Post by ShadowCaster on Oct 26, 2012 19:19:49 GMT 8
A Moveable Feast : Coho Salmon of the Upper Pitt River, BC Canada.
The autumn rain lashed onto our North bound ferry-boat on Pitt Lake, raw and smelling faintly of winter. The snow-capped peaks of the Canadian Coast Mountain ranges towered above us on both sides of the lake shores. The lake was a pale green, rich in minerals from the glaciers melt of the Garibaldi Mountain. I left the hustle of downtown Vancouver behind me just barely an hour ago, drove North East towards the Southern end of Pitt Lake to catch the ferry to the fishing lodge. The lodge operator's direction for the pickup point was clear : “Just keep driving North East towards Pitt Lake till the road ends, you can't miss it”. Indeed, the road ended and Pitt Lake was a sight not to be missed. There was not a car in sight for the last 5km towards the lake. Danny the lodge owner was already there waiting. The only other way into the lodge is via float plane or helicopter. Despite being only 40km away from the nearest Vancouver suburb, the Upper Pitt area is pristine British Columbia wilderness. The only other human habitat on the river beside the fishing lodge, an oasis of comfort in the wild, is a small logging camp located 2km up river.
The source of the Upper Pitt can be traced to the millennia-old glaciers of Mt Garibaldi. The river meanders South for 45km and feeds into Pitt Lake. The Upper Pitt is an aquatic ecological emporium where all 5 species of Pacific Salmon runs up to spawn. In addition , sea run Bull Trout and Cutthroat Trout can also be caught in the Upper Pitt year round. Its close proximity to the Pacific Ocean also means that Salmon caught on the Upper Pitt are still chrome bright silver that fights well. The Chinook and Sockeye Salmon, conditions permitting, usually start their spawning run early in July and August. The Chum Salmon follows shortly in September. But the Upper Pitt is best known for its phenomenal Coho Salmon run each year starting mid October that last all the way into November.
It was still raining when the ferry arrived at the dock leading to the lodge. My guide Alexei Boyanowsky was already waiting there with the truck that will take us to the lodge. Alexie's farther, Ehor Boyanowsky, an internationally well known fly-fisherman for Steelhead trout that had authored books on the subject, probably taught Alexia how to fly fish at about the same time that he learned to walk. I was fortunate to be guided by Alexia who certainly had all the predisposition, genetically or nurtured, to be a fine fly fisherman and guide.
We drove to the lodge on a gravel logging trail that was lined with wild maple, cedar and pine trees. It was late autumn and the Canadian maple extended their welcome by blooming shades of golden yellow to crimson red. What a fine way to settle into the comfortable lodge and prepare for tomorrow's fishing.
Above a ragged tree-line, the thin curls of low clouds linger in the shadow of the mountain range at dawn. Alexei, Danny and I drove up-river from the lodge along the trusty logging trail to launch our fishing raft each morning. There is no mystery to the launch when the river is 50 feet below the elevation of the logging trial. Alexia shove the raft down what looked like a 70 degree slope, grabbed hold of the stern rope and ski down behind it over bushes and in between trees. The slide is an ad hoc, one way ticket to the river, which is substantially less graceful than what the word “slide” would normally connotes. As I was just about to boldly stepped across the ledge and tumble down behind Alexia, Danny advised that they prefer guests of the lodge to take a more gradual path created by the lodge that is just wide enough for human but not quite wide enough for the raft a few yards down river. Naturally, I took the more dignified option.
The scenery that greeted me at the river was one straight out of fly fishing utopia. The autumn rain had created numerous mini waterfalls over moss covered granite canopied by colorful maple and pine, and the waterfalls are feeding riffles and pools that holds trout and salmon ... a fly fisher's paradise!
Ahead lies an apparently simple geometry -- the Coho salmon migrate up river, the fly fishermen down, and somewhere along these ribbons of waters, the opposing vectors converged. Nevertheless, it is amazing how much more sophisticated the matter can become.
The Salmon run is a moveable feast, predictably annual but with no better sense of timing than any other procreation or birth. It is at best a distribution of statistical likelihood around the nucleus of autumn. Despite appearance to the contrary, nature rarely operates in smooth continuities. The salmon run is not a steady stream, but a succession of irregular spasms. If the rain swells the river sufficiently, the Coho may enter the river as early as the first week of October. If not, November may come without appreciable numbers of fish in the river. The only two certainties are that the Coho will originate from the Pacific and they will run up-river. A fly fisherman can either take up a vantage point and wait for the run to come to you, which is more reliable, or you can try to hit a moving target, which is decidedly more interesting.
Beside Salmon, the Upper Pitt offer year round fly fishing for sea run Cutthroat Trout, Bull Trout and Rainbow Trout. When the Coho are off the bite, the Sea Run Bull Trout seldom gets the blues and are willing and impressive on fly tackle.
Alexei shared that the Upper Pitt had record rainfall the week before my arrival, swelling the river sufficiently for a fresh batch of Coho to enter the river. Correspondingly, water clarity had deteriorated, meaning that the Coho will be more challenging to be coaxed into eating a fly. We will need to use heavy fast sinking line to get the fly to their depth. I can imagine that such river bank conversation is not unique of our times. Perhaps a thousand years ago, in the Salmon camp of the indigenous Musqueam Indian tribes that dominated the Pitt River basin, the talk would have been similar to a fisherman of today. There would be apprehension if the run was late or weak, restlessness if the fish arrived but not the rain to draw them upriver to the spawning ground. But if the run were strong and the autumn rain arrived as promised, it would be met with gratitude. To those where such things matter, the coming of the Salmon has as much to do with a world view as anything, with a cosmos in and out of order.
This I suppose is the reason that I had travelled from the tropics to the sub-arctic, coaxed myself out of bed long before dawn, managed just enough coffee to stimulate consciousness, and wade into a freezing river in the cold autumn rain before sunrise. The Salmon run is is a confluence of origins and eventualities when for a moment, life wraps around and touches its own tail. But a fisherman must work hard to unravel the meaning, and finally, the fishing is only an argument, an inference about undisclosed things.
The autumn rain lashed onto our North bound ferry-boat on Pitt Lake, raw and smelling faintly of winter. The snow-capped peaks of the Canadian Coast Mountain ranges towered above us on both sides of the lake shores. The lake was a pale green, rich in minerals from the glaciers melt of the Garibaldi Mountain. I left the hustle of downtown Vancouver behind me just barely an hour ago, drove North East towards the Southern end of Pitt Lake to catch the ferry to the fishing lodge. The lodge operator's direction for the pickup point was clear : “Just keep driving North East towards Pitt Lake till the road ends, you can't miss it”. Indeed, the road ended and Pitt Lake was a sight not to be missed. There was not a car in sight for the last 5km towards the lake. Danny the lodge owner was already there waiting. The only other way into the lodge is via float plane or helicopter. Despite being only 40km away from the nearest Vancouver suburb, the Upper Pitt area is pristine British Columbia wilderness. The only other human habitat on the river beside the fishing lodge, an oasis of comfort in the wild, is a small logging camp located 2km up river.
The source of the Upper Pitt can be traced to the millennia-old glaciers of Mt Garibaldi. The river meanders South for 45km and feeds into Pitt Lake. The Upper Pitt is an aquatic ecological emporium where all 5 species of Pacific Salmon runs up to spawn. In addition , sea run Bull Trout and Cutthroat Trout can also be caught in the Upper Pitt year round. Its close proximity to the Pacific Ocean also means that Salmon caught on the Upper Pitt are still chrome bright silver that fights well. The Chinook and Sockeye Salmon, conditions permitting, usually start their spawning run early in July and August. The Chum Salmon follows shortly in September. But the Upper Pitt is best known for its phenomenal Coho Salmon run each year starting mid October that last all the way into November.
It was still raining when the ferry arrived at the dock leading to the lodge. My guide Alexei Boyanowsky was already waiting there with the truck that will take us to the lodge. Alexie's farther, Ehor Boyanowsky, an internationally well known fly-fisherman for Steelhead trout that had authored books on the subject, probably taught Alexia how to fly fish at about the same time that he learned to walk. I was fortunate to be guided by Alexia who certainly had all the predisposition, genetically or nurtured, to be a fine fly fisherman and guide.
We drove to the lodge on a gravel logging trail that was lined with wild maple, cedar and pine trees. It was late autumn and the Canadian maple extended their welcome by blooming shades of golden yellow to crimson red. What a fine way to settle into the comfortable lodge and prepare for tomorrow's fishing.
Above a ragged tree-line, the thin curls of low clouds linger in the shadow of the mountain range at dawn. Alexei, Danny and I drove up-river from the lodge along the trusty logging trail to launch our fishing raft each morning. There is no mystery to the launch when the river is 50 feet below the elevation of the logging trial. Alexia shove the raft down what looked like a 70 degree slope, grabbed hold of the stern rope and ski down behind it over bushes and in between trees. The slide is an ad hoc, one way ticket to the river, which is substantially less graceful than what the word “slide” would normally connotes. As I was just about to boldly stepped across the ledge and tumble down behind Alexia, Danny advised that they prefer guests of the lodge to take a more gradual path created by the lodge that is just wide enough for human but not quite wide enough for the raft a few yards down river. Naturally, I took the more dignified option.
The scenery that greeted me at the river was one straight out of fly fishing utopia. The autumn rain had created numerous mini waterfalls over moss covered granite canopied by colorful maple and pine, and the waterfalls are feeding riffles and pools that holds trout and salmon ... a fly fisher's paradise!
Ahead lies an apparently simple geometry -- the Coho salmon migrate up river, the fly fishermen down, and somewhere along these ribbons of waters, the opposing vectors converged. Nevertheless, it is amazing how much more sophisticated the matter can become.
The Salmon run is a moveable feast, predictably annual but with no better sense of timing than any other procreation or birth. It is at best a distribution of statistical likelihood around the nucleus of autumn. Despite appearance to the contrary, nature rarely operates in smooth continuities. The salmon run is not a steady stream, but a succession of irregular spasms. If the rain swells the river sufficiently, the Coho may enter the river as early as the first week of October. If not, November may come without appreciable numbers of fish in the river. The only two certainties are that the Coho will originate from the Pacific and they will run up-river. A fly fisherman can either take up a vantage point and wait for the run to come to you, which is more reliable, or you can try to hit a moving target, which is decidedly more interesting.
Beside Salmon, the Upper Pitt offer year round fly fishing for sea run Cutthroat Trout, Bull Trout and Rainbow Trout. When the Coho are off the bite, the Sea Run Bull Trout seldom gets the blues and are willing and impressive on fly tackle.
Alexei shared that the Upper Pitt had record rainfall the week before my arrival, swelling the river sufficiently for a fresh batch of Coho to enter the river. Correspondingly, water clarity had deteriorated, meaning that the Coho will be more challenging to be coaxed into eating a fly. We will need to use heavy fast sinking line to get the fly to their depth. I can imagine that such river bank conversation is not unique of our times. Perhaps a thousand years ago, in the Salmon camp of the indigenous Musqueam Indian tribes that dominated the Pitt River basin, the talk would have been similar to a fisherman of today. There would be apprehension if the run was late or weak, restlessness if the fish arrived but not the rain to draw them upriver to the spawning ground. But if the run were strong and the autumn rain arrived as promised, it would be met with gratitude. To those where such things matter, the coming of the Salmon has as much to do with a world view as anything, with a cosmos in and out of order.
This I suppose is the reason that I had travelled from the tropics to the sub-arctic, coaxed myself out of bed long before dawn, managed just enough coffee to stimulate consciousness, and wade into a freezing river in the cold autumn rain before sunrise. The Salmon run is is a confluence of origins and eventualities when for a moment, life wraps around and touches its own tail. But a fisherman must work hard to unravel the meaning, and finally, the fishing is only an argument, an inference about undisclosed things.
