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I won’t soon forget one such expedition a few years back when manager Kevin Barry and I dropped into a new spot and stepped off the pontoon, Kev with his net and I with my hookless orange bomber. The mouth of the creek yielded no promise, but once we moved up to the first big pool, mahem! With the first “slap” of the bomber, a 5# brookie grabbed it and streaked up and down the pool. He wasn’t trying to dislodge the fly, but rather doing his best to keep it away from the 5 or 6 brookies that were in hot pursuit of his “meal”. Kev slipped down into the dark water under the alders and pushed the big net below the surface, ready to scoop. I put heavy pressure on the trout to wear him down for the net, forgetting in the moment that there was no hook on my fly. Just as Kev pushed the rim of the net under the trout’s head, he spit the fly. wb state electricity board recruitment 2015 And once he let go, the waters boiled as the other trout – all in the 5 – 7 pound range – fought viciously for it. Before we left, I had come within a half a fish-length of landing a dozen trout. . . all on a hookless bomber.

And I do fish myself from time to time. One of my more “tedious” duties is scouring our corner of the Canadian Shield for new streams that just might hold worthwhile brookies, a task I take on days when weather is lovely and the float plane has light duty. Point is, through personal angling experiences and my limited guiding over nineteen summers in the bush, I have seen hundreds of trophy brook trout hooked, prematurely celebrated, then lost (“F#&K!”) somewhere short of the landing net.

Whether it’s your first time on a trophy river or you’ve fished ’round the world, the first move most fly anglers make once a large fish has struck their fly is to reel in slack line in order to engage the reel’s drag in the fight. When “getting on the reel”, should you hook the fly line with your rod hand index finger and the fish happens to run, snap! and he’s gone. If you don’t hook the line, you’ll leave loops of slack and should the fish come toward you, again, he’s likely to throw the hook.

Recommended tactic: Keep your fly line in your line hand. Gently pay out line through your thumb and forefinger as needed when the fish runs. Should he turn back toward you, swiftly haul in the slack line. At some point, the fish will run far enough to put himself on the reel. If not, he will settle down and give you the few moments needed to reel in the slack line.

Our freestone streams in Labrador, like many I’m sure you fish, have strong currents. Attempting to land a large brookie in such currents is a frail and faulty plan for several reasons. The rush of the water will triple the effective weight of the trout on your line, often snapping your leader or pulling smaller flies out of their purchase. The stronger currents usually mean deeper water, a place your guide will fear to tread. o gastro Remember, fast water is to a big fish what the “briar patch” was for Br’er Rabbit – the place where he holds a sizable advantage and where he feels the safest. emitra electricity bill payment Lastly, fighting a 5# brookie in fast water for too long will weaken him to the point where he may well become pike food upon release.

Proper tactic: Let your hog run with the fast current, perhaps to a plunge pool with calmer seas. DON’T LOCK YOUR LINE. Once you have a solid command of your quarry, scout for an area of quieter water. As you fight the fish, carefully guide him there with side rod pressure. Wade towards that landing spot. Make sure you communicate with your guide if you have one with you. The spot you pick may pose difficulties for his duties and require a Plan B. He’ll let you know. As the fish tires, the calm water will significantly increase your odds of sliding him over the rim of the big net.

Proper tactic: As you guide your catch towards that safe landing zone, regardless of how spent he may seem, remember, he WILL make an abrupt about-face when he sees that net. DON’T lock up your line. DON’T try to pull him those last two or three feet. ANTICIPATE his sudden run and keep him safely on the drag of the reel. Don’t allow his last-ditch efforts to spoil your day.

Today it’s raining here in Labrador and I am moved to post a new entry. So moved not only by the dreary weather, but by the peaceful hour I spent yesterday reading through the TRL guest book, starting at the beginning. 1998 – no blogging, no social media, a scarce email here and there. Got me to thinking of the thousands of hand-written letters and notes I once scribbled, stamped and slipped through the mail slot. Couldn’t help noticing that our early guests used to write as well, and write beautifully of their observations and Labrador memories in the guest book. And in cursive, for god’s sake! (Now, they snap a pic and post on Facebook.) With each passing season, the entries became fewer and shorter. electricity and magnetism physics Last year, only five guests (out of 85) took on the bother.

Times, they are a-changin’, for sure. But I like to think of this fishing camp of ours as stuck in the “old days, olden ways”. Same sweet faces, same warm cabins, the same old generator humming in the back field. Even half our guests are returning friends. ‘Stuck in our old ways’ is a good feeling for me and our returning guests as well, I think – a source of contentment, perhaps even pride. This wilderness scoffs at modern invention and I think we’ve managed to find an suitable arrangement with both.

Scott, Kevin, JoAnne, Don, Rob, Charlie, and Dave, our 1st week’s guests, converged on the dock this past Friday. Our summer has begun with excited faces – hand-shakes with the newbies and dock hugs for our old friends. ‘Put your arms around me and just leave them there.’ (as Bill Morrissey sang) Weather was perfect for the first three days, but today the Labrador odds caught up with us. Supposed to rain the rest of the week, not near enough, however, to dampen TRL spirits.

I don’t put too much stock in omens, but this morning after the anglers were well on their way to the fishing holes, Frances, Judy and I were having a bite when we heard a rustling in the Tilt, the sitting room just off the dining lodge. We peeked around the doorway to see a goldeneye duck rattling around in the fireplace. grade 9 electricity quiz The fire screen had her jailed to the front and the firebox to the rear. She frantically wing-whipped soot about the room as I swung open the side of the fire screen. She hopped out and into the wood box, then ran through the door that Judy held open, headed for the light. When the duck took flight for the water’s edge, Sam, my younger golden, leapt off the porch in full chase, hauling up just short of the lake’s edge as the frightened girl fluttered into the gray mist. (action to fast for pics, Facebook fans).