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This is the first of a regular column on the new BC North Outdoors
web site. We will endeavour to keep people posted on the latest
outdoor news, items of interest, some tips and techniques especially
in regards to fishing, and try to generally inform, amuse or get
you thinking, though not necessarily in that order.
So, what are my qualifications on writing this column? Well, I
have spent most of my life selling tackle or doing some serious
field testing. With the amount of tackle I just have to have each
year, and the amount I've accumulated over the years, I have to
justify this as somehow more important than a hobby, therefore I
am field testing. Anyways, field testing sounds better than standing
in a river waving a stick.
Getting started
The best place to start is at the beginning and here is how I got
started. My first recollection of fishing was with my Dad in Southern
Ontario. We lived in Welland, right on the Welland Canal connecting
Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. Although my Dad kept me awake with stories
of huge pike and muskies it was kid-size fish that would ignite
my fishing passion and Southern Ontario had these in abundance.
Most ponds had assorted sunfish, perch or small bass perfect for
the classic bobber and worm that started most kids fish careers.
Since this was only a couple of years after the war and finances
were very limited, Dad and I went on our fishing trips not by car,
we could not afford one, but by CCM Express. I remember hoping for
close fishing spots as riding on the handlebars of the CCM left
me considerably worse for wear.
First trout
The first trout experience came when we moved to Lethbridge in
52. We made a trip into beautiful Waterton Park in South Alberta.
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At a cliffside pool on Cameron Creek, I hooked what was surely
the biggest trout in that little creek. Being only eight years old,
and since this was the first trout I had ever hooked, I decided
that this trout needed to be landed right now. Carefully playing
this fish was not on the agenda. Putting the rod over my shoulder
I ran up the steep bank as fast as I could. On topping the bank
I turned, only to see my prize fish unbuttoned, and now flopping
down the steep bank.
I dropped the rod and now ran down that steep bank, and as I recall,
much faster than I ran up it. This fish was not going to get away.
The fish made it to the water not too much before me. I landed about
midstream, and if I remember correctly, when I hit bottom there
was no sign of the fish. I think perhaps this early introduction
to the coldness of a mountain stream fed by a glacier has led to
a lifetime practice of careful wading.
Just the beginning
The loss of that first trout only whetted the appetite. The next
trout trip came months later with my new outdoor buddy and his Dad
on the Crowsnest River. They showed me how to put the single egg
on the snelled hook with a split shot about 30 cm up.
They then demonstrated by getting several bites per drift. OK,
OK let me try. It took quite a few tries to get the hang of it but
I finally hooked one and landed it. It was a monster. Well, not
really. That first trout was eight inches long, but, I was eight
years old, and that is an inch per year and I was going to get older.
I held that rainbow in my hands for what seemed a half hour; turning
it this way and that watching the colours play over the smooth skin.
I held in my hand what I thought to be one of god's most beautiful
creatures. I still think that way. It is nice to have some love
affairs that last, don't you think?
(PS - Bob is also a certified instructor with the Federation of
Fly Fishers)
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