CHAPTER XVII.

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.