SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER
July 30th I looked forward to as a red-letter day in my life, for was
I not to have my first chance for that 70 lb. fish, about which I had
dreamt for so many years?
The early morning (we were all up at 6 a.m.) was spent in getting my
tackle ship-shape, and, most important of all, in engaging the services
of a good boatman--for on his strength and willingness to "buck the
tide," as they happily term rowing against the strong tidal currents,
depends largely the chance of success.
The man I selected was a fine boatman. Keen on getting fish--jealous of
all others of his craft, and with a capacity for bucking about himself,
and what he had done and could do, which I have seldom seen equalled.
His command of strong and even highly flavoured language was
remarkable, but a little of it went a long way. When I asked his name,
he replied, "Every one calls me Billy." No one on the West coast seems
to have a surname, so "Billy" he was to me for all my fishing days.
Billy was, I should say, about twenty-three years of age, slightly
built, but extraordinarily strong with an oar. His temper was not of
the best, and when I lost a fish he always considered that I was to
blame, and resented the unfortunate fact as if it were a personal
insult to his own powers as a boatman.
I don't believe he ever thought of the Cannery or of the sum which
under happier auspices would have stood to his credit. His pay was
three dollars a day (12_s._) plus the value of the fish. His appetite
corresponded with his pay, which was large.
He was willing to row all day long with suitable intervals for his
meals--but any attempt to keep him on the water at meal-time was
somewhat sulkily resented.
We fished together for some thirty days, more or less harmoniously,
and there was only one great explosion which threatened to sever our
connection.
Through his gross stupidity my boat, which was being towed behind the
Cannery launch, was upset, and I had the pleasure of seeing all my
fishing-tackle, fly-books, the companions of years--all my pet flies,
spoons, spring balance--sunk in sixty feet of water--£20 worth of
tackle gone in a moment.
Fortunately I had taken my rod and camera on board the launch, or
they, too, would have been lost.
It was _infra dig._ that he should express any regret, and very
unreasonable from his point of view that I should show any annoyance,
which I did in what I considered very moderate terms, considering the
provocation.
On landing, he suggested that I did not seem satisfied with him, which
was quite true, and that "Joe," a hated rival, was disengaged and
available.
I very nearly took him at his word and "fired him out"--but we made it
up somehow, and he remained my boatman, though I never quite forgave
the loss of so much valuable tackle.
Fortunately I had only a few more fishing days left and had some spare
tackle to replace what was gone.
Our opening day was simply glorious, a bright sun and a crispness in
the air which made one feel that it was good to be alive.
The scenery was exquisite. The sea calm as a mill-pond, only broken by
the oily swirls of the rushing tide, and then there was the possibility
of that long-hoped-for big fish, who did not come that day, though
every pull from a cohoe might have been him.
Billy was positively polite, as it was his first day. Why many of
these West coast men should imagine that politeness means servility,
while roughness and rudeness only show equality and independence of
character, I never could understand.
It was not long before I was in a fish, but as he was only a 5½ lb.
cohoe, he was hauled in with scant ceremony and was soon in the net.
As I shall have something to say about tackle later on, I would only
now mention that I was fishing with a fourteen-foot Deeside spinning
rod, made by Blacklaw of Kincardine.
I had a large Nottingham reel with 200 yards of tarpon line, purchased
in England, not, alas! in New York; a heavy gut trace with large brass
swivels which would have frightened any but a Vancouver salmon; a 4
oz. lead, I afterwards came to a 6 oz., and one of Farlow's spoons
specially made for the tastes of Vancouver salmon.
My bag that day, fishing morning and evening, was only six cohoe,
weighing 3O½ lb. and one cod about 5 lb. I never had a pull from a tyee.
The row home that evening compensated for everything. The sun was
setting behind the snow-covered peaks of the Vancouver Mountains, bare
and cold below the snow-line, but gradually clothed with foliage
down the slopes till the dense pine forest of the plain between the
mountains and the sea was reached, from which the evening mists were
beginning to rise. In the foreground, the sea, like molten glass,
reflected the exquisite colouring of the northern sunset, its surface
broken by the eddies of the making tide, or the occasional splash of
a leaping salmon. Across the Straits on the Mainland, the tops of the
great mountains clothed with eternal snow were lit up a rose-pink by
the rays of the setting sun.
I have seldom seen a more beautiful scene, or one which gave such a
deep sense of peace. There was a grandeur and immensity about it which
satisfied one's very soul, it amply justified the realization of the
call of the wild which had brought me so many thousand miles to those
distant shores.
The morning of the 31st found me late in starting, as I had to
interview Cecil Smith, who was to be my guide, companion and friend on
my hunting trip in September.
On that morning, I got only two cohoes of 5½ and 4½ lb., one spring
salmon of 9 lb., and as there was evidently no take on, I went up the
river for a short time. I saw no salmon, but landed three cut-throat
trout weighing 3½ lb., one a good fish of 2 lb.
On the way home to luncheon I killed a 20 lb. fish--a small tyee, and
going out for half-an-hour in the evening after dinner lost a heavy
fish.
Bad luck as regards the big fish still pursued me. It was true the big
run of tyee had not yet begun, but a few were being taken from day to
day.
On the morning of August 1st I hooked a heavy fish, but in his second
big race, the line slipped over the drum of the Nottingham reel and the
inevitable break came.
My catch that day was only three cohoes and three cut-throat trout.
A very high north wind blowing against the tide raised a heavy swell,
and fishing was impossible in the afternoon.
August 2nd, I fished all the morning without getting a pull, so decided
to try to go up the river to the falls, which attempt, as previously
described, was not a success.
Returning to the sea in the afternoon I found Griswold with three fine
fish, of 59, 45 and 40 lb. I landed a small tyee of 30½ lb. and four
cohoe weighing 20 lb.
On August 3rd, I got my first good fish of 53 lb. and another of 42
lb. The tide was running strong and the 53 lb. fish took out about 120
yards of line, but eventually I got him in hand, when he made two wild
runs--threw himself clean out of the water each time and then went to
the bottom like a stone and sulked.
It took me just under an hour to kill that fish, and I found that he
was foul hooked on the side of the head.
The 42 lb. fish was a lively one and tired himself out by repeated
runs--he never got to the bottom and in about fifteen minutes he came
to the gaff.
In addition to the two tyee, I had seven cohoe weighing 46½ lb., so
luck was beginning to turn.
August 4th was a great day. Four tyee, 45, 44½, 42½ and 35 lb.; one
cohoe, 6 lb.; one cut-throat trout, 5 lb., a picture of a fish; one sea
trout, 2 lb., and one cod, 5 lb.; all before two o'clock.
There was a big take in the evening, and I missed it by getting out too
late.
Griswold had five tyee, the largest 47 lb.; I came in for the tail end
of the take and only picked up eight cohoe, weighing 43½ lb., and one
spring salmon, 13 lb. Total weight for the day: 240½ lb.
August 5th. I had two tyee, 45 and 37 lb., and sixteen cohoe averaging
about 6 lb., and so on day after day, with varying luck and always
hoping for that 70 lb. fish which never came.
On August 10th, I got my second biggest fish. The spring tides were
racing up and down the Straits and it was impossible to hold a boat,
much less row it against the tide.
By this time from a study of the bottom, at low water, I had a fair
idea of how the fish ran up and down with the tide. I accordingly
anchored my boat off a point I knew the fish were bound to pass. The
anchor was fixed on to a log of wood to which the boat was moored by
a running knot. It was Billy's duty to cast off the moment I was in a
fish.
The greatest race of the tide was at about half flood, and the current
was so strong that the heavy spoon and 6 oz. lead were swept away
like a cork. Letting out about thirty yards of line and giving Billy
the rod to hold, I began casting with the fly, using a fourteen-foot
Castleconnell rod, fine tackle and a two-inch silver doctor. I soon had
a sea trout, 2½ lb., and two cohoe, besides many rises, and grand sport
these fish gave in the racing tide on a light rod.
I had just killed my last fish when the scream of the reel on the rod
which Billy was holding told me we were in a big fish. Taking the rod
from Billy, I told him to cast off. The fish was racing up with the
tide some 150 yards away, but the rope was fouled, or Billy bungled,
and the result was a smash.
Hardly had I got out another spoon when I was in another fish. I was
evidently lying in their track. This time we got away, and how that
fish raced! Before I knew where I was we were up about a mile, being
literally towed by him on the flowing tide before I could get him in
hand. I eventually killed him, almost opposite the hotel, one and a
half miles from where I had hooked him: weight, 59 lb.
In the evening I got two tyee of 47 and 46 lb. The big fish's
measurements were: length, 47½ inches; greatest girth, 31½ inches, and
girth round the anal fin, 22 inches.
The well-known formula for estimating the weight of a fish from
measurement is as follows--
girth^2 × length = weight.
________________
800
Applying this formula, the weight worked out just 59 lb., which the
scales corroborated. The weighing machine, an old rusty steelyard, set
up on the beach in front of the hotel, left a good deal to be desired;
but I had a spring balance weighing up to 60 lb., which I tested at the
local store and found to be quite accurate.
On August 24th heavy clouds were piling up, and a break in the glorious
weather we had enjoyed from the beginning of August seemed imminent.
On August 26th, my last day at the hotel, I started to fish in a heavy
gale from the south-east, the worst wind one could have in these waters.
Though leaving that night and having all my packing to do, I determined
to have one last try for the big fish which had so far evaded me.
There was a heavy sea on and it was almost impossible to hold the boat,
but Billy was on his mettle for the last day's fishing and really did
wonders.
On the way down to the mouth of the river, I got a 10 lb. cohoe, and
on arriving at the best ground I put on a big brass spoon, which Mr.
Daggett had kindly lent me, about twice as long as the Farlow spoon. I
was letting out the spoon when I got a tremendous pull and a very short
run, which apparently took the fish to the bottom or into some kelp.
There he remained and simply sulked without taking out a yard of line.
The rod was bent double and I put on all the strain possible, but it
was a full three-quarters of an hour before I could see my lead coming
up to the surface, and my arms and back were aching. How the rod did
not break I cannot understand, for the fish came up gradually from
straight under the boat; but at last I had the gaff in the biggest but
least sporting fish I had killed during the month. He weighed 59½ lb.
at the hotel, having lost a good deal of blood, and must have been over
60 lb. when he came out of the water. The brass spoon was either bitten
or broken in half.
[Illustration: TWO GOOD FISH. 53 lb., 42 lb.]
[Illustration: A 60 lb. FISH
[_To face page 50._]
Having killed forty-one tyee, fished steadily for a month, and seen
most of the fish that were caught, I do not think many fish over 60 lb.
are killed. One fish caught by a hand-line and small spoon by a young
settler named Pidcock, I weighed, and he must have been close on 70 lb.
My spring balance went down with a rush to its limit of 60 lb., and I
heard afterwards that when weighed at the Cannery it scaled 68 lb., so
when fresh must have been close on 70 lb. This was the biggest fish I
saw on the coast.
Farther north there are other fishing grounds well worth a visit, where
the fish are said to run up to 100 lb.--such are the Kitimaat River and
McCallister's Bay at the entrance to Gardner Canal, about four hundred
miles north of Campbell River.
A steamer runs direct to Kitimaat and Hartley Bay once a month.
Accommodation can be had at Kitimaat, but a camp is necessary at
McCallister's Bay. Fish run as early as May. Campbell River is getting
too well known, and there are too many boats on the water.
The following amusing description of an evening's fishing is from the
clever pen of J. G. Millais, and was published in _Country Life_. I
venture to reproduce it--
"Amidst gorgeous sunset hues we went to fish the usual beat
opposite the Indian village on August 11th. The sun had already
set, when of a sudden a suppressed excitement ran through the
boats. A fresh run of tyee were in and had begun to take. Three or
four Indians were 'fast' at once, and yells for help came down the
line. In a moment, while close to the beacon stake at the mouth of
the river, Mr. Powell, Sir John Rogers and I were 'into' fish at
the same moment.
"Then the circus began. 'Look out there; don't you see I'm fast?'
'Confound you; get up your line, or I'll be over you.' 'Gangway,
gangway,' 'Where the devil are you coming to!' 'Mind your oars,'
'He's off to the tide. Hurry' (Mac or Bill, as the case might
be); 'row like blazes,' were a few of the cries that broke from
excited anglers, while even phlegmatic Indians grinned or yelled
'tyee, tyee' in sympathetic encouragement. We all cleared each
other somehow. I do not quite know how. Sir John was whisked
straight out to sea, and was a quarter of a mile off in no time.
Mr. Powell broke, while my fish, to my horror, went straight for
the beacon. I lugged at him to steer clear, and he took the hint
so forcibly that he burnt my finger on the line with the rush he
made for the deep water. It was like poor Dan Leno's hunting song,
'Away, away and away. I don't know where we're going to, but away
and away and away.' We could hear men laughing and joking in the
darkness behind, and then in a moment we were out of it all in the
silence of the boiling tide. Mac was a good boatman, and the way
he followed that tyee in the eight-knot current did him credit.
This was the strongest fish I have ever hooked. He seemed to do
with us just what he chose, and we, like sheep, had to follow.
If he had carried out his first laudable intention of a visit to
Queen Charlotte Islands he might have defeated us, but seemingly he
altered his plan and made a fierce hundred yards' run for the curl
of the current at the mouth of the Campbell River. Here there were
nasty lumps of floating kelp, and the two anglers fishing there
received our return landwards with shouts of warning. In the gloom
I could see by their attitudes that they were intensely interested
in our welfare, for the next best thing to playing a fish
yourself is to watch another at the game. Then began a series of
'magnificent cruises.' It is part of the interest in salmon-fishing
that the fish you have 'on' is infinitely larger than anything
previously hooked. Generally it is a pleasant delusion; but
sometimes it is true, and then the conflicting emotions of the play
and the thrill of subsequent capture are something to live for.
"My fish was, I knew, the biggest I had ever hooked, so one had to
follow the same old ways of playing him, coupled with such extra
force as that stout tackle warranted. After every great circuit
of the boat I resorted to all sorts of devices for tiring my
antagonist, but he refused to give in or to allow me to shorten the
line. But my fish was as gallant a fighter as ever was hatched, and
the better the fighter the quicker he kills himself. Half-an-hour
has elapsed and I see the lead six feet up the line for the first
time. Soon we shall see back and tail. Yes, there they are, and
what a monster. He must be 60 lb. at least. At last he shows side,
and that is the beginning of the end. Mac, an indifferent gaffer
under the most favourable circumstances, now surpasses himself in
the fields of incompetence. He makes one or two feeble shots, and
then, getting the gaff well home, attempts to lift the fish as I
throw my weight on to the reverse side of the light boat to prevent
an upset. He heaves with both hands, and a great head appears,
when crack goes the steel, and Mac sits down heavily in the boat,
looking supremely foolish. I was not distressed, however, as that
brief view of the fish's head had shown me the hook well placed;
moreover, I knew that somewhere under the thwarts we possessed
a goodly club. Mac, after a few moments' search, produced the
truncheon, and, at the first attempt, stunned the salmon with a
well-directed blow, and lifting it with his hand drew it into the
boat. Ha! this is a fish indeed; one of the best of the season,
we flatter ourselves, and 60 lb. for certain. But no; those cruel
scales blast our hopes by 3 lb. Still, a fifty-seven-pounder is
something to be proud of, and we rowed home that night at peace
with the world. This, then, is Campbell River fishing for the
great tyee salmon. If you wish to collect records you can do so by
sitting all day in your boat for a month and using a tarpon-rod,
which kills the biggest fish in two minutes, and a Vom Hofe reel,
which carries a drag that would stop a buffalo."
If there are many Indians out the rod has not much chance, for their
canoes cross and recross in every direction, and as they fish with a
short hand-line, a long line let out from the rod is apt to get fouled.
Fortunately, their favourite ground is by Cape Mudge Lighthouse, where
the cohoe abound. I only tried this water once, and was so jostled by
Indian canoes that I determined to stick to the tyee and the mouth of
the Campbell River.
The large majority of the salmon were really sporting fish. The cohoe
had no chance with the strong tackle necessary for the tyee, but still
were wonderfully lively, and when caught with light tackle on the fly,
gave great sport.
In one respect they were all a hopeless failure--they were quite unfit
to eat. Why it should be so I cannot say. Perfect to look at, as good
as any Atlantic fish, the flesh was like cotton wool, dry and devoid
of all flavour. On the other hand, the cut-throat trout were excellent
eating.
During the entire month of August we had little or no rain. The climate
was absolutely ideal and the eye never tired of the exquisite scenery,
varying in colouring and effect every day.
The row of one and a half miles from the hotel to the best fishing
ground, if the tide was not favourable, was a drawback, and personally
I should prefer to pitch a camp on one of the many excellent sites at
the mouth of the Campbell River, so one would be independent of the
hotel hours and meals. When the tide is not favourable, a good plan is
to leave the boat at the mouth of the river and walk home along the
shore to the hotel for meals.
The fish generally took best at the turn of the tide, and about half
water. Many enthusiasts were out at 3 and 4 a.m. and in some cases
struck a good rise, but these early mornings without a cup of tea, I
fear, did not often appeal to me.
The following table shows my bag day by day--
--------+-----------+--------+-----------+-----------+----------------
| | Spring | | | Sea
Date. | Tyee. | Salmon.| Cohoe. |Cut-throat.| Trout.
--------+-----------+--------+-----------+-----------+----------------
| No. W. | No. W.| No. W. | No. W. | No. W.
July 30| -- -- | -- -- | 6 30 | -- -- | -- --
" 31| 1 20 | 1 9 | 2 10 | 3 2 | -- --
Aug. 1 | -- -- | -- -- | 3 15 | -- -- | -- --
" 2 | 1 31½ | -- -- | 4 20 | 3 2 | -- --
" 3 | 2 53 | -- -- | 7 47½ | -- -- | -- --
| -- 42 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 4 | 4 45 | 1 13 | 9 47½ | 1 5 | 1 2
| -- 44½ | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
| -- 42½ | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
| -- 35 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 5 | 2 45 | -- -- | 16 98 | -- -- | -- --
| -- 37 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 6 | 3 45 | 1 10 | 5 36 | -- -- | -- --
| -- 42½ | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
| -- 40 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
Aug. 8 | 3 42 | -- -- | 1 6 | -- -- | -- --
| -- 41 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
| -- 32 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 9 | -- -- | 1 8 | 4 24 | -- -- | -- --
" 10 | 3 58 | 1 10 | 2 1 | -- -- | 1 2½
| -- 46 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
| -- 47 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 11 | 2 47 | -- -- | 3 16 | -- -- | -- --
" 12 | 1 45 | 3 34 | 2 10 | -- -- | -- --
" 13 | 1 35 | -- -- | 4 20 | 14 16½ | -- --
" 14 | -- -- | 1 9 | 1 6 | 12 8½ | -- --
" 15 | 1 32 | -- -- | 1 7 | 1 1 | -- --
" 16 | 2 37 | -- -- | 9 56 | -- -- | -- --
| -- 30 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 17 | 2 46 | -- -- | 1 7 | -- -- | -- --
| -- 44 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 18 | 3 49 | 2 21 | 4 25 | -- -- | -- --
| -- 48 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
| -- 40 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 19 | 2 40 | 1 21 | 6 48 | -- -- | -- --
| -- 32 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 20 | -- -- | -- -- | 4 24 | -- -- | -- --
" 21 | 2 45 | 1 8 | 5 38 | -- -- | -- --
| -- 43 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 22 | 2 45 | -- -- | 8 49 | -- -- | -- --
| -- 35 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 23 | 2 56 | -- -- | 16 98 | -- -- | -- --
| -- 37 | -- -- | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 24 | 1 26 | -- -- | 3 24 | -- -- | -- --
" 25 | -- -- | 1 21 | -- -- | -- -- | -- --
" 26 | 1 60 | -- -- | 1 10 | -- -- | -- --
--------+-----------+--------+-----------+-----------+----------------
41 1738 15 274 126 772 37 38 2 4½
So the last day had come and the fishing was to be a memory of
the past. Our pleasant party was broken up--Millais and his young
undergraduate friends, Powell and Stern, had gone north to Wrangel to
start on their hunting trip in Alaska; Griswold back to New York,
planning the construction of a special boat and the adding of the great
tuna to his many trophies of big sea fish. Daggett alone remained,
seated daily in the comfortable armchair he had rigged up in his boat,
still intent on that 70 lb. fish we had all hoped for, but failed to
secure.
The pleasant days of friendly intercourse had come to an end. No more
the quiet row home in the gloaming after a successful or moderately
successful day. No more the nightly gathering on the beach and the
weighing of the great fish. The weather itself looked despondent, and
was making up its mind to break. The certainty of the past was over,
the uncertainty of the future before me, and it was with a sad heart I
bade farewell to the Willows Hotel, and to the fishing days that were
now no more.
The depressing hour of 1 a.m. found me sitting on the end of the pier
waiting for the arrival of the _Queen City_, which was only an hour
late, and once more I was bound for the unknown.
FISHING-TACKLE