ON FISHING IN THE LABRADOR,
BY
G. M. GATHORNE-HARDY.
In this chapter I propose to confine myself to my own experience of
fishing in Labrador, an experience which is too limited to permit me to
deal more broadly with the general possibilities of the country from an
angler’s standpoint. It was confined to members of the trout family—sea
trout, brook trout, and Labrador lake-trout, or _namaycush_, and my only
introduction to their nobler relation, the salmon, was at the Mission
station at Hopedale, where a specimen netted in a river some distance to
the southward appeared one day at the dinner-table. For the most part—so
far as I could learn—salmon fishing on the East Coast is confined to
that portion lying between Hamilton Inlet and the Straits of Belle Isle:
some of the rivers in that locality supplying phenomenal sport in late
July and August to those willing to brave the mosquitoes and to spare
the time for a visit to so inaccessible a country. Further north, salmon
appear to be exceptional, if not altogether absent—a fact which came as
a surprise to me personally, and which seems difficult to reconcile with
the universal prevalence of the salmon’s near relation, the sea trout.
These are netted in bays into which a mere trickle of water runs—as at
Nain, as well as in the mouths of rivers like the Fraser in which the
fishermen would naturally look for them, and—acting on experience drawn
from Norway and elsewhere—for salmon also.
My preparations for fishing during the course of our expedition into
the interior of Labrador had frankly been made with a view rather to
filling the pot than to sporting considerations. The tackle was all
coarse and strong and the flies large. This policy (thoroughly mistaken,
as the event proved) was based on an experience of Canadian trout
fishing during a big game hunting trip in the Province of Quebec. In the
lakes and streams visited on that occasion I had found that the trout,
however small, could always be attracted in adequate numbers by a large
salmon fly cast or trailed anyhow, while fine tackle and trout-flies
properly so-called had proved not merely superfluous but comparatively
ineffective. It was natural to suppose that in untravelled Labrador the
fish would be at least equally unsophisticated. We had not to wait long,
however, before discovering that our conclusions had been erroneous.
The _Harmony_, before depositing us at our starting point at Nain, called
for a couple of days or so at the more southern Mission station of
Hopedale. To pass the time Prichard and I determined to try our luck in
some lakes in the neighbourhood where trout of no great size were said
to exist in considerable numbers. The first day was most disappointing.
Trout were there—we could see them; but to heavy tackle and large flies
they proved altogether unresponsive. Fortunately we had found out our
mistake in time and took immediate steps to supplement our deficiencies.
Some fine casts and small flies were generously placed at our disposal by
Mr. E. A. Payne, the storekeeper of the Moravian Mission at Hopedale:
and we were also fortunate enough to meet an American sportsman, Mr.
Inman, who had been deposited from a friend’s yacht to await the arrival
of the first mail-boat in order to return to his own country. This
gentleman also ransacked his supplies and furnished us with some small
Parmachenee Belles, and other suitable flies. With our amended equipment
we set out on the following day and met with quite satisfactory sport.
We were destined, however, to further disappointment during the early
stages of our expedition up the Fraser River.
The state of the nets in Nain Bay showed that the sea trout were up at
the head of it on our arrival in mid-July, and a camp of trout-netters
under the direction of our Eskimo friend Filipus Hunter, was already
installed at the mouth of the river as we approached it in our trap boat.
All this promised sport, although places suitable for rod fishing from
the bank were not numerous in the lower reaches, that is to say, east of
the head of the big lake. This part of the river consists, as has been
already described, of a chain of lakes and rapids all materially affected
by the state of the tide; and no doubt within comparatively recent
geological times, the sea water of Nunaingoak Bay ran in one unbroken
fjord some thirty miles further than it does at present.
Yet, though my experience of the effect of tides on such a river as the
Add in Argyllshire led me to expect no sport while the tide was flowing,
I did cast perseveringly, but cast in vain.
On arrival at the head of the great lake, however, we met with our
first genuine disappointment. Up from this point the river resembles
an ideal sea-trout and even salmon stream, in the bends of which are
many rocky pools, reminding one of some of the best stretches of the
Sundal in Norway. Into those clear green depths, however, we gazed in
vain for a sight of a fish, and, wherever we halted, not only sight but
faith was tested, for I visited every likely spot in the neighbourhood
and fished it carefully and repeatedly. But, except for an occasional
rise from a fingerling brook trout, whose efforts to impale himself on a
hook designed for his betters were unavailing, there was no result, no
encouragement whatever, and our diet of bacon remained unmitigated except
for the almost negligible sustenance provided by an occasional squirrel.
The fact, as we subsequently ascertained, was that the sea trout were not
“up” yet. On our return in September down the same stretch of river, many
good sea trout were seen; and though our party could not stop to fish
for them, I have no doubt that good sport could have been obtained—and,
indeed, two of us discovered on the bank one fish so recently dead that
it provided an appetising luncheon.
At the head of the lake when we returned there, an incredible number of
sea trout were plainly visible on a sandy shallow, and there at least
both Prichard and myself had a brief spell of excellent sport with spoon
and fly.
Still later in the year—about the middle of October—when camped lower
down about a mile from the bay, I saw sea trout crowded in a small
tributary channel into which they had been enticed by an exceptionally
high tide. There they lay trapped, covering the bottom so thickly that it
would have been a matter of no difficulty to obtain any quantity with a
net or a triangle. As to my actual course of procedure on the occasion in
question, I will say nothing.
But all this is anticipating; and a succession of blank days rewarded
all my perseverance on the way up-stream, till one day we passed in the
canoes a pool where at last there was some sign of life. A quantity of
large duns, resembling in size and general appearance the blue-winged
olive, were coming down, and a number of trout—small brook trout, but
still trout—were rising greedily at them. Time did not then permit of a
halt, but to this spot on the following day I returned with a small trout
rod and light tackle, and succeeded in catching a fair number, enough for
a welcome meal. On my return, however, through the woods, I was careless
enough to leave the reel—with the line wound up—attached to the rod, and
at some point in my walk this must have worked loose, for on arrival
at camp, I was horrified to find that it was gone. Fortunately there
remained the reel belonging to my 18-foot salmon rod, but neither reel
or line were properly adapted for use with the little trout rod, which
appeared to be our most promising weapon. And from this time onward till
we left the river, the sport was really negligible.
Before leaving the valley for the plateau above, we _cached_ my big rod,
lightness being a _sine qua non_ for our projected journey with packs
across the plateau. I had two alternatives for providing our trout rod
with a line. The first, employed only when the fish anticipated were
small, was to run through the rings a short length of the fine “backing”
cut from my salmon line and attach one end to the small ring intended
to receive the hook when not in use. Casting with this makeshift was
a difficulty, and in the event of a big fish unexpectedly taking hold,
careful handling would be necessary to prevent a break. The more usual
course which I adopted was to run the salmon line through the rings,
attach one end to a button-hole of my coat, and coil the superfluous
length of it as neatly as possible on the ground at my feet. This also
was a cumbrous expedient, but it worked well enough in practice.
Sea trout had now, of course, been left behind; and our expectations were
confined to the ordinary brook trout and the _namaycush_. This fish, the
large lake trout of Labrador, resembles in shape the grilse or salmon,
and in colour a pike, being covered with whitish spots on a grey-green
ground. The flesh is a kind of buff colour, and most acceptable to the
hungry traveller. We were not long before making its acquaintance.
On the evening of our final climb up Bear Valley, we had camped on the
eastern edge of a lake of some size, the third in the little chain which
had inveigled Porter into his magnificent and successful effort in
portaging the canoe. In the morning, waking (as was my habit) earlier
than my companions, I had taken a rod and endeavoured to catch some small
trout which were engaged in laudable efforts to kill mosquitoes among the
stony shallows of the margin. My efforts were unavailing, so I took the
canoe, and trailing a salmon fly behind me pushed out into the deep. The
_namaycush_ is fortunately an unsophisticated fish, and I was soon fast
in one of about 3 lbs. At this moment Prichard looked out, saw, and soon
afterwards joined me, which got rid of the necessity of managing rod and
canoe simultaneously, and thus reinforced we got two or three more by
breakfast time. All these were comparatively small, from 3 to 3½ lbs.
so far as I can remember, which is nothing for a fish which is said to
attain to thirty or forty pounds’ weight, but quite sufficient to make an
acceptable addition to a meal.
[Illustration: Playing a Sea Trout.]
[Illustration: A _Namaycush_.]
It was, perhaps, fortunate that neither here nor elsewhere did we meet
with these legendary monsters, or, indeed, with a fish weighing much
more than five pounds. We had with us no net or gaff to assist us at the
final moment of the struggle, and without a reel, but with the primitive
make-shifts which have been described, we might have had some difficulty
even in getting to the stage where landing became the problem. My first
experience, as I have said, was from a canoe; but on most, if not all
subsequent occasions, the contest was carried on from the shore, where
the difficulties to which I have alluded were ten-fold increased. Indeed,
had the _namaycush_ possessed the fighting qualities which its size
warranted, I do not see how I could have hoped for success. The fish
could have run out into the middle of the lake and pulled till something
gave way—it was to be hoped nothing more serious than the hold or the
fly. The shallow near the shore was more often than not a labyrinth of
projecting stones, through which one had to tow the vanquished quarry
before making sure of a breakfast. Fortunately the fish were amenable
to treatment, but I only recollect one breaking me which dashed down
the rapid outlet of a lake and escaped in the stream below. But many is
the anxious moment that I can remember when every moment of the fight
called for a judicious handling which made the capture sport indeed. I
remember waking at the camp where the canoe was finally abandoned and
seeing a monster fish cruising up and down along the shallow margin
of the lake below. A large Jock Scott hurled in his direction was met
with a rush which left a wake like a torpedo boat, and he was securely
hooked. Then came the tussle, when running up and down along the bank
the angler had to humour the fish so long as he was inclined to hug the
shore; and to suggest a perseverance in his amiable conduct in lieu of
an uncontrollable dash into the centre of the lake. But all went well,
and at last the tired monster was judiciously stranded, the rod dropped,
and the fish fallen upon and thrown safely ashore before he had time
to realise his position or the strained hold gave way. But perhaps the
most exciting moments of all were on another morning at the same camp,
when I had visited some likely pools in a small burn which ran into the
southern extremity of the lake. Here I had not expected _namaycush_, or
indeed anything but the smallest burn trout, and I had gone forth with
no stronger line than a short length of backing attached to the rod in
the manner already described. Certainly there were small burn trout
there, and a little Parmachenee Belle wrought destruction among them—but
there were also _namaycush_. Now in this case there was no line to be
given, and the tackle was of the finest; moreover, our fine casts were
none too numerous and a break would have been a serious catastrophe.
The _namaycush_—for _namaycush_—were small, it is true; but I had
hardly any hope of success, and the capture of three of them, under the
circumstances, is certainly high among the angling exploits of which I
am proudest. I recollect that in the case of one of them so hurried was
my dash upon the prey as it came ashore that on grasping it I flung it
carelessly behind me into a small pool in the marsh, where, though in
restricted quarters, it had depth enough to swim; and it was some time,
exhausted as it was, before I could drive it about sufficiently for it to
let me get hold of it again, but in the end all was well.
The best fishing camp of all was at that mosquito-haunted spot among
the esker ridges which we distinguished with the name of Sandy Camp. It
was pitched—if this expression can be used of a canvas sheet propped
against a big boulder with stones—in an angle between a lake and its
outlet, a fairly wide brook with some capital pools in it. In the brook
were ordinary trout of quite a fair size—half-pounders and bigger—and
in the lake, after a day or two, _namaycush_ put in an appearance near
the shore. I think they were probably attracted to the spot by the camp
refuse thrown in there—bacon rinds and the offal of earlier victims of
our rod and line. In this belief I am confirmed by a similar experience
at our camp in the George Valley, by Slippery Brook as we called it, a
small stream running down into Indian House Lake. There, when we first
arrived, we caught nothing but small brook trout; but after we had camped
there some time, and portions of two deer were lardered in its pools,
I caught at least two good _namaycush_ and rose others. Anyhow, be the
reason what it may, there they were, and thence we extracted them.
The memory of this angling under adverse conditions will always be
among the pleasantest of my recollections. I cannot hope to convey the
thrill to others, who will, I fear, regard this chapter as dull and
uninstructive. Certainly, if those who read it learn anything, it will be
in the nature of avoiding our mistakes. Do not, when walking in woods,
keep the reel on the rod when the latter is taken down. Take plenty of
fine tackle and small loch-trout size flies, especially that deadliest
of all, the Parmachenee Belle. If you are merely out for sport, do not
expect sea trout till near September at any great distance from the sea.
For the _namaycush_, anything strong will do; spoons are excellent, but
a large salmon fly, Jock Scott, Wilkinson, what you will, is pretty
certain to be successful. Finally I should say if you can manage it take
a landing net, or better, because more portable, a small gaff. When
sea-trout fishing in Norway, my friend, Mr. E. Lort Phillips, sometimes
uses a very portable form consisting of a large cod-hook spliced to a
stick. This can be carried with the hook stuck into one’s cap or hat
band where it is no weight, and out of the way. I should say it would
have been admirable for an expedition like ours. As to other methods
of getting fish for the pot, the late Leonidas Hubbard endeavoured to
procure a net, and his misfortunes have been attributed in some measure
to his failure to obtain a satisfactory one. Mrs. Hubbard, following
in his intended footsteps, did take a net, but I do not gather from
her interesting volume that much good came of it. A net that has been
recently used is no light weight, to say nothing of the leads which form
an integral part of all that I have ever seen. Moreover, the knowledge
how and when profitably to set it is by no means so universal as that
of fishing for unsophisticated trout with rod and line. I myself should
never think it worth while to take such an addition to my load, even if
the route were exclusively in a canoe with short portages. Hubbard’s
own experience shows that fish will rise until very late in the season,
later than the traveller ought to delay in the country, and I should
imagine—though here I do not speak from personal experience—that when
flies fail a few bait hooks either taken specially or improvised
from flies would prove effective in luring the uneducated trout and
_namaycush_ of the Labrador.