Over
many seasons of fly fishing in Maine, the native brook trout
has become the species I am truly passionate about. It my
mind there is not a more beautiful fish in the world. The
colors of a pre-spawn male defy description. Salvelinus
fontinalis, “char, living in spring”, has come to embody all
the grandeur that I associate with the far “North” and I had
long dreamed of a trip to the ultimate destination to fish
for them, the Labrador wilderness. It is the last place on
earth where you can still fish for brook trout of
unimaginable size. Advancing age and a recent up-close and
personal encounter with cancer added up to tell me it was
time to go. Life is short and you only live once.
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Photo
courtesy of Thee Rivers Lodge
There are
many outfitters to choose from, but after a lot of web site
reading and viewing (all of the photo galleries look
amazing), e-mailing and visiting shows, I decided on Robin
and Chris Reeves’ Three Rivers Lodge located on Crossroads
Lake and the headwaters of the one hundred mile Woods River
drainage. (Their Web site is
www.trophetlabrador.com.) One quality that
distinguishes Three Rivers from others is their fly fishing
only, barbless hook and strict catch and release policy.
It
is clear that the protection of the unique brook trout
population and the pristine ecosystem that supports it is
placed above all else. Chris wrote; “Our goal from the
opening day was absolute minimal impact on the fishery and
let nature take care of the rest. During our first couple of
years, some of our guides were driven close to tears by the
act of releasing a big fish. Now they see it working and
understand the benefit.” Chris went on to explain that if
the largest trout are killed for trophies, as other lodges
allow, or even encourage, over time the genetic line is
weakened, never to return. I was planning on going in 2005,
but when Robin called with an unexpected opening this past
August, I jumped on it. The dream was about to come true.
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Photo
courtesy of Three Rivers Lodge
The real adventure began with the 150 mile
flight from Wabash to the camps in a 1947 DeHavilland Beaver. The flying was to become
a highlight of the trip. It’s an extraordinary and
relatively quick way to “commute” to the fishing and back.
It allows access to water that otherwise might take days to
reach. Within ten minutes flying time outside of Wabush, all
sign of civilization vanished, down below was a world of
blue and green. An untouched wilderness stretched to the
horizon that appeared to be at least 75% water; a myriad of
shimmering lakes and ponds feed by numerous small streams
and separated by short stretches of rapids. Only a small
percentage of that water has yet to be fished! The land is
low and rolling, it has the raw, rugged look of recent
glaciation. Where there is enough soil, stunted black spruce
grow. Everywhere is a seemingly random maze of caribou
trails; Crossroads Lake is named for the bands of the George
River herd of Quebec-Labrador caribou that congregate on its
shores every August and September, waiting to ford or swim
during migration.
The entire Three Rivers staff was there to
greet us as we taxied up to the dock. They quickly came to
be some the warmest, open and caring people I’ve ever met.
It feels like being adopted into a big, happy family. The
“Newfie” guides, Jordan and Cliff, were especially fun to be
with and sharing the water with them soon felt like fishing
with good friends. The “guiding” was minimal. If you
appeared to know what you were doing they pretty much left
you on your own. However, once you hooked a fish, it was
amazing how quickly they could cover the rough terrain and
be ready with the net. And the nets are huge, a good
indication of what was to come.
It took some time for me to adapt to the fishing. This was a
far cry from making delicate presentations to finicky trout
sipping spinners at the tail out of a placid pool. The first
thing that took getting used to was casting big, very
heavily weighted flies, Cone Head Muddlers, Clouser Minnows
and of course Woolly Buggers. I never did get over the instinct to
duck as those 3 to 5 inch flies came whistling past my ear.
The hatches were over and these fish were looking for a
substantial chunk of meat to bulk up on before the fast
approaching winter. It is not unusual for them to put on 1½
to 2 pounds per season! The water was full of baitfish which
Jordan and Cliff called “sucker minnows”. The trout were
satiated and reluctant to feed further. They would chase the
flies, but weren’t real aggressive on the take, lots of
short strikes and outright refusals.
The only pattern I
ended up fishing on top was a lemming. It turned out to be a
good “locator”; the trout
would almost always at least come up and take
a look at it.
For the subsurface flies, a warp speed
cross-current or even downstream strip turned out to be the
most effective tactic. Add the heavy water (rapids,
boulders, plunge pools, pockets and undercut banks) that
brook trout stack up in and it took some time to become at
ease with what it takes to fish and wade the water.
The
slower water above and below the rapids, which back in Maine
would look like perfect trout holding habitat, was indeed
ideal pike territory. It took a lot of flies lost to those
big, sharp teeth to convince me not to fish there. On the
other hand, the pike (and lake trout, eagle and osprey)
predation is a large part of what keeps the trout population
healthy, big and strong.
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On the second day, Jordan and I were flown to
the 5th Rapids outpost camp for an overnight. It
is a particularly picturesque spot sitting high on an esker,
surrounded on either side by “Big” and “Little” 5th
rapids (the rapids are numbered in sequence down river from
Crossroads Lake). It was here that it all came together, and
I was able to land two of the Labrador “reds” I had traveled
all this way for. Jordan estimated them both at 8 pounds. To
my inexperienced eye, they looked and felt a lot larger and
heavier than that! The second trout came from Little 5th.
I watched him rise from the depths and, in what seemed to be
slow motion, inhale the lemming pattern I was bouncing
across the surface. Wow.
But the best was yet to come. A couple of
days later, Jordan and I motored down to Vezina narrows,
another set of rapids separating Crossroads Lake from the
channel leading to 1st Rapids. Here we found
several 6+ pound trout holding in some calmer water against
an alder lined bank. With Jordan spotting, we tried sight
fishing for them from above and got two of them to take, but
missed them both. I was too quick to strike. Several more
pattern changes met without as much as a look. I waded out
to an exposed rock, where I was able to cast back into the
bank. I finally hooked one of the trout on a Black Ghost
Clouser as it swung back into the current. I lost that fish
in the heavy water also. It was raining lightly with no wind
and the black flies were the worst they had been all week.
It felt like time to try something different.
The two other
clients in camp, a father and son from North Carolina, had
shot the caribou they had come to hunt and since then had
been doing very well catching big pike and lake trout on
spin gear out on the Lake. I asked Jordan if we could give
the lakers a try on the fly, he suggested a sheltered cove
opposite the main camps at the outlet of a small stream
named Sophia.
We
anchored off the mouth of the stream and it didn’t take long
to hook and land an outstanding fish. To Jordan’s surprise
it was a brook trout; he said none had ever been caught
there before. What surprised both of us was its size and
weight, we figured over 7 pounds! Its amazing how one fish
can turn your day around, suddenly everything felt right
again, the mornings tough fishing a fading memory. We fished
the rest of the cove with no luck. About to call it day, I
asked if we could try the stream outlet one more time.
Staring into the big streamer box, I chose a Mickey Finn
Clouser that had been tied by a good friend for the trip. It
was kind of a joke between us. Is there is anything in
nature that a yellow/red/yellow streamer could possibly
imitate? Even though it’s a classic brook trout pattern,
I’ve never had much confidence in it, but it was one of
those “why not?” moments.
The second cast brought a solid
strike, the fly felt like it hung on the bottom. Then rod
doubled over and line peeled off the reel. It didn’t feel
like a pike, they usually cut through the leader in a
heartbeat, but I thought surely it must be a large laker.
After the initial run, I was able to work the fish close
enough for Jordan to get a look at it. He exclaimed it was
by far the biggest brook trout he had ever seen. It was the
first time all week I had seen a crack in his usual cool,
calm demeanor which got my heart pounding.
The first two
attempts with the net failed. With each miss the fish would
make another powerful run, ending in bulldog-like head
shaking. Fortunately the trout was well hooked, the tippet
held and by the third try he was in. Jordan held the net as
I, with trembling hands, removed the fly from the heavily kyped jaw. One of dumbbell eyes was missing, probably from
the fish rubbing his jaw on the bottom in an attempt to free
itself. Here was a lasting reminder of just how strong these
fish are. The even brighter than normal colors that set the
Labrador strain apart were manifest in this trout; intense
orange in the belly; vivid red, with a leading edge of milk
white, then black, in the tail and lower fins.
I had found
the size of the 5th Rapids trout hard to
comprehend, but this one was another order of magnitude
beyond those. It was the depth of this fish that really stood
out. There was a prominent hump in the shoulders and Jordan
measured the girth at 18”! That dimension alone would come
close to a trophy Maine fish. The length was 26 ½”, the two
measurements calculated to 10.7 lbs on the chart, second
only to an 11.5 lb world fly rod record trout caught the
previous season at 2nd Rapids.
After a few quick
shots, Jordan eased the fish out the net, worked him back
and forth in the water and released it when a flip of its
massive tail signaled it seemed ready to go. After the trout
had slowly disappeared, we both sat back down, staring at
each other with ear to ear grins. There was nothing to say
for a good long while. I’m not sure which one of us was
happier.
The well worn cliché of “fish of a lifetime”
seemed fitting; it was hard to imagine the experience could
get any better.
10.7 pounds and 26.5 inches of brook trout
With one more day to go, I could relax and
let it all soak in. That morning we flew to the headwaters
of Rick’s Run, a small, user-friendly stream that you could
literally spit across. We were only the sixth party to fish
it. Almost immediately, I began to catch 10 to 12” trout.
Behind every boulder where you thought a trout should be
there was one or two and they were all over the woolly bugger
I was fishing. The fish weren’t fussy; it was a welcome
change from the hard work I’d put in so far. It reminded me
of a really fine day of fishing in Maine and it felt great.
As I worked my way downstream, the fish became larger, up to
16”. Maybe I was still in Labrador after all? The final run
deepened considerably and the perfect lie appeared to be
under the alders on the opposite bank. I took a chance,
flipped a cast into the one opening in the brush and got
lucky. As soon as the fly hit the water, the fish struck,
fought hard and was much larger than I could have imagined
in such small water.
Cliff was upstream with the net, but I
managed to lead the fish into calmer water and lip the trout
just as he appeared for a photo, yet another hook jawed,
perfectly proportioned 6+ lb beauty. We still had the
afternoon to fish, but for me there was no better way to top
off the week. It seemed like the perfect moment to pause and
reflect.
Sitting on the Beaver float in the sun, legs
dangling in the water, enough of breeze to keep the bugs
down and eating lunch with Cliff, I remembered Robin telling
me that I would leave Labrador with my most cherished memory
being the people, the wilderness and the brook trout
following. I wouldn’t have believed him before the trip, but
he was exactly right. The Three Rivers Web site closes with
this quote: “Along the rivers, streams and ragged hills
there is magic to be found, Labrador stays with you.” How
true. I can’t wait to return.
--
Bob Erickson
Note:
Because of the last minute decision to accept
Robin’s offer, I didn’t have the time to tie up all the
flies I thought I needed before the trip. Fortunately Dave
Lutton, the person who taught me to tie, was able to help
fill in the gaps. From the list of recommended patterns that
Three Rivers provides, Robin advised me to concentrate on
large streamers and he was right.
Click
streamer box thumbnail below for
pictures/recipes for six big brookie streamers
tied by Bob |
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Addendum!
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"Labrador Brook Trout"
Photo of Bob
and brookie by
Paul
Wentzell of FishSkins, who created and built this
beautiful basswood replica of the trophy brook trout Bob caught in Labrador. |
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