
pool was Ed who chose to use a small black bear hair on the hitch. Again he started at the
very top of the pool with a short line and gradually increased its length until he was covering
every inch of the pool. He did one thing a little differently than the other two – he fished the
pool farther down past the fast water into the dead water beyond the tail of the pool. And
when he did I saw a small disturbance near his fly. He looked back at us three observers
and said, “did you see that?” We all had. He made the exact same cast again and as the
fly came over that same spot a fish took his fly. The fight was on. Not only did they take my
fish but they used my canoe to land the fish! All three of those guys have passed now so I
probably should speak too harshly about them.
I have no idea if I would have hooked that fish. I might not have even put a fy over it … but
it bothers me now that they took advantage of a kid to get a fish.
Lessons learned: 1) stand up for yourself – don’t get pushed around. If you are fishing or r
esting a pool don’t let someone else elbo their way in… unless you’ve fished it enough to
be satisfied or if you are just in a very generous mood. 2) It’s worth trying several different
flies and methods when fishing a pool. Go through the pool three or four times with different
size and color flies. Fish it in the traditional down and across with a wet fly but also tru the
hitch, try something big and something small.
#8 – That’s Not a Salmon Pool
It looked like a damn nice pool to me and I just so happened to have my fly rod in the car.
So I left Dad and Leonard to talk and headed down to the river. I don’t remember how long
I fished for – it wasn’t long because I stood on the rocks in one spot. I hadn’t bothered to
put on waders because we weren’t there to fish – just look at the camps.Anyway a beautiful
16 pound salmon took my wet fly as it crossed the main channel and took off down stream
leaping a throwing shiny water droplets into the sun filled air. I fought the fish for 15 minutes,
got him into shore and released him back into the river.
Lesson Learned: Know what kind of water salmon like to lie in. Through the years I’ve caught
many salmon in places that were not pools (they were pools they just didn’t have a name).
The Bailey Bridge, looking down river towards Simon’s Pool
The Dungarvon Camp – Circa 2019. Bought in 1987
Leonard on the left, me on the right
Leonards Headstone with the picture that Carl Scott took of him holding a monster fish.
Robert started down through the pool first with a wet fly, swinging it across every inch of the
pool. He supposedly didn’t know where the fish was in the pool but I noticed that he spent a
lot of time casting directly over the rockpile and once he moved past that area he picked up
his pace. Robert was a very experienced and knowledgeable fisherman – one of those guys
who no matter what he is fishing for always catches fish when no one else can. Fishing is his
thing, so I figured he spent extra time swinging flies over the rockpile for a reason.
I started at the top of the pool, above the rockpile. The water where I started is technically part
of the next pool up from the rockpile. We called it, “The Slick” and that’s what it was, a wide
smooth slick of water coming around the corner near the clubhouse. If there was a fish in the
slick everyone knew about it because you could easily see into it from the clubhouse which
sat high up on the bank above the pool. The slick water is very nice dry fly water and my new
invention looked great as it floated down past me. I was casting what LaBranch called “the loop.”
It’s basically a mend cast that puts the leader upstream of the floating dry fly. Ken Sears had
taught it to my father and the other Wocester boys years earlier. Most of “the boys,” however, frowned on it and refused to accept that it worked any better than just casting a dry fly the same way they had been for years on trout streams.
The easiest way to throw the loop is to use a long piece of level leader – maybe 10 to 12 feet
attached directly to the fly line. Then you make a big slow sweeping sidearm cast without any
snap at the end of the forward cast. The big fluffy air resistant fly would drag behind the leader
and not turn over the way you’d normally want a good fly cast to. If executed properly the fly
would land straight down stream of the long leader and drift drag free over the salmon. The
salmon then looking upstream would see just the fly and no leader.
I threw cast after cast like that just above the rock pile and slowly worked my way down the r
iver. When my fly started to bob up and down in the waves formed by the rushing water being
pushed up by the submerged rock pile I changed my tactics slightly. Instead of letting it drift
freely until the end of the drift, then picking it up for another cast, I let the fly free drift until the
line became tight then let it swing across in an arc on the tight line. During the swing it
skittered on the surface. As I tried to cover all of the water one cast landed the fly right on
top of the rockpile. The fast water quickly pulled the line tight and just as the fly popped and
just as it would normally start to swing a salmon took the fly. It’s amazing how fast the fish
had to be to take that fly in the rushing white water. But he did it with very little commotion—I
didn’t even see the take, the fly just disappeared. Again I did not need to set the hook. I just
felt the sudden hard tug and he was on. This fish was strong and quick and he was in fast
water so I had my nyophite hands full. Line ripped off the Fluegger Medalist as he ran straight
down stream. There was nothing I could do but let him run. He jumped twice during that first
run. Then just after I saw backing starting to peel off the reel he fortuitously turned back
upstream and stopped dead in the water as if he had found a quiet lie to rest in.
This was my third year into Atalntic salmon fishing, so even though I had only landed one
fish up to this point I had read several books on the subject and knew that one of Lee Wulff’s
tricks was to get alongside the fish – don’t try to fight him from upriver, he’ll just use the flow
to his advantage. So I walked down the grassy club path and reeled in line to get closer to the
fish. When I was beside the fish I just put a little pressure on him which pulled his head to the
side so that he couldn’t maintain his position in the river. This forced him to work harder which
ultimately tired him out and made him easier to land. While I was working my way down to the
fish, Robert had gone back to his car for the net so he didn’t see what happened next. The fish
apparently didn’t like having his jaw pulled on like I was doing so he made a sudden rush
upstream and out of the water in another high leap. “Bow to the queen” I told myself and I
did and he didn’t break off. After a while he came to rest again and again I pulled sideways
on his jaw. He moved off irritatedly but slower this time. I moved up and continued to apply
side pressure. This tired him and he began to come closer to shore in an attempt to reduce
the continuous pressure he felt. I tried to tail him a couple of times but each time I reached
down he saw me and moved away. Then he came really close and with one leg in the water
I grabbed his tail and threw him on the bank. When Robert got down to where I was, I had
killed it… the fight over. Robert is in his nineties now and still recalls how surprised he was
that I had already landed the fish by the time he had walked to the car and back.
Lesson learned: Atlantic salmon react to flies in a similar manner as do landlocked salmon
and trout. The old traditional patterns may work on Atlantic salmon but there are lots of other
patterns and techniques that also work. Many have yet to be developed.
Fish #4 - 6 Sear’s Pool:
#4 – Because we stayed in a cabin on Sear’s Pool and the fish could be seen either from the
porch or the roof we learned a lot about what motivates a salmon to take a fly.We caught a lot
of fish there but there are three that were taken by using different and non-traditional techniques.
Before I get into the specifics I want to discuss some Atlantic salmon fishing basics. As you
probably know, Atlantic salmon, unlike trout and other freshwater species, do not eat food–like
insects and small fish, etc., while they are on their spawning run upriver. It’s theorized that they
don’t eat because if they did they would end up consuming the young salmon that spend their
early lives in the river. So why do they take a fly? There are many theories about this but I
believe they take a fly because seeing it triggers a reflex. The same reflex that helped to
survive up until now. The change that occurs in them that drives them to migrate from the
northern seas back to their birth river and then to run up that river and spawn also suppresses
their ability to eat but it doesn’t totally eliminate the reflex to try to catch something to eat.
The other factor to consider is that even though they are “running” upriver to spawn, they
don’t make one continuous run from the mouth of the river all the way to their spawning beds.
There could be a small percentage of fish that do, but for the most part the fish will stop and
rest in pools along the way. And when they do stop, they stop in one specific place, call a lie.
Once they are comfortable in that lie, they tend to stay there – at least for a while. We have
seen the same fish in the same place for several days. This allows the fisherman to try different
techniques on that one fish over multiple fishing sessions. Lee Wulff believed that if he could
get a fish to react to a fly in some manner, even if it was just a slight movement, he could
eventually get that fish to take. (I use “take” not “eat” to describe the act of the fish opening
its mouth, taking the fly, and closing it.) When I hear someone say that the fish ate their fly I
cringe!
Getting back to Sear’s Pool and the different techniques we used to catch fish there. I won’t
describe the standard accepted ways like swinging a wet fly or drifting a dry or even fishing the
hitch. I will focus on 3 fish and the specific ways they were enticed to take a fly.
The first one is very interesting because it’s one of those methods that you might have heard
of and maybe even tried but if you did try you probably gave up way before you should have.
I had seen a fish rise in the lower part of pool. I marked its exact location and started to fish for
it. I could not use the most effective dry fly technique that requires you to be beside or below
the fish. I had to fish from upstream. I started with a wet fly and made several good casts over
the lie then switched to another wet, and another–three different wet flies, resting the pool for
15-20 minutes between each fly. I didn’t discern any movement during this entire time. I the
decided to use a big grey and brown bomber. It was a 2” long size 4 hook tied onto an 8 pound
test tapered leader. The trick to dry fly fishing for Atlantic salmon is to get the fly to land just upriver directly in front of the fish and then have it float over the fish before the leader does. So you cast the fly with more power than needed to reach the fish then stop the line quickly so that the fly bounces back a little and falls. The shock of stopping the fly causes the leader to have waves in it that allow the fly to drift without any drag. The cast has to be very accurate – maybe 2 feet upriver from the fish so he doesn’t have any time to examine it – the fly lands and drifts quickly over him so he must react quickly, reflexively, if he’s going to take it. I think he sees the fly land and that is what triggers the reflex. If it comes down the river on the surface out of his sight he will see it coming for a long time and won’t be motivated by the reflex to take it (that’s my theory anyway).
So I start throwing the bomber in this way. It lands where I want it to, drifts over him and he
doesn’t move. I let the fly continue to drift well past the fish before picking it up carefully for
the next attempt. That way the fish doesn’t get spooked by me loudly popping the fly from
the water. I make this same cast many times. I just keep dropping it as closely as possible
to the spot I believe is 2 feet in front of the fish. I did this for maybe half an hour before taking
a break. The cabin is right there so it’s easy to rest the pool and then return. I have marked
the spot by visually memorizing it position relative to branches and rocks on the shore. It’s
like a visual triangulation. I decided not to try wet flies any more. Instead I wanted to see what
would happen if I just kept casting the same dry fly and landing it right where he can see it
over and over again. I did this pretty much all afternoon – for 4 or 5 hours I fished for 30 mins
then rested him for 30 minutes. You’ve probably guessed by now that he did finally come up
and take the fly. And that’s exactly what happened. It he took the fly, I set the hook, played him,
landed him and released him.
#5 — This fish is similar to #4 in that all of the casting was with a big brown bomber to one particular fish. This time however I was using “the loop” as we called it. My father learned it from Ken Sear’s, who as previously mentioned lived on the river and is the namesake of this pool. Before I describe the cast, let me say that George LaBranche describes., “casting the curve” in his book “The Salmon and the Dry Fly.” He also says, “It is known on our streams and rivers as the ‘loop’ cast.” But when you read his description of how the cast is made it is very different from the way it was taught to me by my father. I never got to meet Mr. Sears, but according to The Captain this is exactly how Sear’s taught him. LaBranche’s loop is made by casting a wide horizontal loop and then checking the line so the fly kicks around and falls below the leader. He does not mention anything specific about the leader itself. The Sear’s Loop calls for long length of level leader in order that the fly does NOT kick around to form the loop. Instead the fly is cast with just enough power so that it reaches the fish but does not straighten. It’s like a drag cast at the shorter distances but with practice it is possible to shoot the line and maintain the loop for quite a distance - fifty to sixty feet without much trouble.
I suppose Sear’s knew about the effectiveness of the loop from reading LaBranche then modified the technique to suit the pool that he was fishing most of the time. The dragging side arm technique works especially well when the water is flowing from left to right for a right handed caster. For if it came the other way the right hander would have to make a backhanded drag cast which would be difficult. Anyway, back to fish #4
(Note: maybe instead of numbering these as Fish I should number them as techniques?)
There were 3 very well established lies in Sear’s Pool. This fish was in one of the more difficult to reach lies. It was all the way across the pool – right up against the opposite bank. We never waded in this pool – it just wasn’t done for whatever reason. Occasionally we did make use of a canoe, but for the most part we just cast from the grassy bank which had been trimmed to allow for easy walking. The big pines had also been cut to open a slot for your backcast. – it was in line with the cast needed to reach this uppermost lie.
One bright, sunny, and calm afternoon, we decided to climb up on the roof to watch the salmon. There were six fish together in the main lie which was a kind of underwater sandbar. I’m not sure what it was but there was something about that spot that was favorable to the salmon. Maybe it was the way the water flowed up and over the bar creating an underwater wave that enabled them to remain almost motionless in that spot. It was very enjoyable just sitting up there watching the fish through polarized glasses. The sun was directly overhead so the view into the pool was spectacular. You could see the slightest movement of fin, tail, or mouth. After watching for some time we decided it would be fun for one of us to stay on the roof and watch while the other went down and fished. Dad went down and fished while I watched and reported back to him where his fly was in relation to the fish and if I saw any indication of interest.
I wanted to stay up on the roof and watch so Carl climbed down, got his rod and headed to the pool. He started by casting down and across with a Sam Ward Special. The fly was easily visible as it swung across the pool, in front of the little pod of fish. It got absolutely no reaction from the fish. He tried a smaller fly and it also drifted by the noses of the fish without getting even a sideways glance. He tried several different wet flies and two dry flies, a fish flashed by turning on its side. “You got a reaction that time!” I said just loud enough so that he could hear me. Try that again.”
The next drift and the next got similar reactions from the fish. They moved at it and near it but would not take.Or in one case it looked like a fish took the fly but then spit it out – Carl never felt a thing. “Next time I’ll tell you when it is right in front of them. Stop the fly and pull it back towards you, like it’s trying to get away.” I was thinking about how you can tease a kitten into chasing a piece of yarn. As soon as he began retrieving the fly, a fish moved forward and took it and was hooked. Carl played the fish and released him. It was a great learning experience watching from the roof.
#7 – Bartlett’s Fish at the Narrows
I bring this particular fish up now because it is in a way similar to the previous fish in that I was watching someone else fish and again learned a very important lesson about fishing for Atlantic salmon.
The Narrows is a pool just upriver from Sear’s Pool. It was one of my favorite pools because I enjoyed canoeing up there and having it to myself. It wasn’t known to be the most productive pool and therefore didn’t get fished much. It would be more accurate to say it wasn’t known to be a productive pool because it didn’t get fished much – but that is not the way most of the fishermen thought about it.
One day I paddled up to The Narrows after breakfast. Beams of sunlight were just starting to strike the ledge on the west side of the pool. The pool itself was still in the shade of the high pines that blocked the morning light. I anchored the canoe on the east side in a good position to start fishing a wet at the top of the pool. Once I had enough line out so that I was almost at the limit of my reach, I’d move the canoe down and start again swinging the wet across the pool. It was very peaceful. The only sounds were birds and the water lapping against the canoe. To be successful at salmon fishing you have to be very focused on the fly or where you think the fly is as it swings. You basically stare at it intently and by doing so with the moving water as the only background it becomes hypnotic. The sound of water, a gentle breeze caressing the back of your neck, and the watery flow around the fly all combine and engulf you. You are literally in another world. I think that is why it is possible to fish for many hours and not be bored by the fact that you haven’t seen a fish. It’s actually very enjoyable.
After fishing the entire pool I decided to sit on the ledge in the sun and rest the pool. My intention was to rest the pool for a half hour and then fish it from shore which would have given me a chance to fish it and have the fly swing in the opposite direction. Needless to say I was more than a little disappointed when I heard a car coming down the old woods road. Then it stopped, its engine went silent and I heard three doors slam shut and talking. It was Lippy, his brother Don Cushing, and Ed Bartlett. These guys were undoubtedly the three deadliest fishermen on the river. Together they killed half of all the fish taken in those years. If the total fish killed was 100 in a given year they accounted for 50. (Note to self: check out what the bag limits were back then)
The three men knew me. I was either a teenager or in my early twenties, they were old enough to be my father. I had great respect for them because I knew they were considered to be among the best fishermen on the river. Ed spoke first, “Good morning Ron, how are you?”
“Good thanks, how are you guys doing?” I replied. We continued exchanging pleasantries for a few minutes, then Ed asked,”Have you seen anything?”
By the mid 1980’s the salmon fishing had all but ended on the Denny’s so we went in search of better water. 1984 was a particular poor year for fish in the Denny’s. Ray Robbinson told us that Bartlett, Lippy and Don were up in Canada on the Renous River. Dad and I decided to take a ride up and see if we could find them or if we couldn’t find them we thought we might at least be able to obtain some information about fishing the Miramichi system.
Back then crossing the border into Canada wasn’t a big deal. We didn’t need passports or covid tests or much of anything. The border patrol agents just asked us where we were going and how long we would be staying. From the border it took less than 3 hours to get to the Renous which flows into the SouthWest Miramichi river in Quarryville, which is a very popular public salmon pool. The dirt road that runs above and alongside the pool is a spectacular place to watch fishermen. In those days there would normally be 15 - 20 people fishing both from the shore and from boats. From the elevated road the view up the main river is absolutely beautiful.
After watching the fishermen and seeing many fish leaping and a couple caught at Quarryville we drove up to the second bridge that crosses the Renous. It’s a Bailey bridge – a prefabricated single lane metal truss bridge that crosses just above Simon’s Pool and just below Bell Pool. We stopped and pulled over before the bridge and walked out on it to see if we could spot any salmon in the river. There was virtually no traffic in those days so we took our time, enjoying the sunshine and nice weather as we shaded out polaroid glasses with cupped hands while gazing into every likely spot.
Just as we were about to walk back off the bridge a rattling old pickup truck pulled slowly onto the bridge. We both stood back against the metal side to allow it to pass. The driver stopped and asked if we could see any fish. We told him that we hadn’t and he proceeded to tell us about a really big fish that had been lying just under the bridge for several days. Then we asked him if he knew of any local guides that might be available to guide us for a couple of days. He said there was a guy that lived just down the road. He would lead us there. Just follow me, he said. And we were off to meet the guide who we would employ for the next 30 years. His name was Leonard Munn. We met him about a mile from the Bailey bridge – he was coming the other way. The man in front of us stopped him and told him that we needed a guide. The next thing we knew he was in the back seat and we couldn’t understand a thing he was saying because of his heavy Scottish accent.
Leonard Munn was his name. Son of a very successful salmon guide. Now in his 50’s and very overweight he did not look like a guide – more like a local shop worker with his blue shirt and pants and long leather belt hanging down half way to his knees. That was in June of 1985 and it was the beginning of a 30 year long friendship. In addition to guiding for us, he also found us the camp we now own on the Dungarvon River. Although Leonard knew the river very well, I don’t think he understood Atlantic Salmon. One example of his lack of understanding was the day we went to the camp for the first time after we bought it. Cappy, Leonard and I were standing on the elevated bank overlooking what we now call Camp Pool. He flat out said it wasn’t a pool. He knew all of the pools – all 50 miles of them – but he didn’t recognize the water that flowed past the camp as a pool (probably because it didn’t have a name.) The cool thing about most salmon rivers is that all of the pools have names – and the names show on the maps of the river. To Leonard that meant no name, no pool.
