The great charm of fly-fishing is that we are always learning ... Theodore Gordon
|The following stories were written by my good friend Muddler. Born in 1930, Muddler spent his childhood on the banks of the Mersey River, Nova Scotia, using the name Jim Pinhey. I'd known him for about thirty years but didn't start fishing with him until a few years ago, and back then the only fly I ever saw on the end of his line was a Muddler Minnow (in fact I doubt that he used a Blue Charm like he says he did in this first story). By observation, it was he who taught me how to fish traditional wet flies, such as the Dark Montreal and the Brown Hackle, and especially .... the Muddler.
Pat a.k.a. Dryfly, April 2001
Muddler on the Torrent River in Newfoundland
Muskrat versus Man and Wader
The occasional rise of a salmon, the scenery, a perfect day to be on this particular stretch of water, not far from the main branch, and where at times you waited more than fished. As far as I can remember (age distorts ones memory) my choice of fly was a Blue Charm. Only two others were competing for that feeling of the first strike. A number of casts placed my fly near the last rise. One more cast, I thought, then move along. As the fly swung around a sudden pull - a blood pressure surge - and success! I said to myself. Strong short runs, no jumps - good size I thought. Slowly reeling in, anxious to get a good look at my adversary, to my surprise up came the head of a Muskrat, still fighting. As I attempted to get him (or her - I was in no position to check gender) the nearest fisherman called "I'll come and release him," an offer I couldn't refuse. As he neared my prize trophy it got a bit more agitated and as he reached for the line a quick frantic jump (Muskrat Style) and an even quicker nip took a piece out of his waders. "You **#&#*0 * (to the Muskrat I hope), you put a hole in my new waders," then stormed off - leaving me holding the bag, and the Muskrat. The remaining chap came over and snipped the leader freeing us both. At least I saved a tag!
The Mark of a True Fisherman
On one of the famous Cape Breton rivers, fishing with my brother, five years older, I learned two lessons; what a true fisherman is and how not to cast in the wind. Halfway down the pool, trying to reach that perfect spot, I felt something hit my ear on the forward cast, no pain, just a dull thud. No line on the water either. Expecting to find the fly hooked in my clothing, I followed the line back and came to my right ear, finding the fly embedded solidly through the ear. My brother came over, said that it was pretty well through. Looking longingly at the pool he said "I don't have my cutters here, but we can cut it out when we go up for a bite to eat." This we did, in spite of the odd looks I received from those who gave me more room because of my casting, or as one chap said, "Get a load of the old guy with the fly in his ear."
The Mersey River
The Mersey River was once well known as one of the best salmon rivers on the south shore. Even though the Guzzle and Markland hydro plants (small and utilizing only a modest portion of the river flow) were in existence, the main branch of the river remained good salmon territory. As I have noted in some of my stories, salmon would attempt to gain access to their old spawning area by coming up the tailrace to the Guzzle, but they were only a small portion of the run. Construction of Cowie Falls, Deep Brook and Lower Great Brook developments (even with the provision of fish ladders) did not help, as diversion of the main river interfered with the salmons normal route. Storage of pulpwood in the various headponds, and eventually running it down river to the paper mill at Brooklyn, resulted in bark buildup throughout the river system, covering spawning beds. Having spent many hours on the river I can remember quite well, in times of low water, the layers of bark which had accumulated over the years.
Memories of the Guzzle and the one-armed fisherman
The house where I was born (picture taken from up a pine tree).
The Guzzle plant is the long building behind the house.
I was born and grew up at a place called the Guzzle, not because of the drinking habits there, but because there was a hydro plant owned and operated by the Nova Scotia Power Commission, for whom my dad worked as an operator. This plant was a horizontal type turbine, the flume or penstock which carried the water to the turbine was a wooded sluice, approximately twelve feet square. The tailrace, which carried the water away from the plant, was about three hundred feet from our back door. As this plant used water that had been diverted from the Mersey River salmon would quite frequently come up this channel which provided a good fishing spot, and from which my Dad and brother took quite a few fish.
One of the other plant operators had been unfortunate in that he had lost his right arm in an accident, however that didn't stop him from fishing for salmon. On the main river he would pole his boat out, anchor and enjoy the sport. I have watched him hook and play and land a fish using a small cup-like device on his belt where he placed the butt of the rod, and when he had the fish played, gaff (a word we purists hate) the fish with his good arm controlling things with body motions, standing in the boat in midstream.
I remember talking to him one evening while he was on duty in the plant (I spent a lot of time there), and he told me he had landed a good fish that day. "About this long," he said, holding out his left (and only) hand. "How long?" I asked. Again the hand came out. Then I clued in as I saw his right foot rise off the floor. "Nice fish," I said. Many fond memories are centered around the Guzzle and the trout and salmon fishing that is now almost only a memory (More to come in future thoughts, for example ... The one that couldn't get away).
Hook : Mustad 9671 Size 6
Tail : Narrow red feather segment
Butt : Two turns oval gold tinsel
Rib : Oval gold tinsel
Body : Yellow wool
Hackle : Blue, tied in as a throat
Wing : Red squirrel tail
Reprinted from Modern Atlantic Salmon Flies
by Paul Marriner
Once upon a time, as the story goes, the Mersey River on Nova Scotia's South Shore was a productive salmon river. Multiple dams, abusive logging, and acid rain have consigned it to history, likely permanently.
The Mersey's run was mainly grilse, and arrived in May or June, although those prepared to head to the river in August often found fresh fish heading upstream.
Tom Pinhey, the pattern's originator, lives near the Mersey and fished it from the 1940s until the last of the salmon disappeared.
This is his version of a fly that was quite popular on the river, and it still charms salmon in other Nova Scotia streams. Tom also had success with several simple trout-fly size patterns; these featured a wool or herl body and a couple of looped feather fibers for a wing.
The One That Couldn't Get Away
I was one of four brothers, the oldest, sort of an electric genius, built radios and other gismos, one of which was a crystal radio in a walnut shell which worked ! He was in the navy, and on one of his leaves he brought with him a movie camera. Being a pretty good fisherman himself he wanted to do a movie of my brother Tom and I fishing and catching a salmon, on the Mersey River. Tom had caught a grilse earlier that day, so we had the necessary props. You can imagine the actions of Tom and I poling the boat out to the run, casting, then a pause while we hooked the fish on the line, hoping it would stay as it was our supper, playing it with great actions then bringing it into the boat, displaying it for perfect shots. We were surprised how good the whole thing looked when we saw it. Today you would have a long wait to get the star of the show on the Mersey River, or for that fact, almost any river in Nova Scotia.
At Last .... Success !
Having visited my own favorite stream a few times with no success, and having taken one of my buddies to another stream, which is sort of the property of my most fiercest competitor, things started looking up as the day was cloudy, little or no wind, good water (not too high), here at Dryfly's Point. Making my way out on my favorite spot my eye caught the first sight of a rise, then another, and a surge of adrenaline was felt. I tried the fly which was already on the leader, a Muddler Minnow (.... what did you expect?), but no takers. More rises, more casts, no luck - time to try something else. No sign of anything on the water but I thought maybe a red Humpy would get some results. The second got results! A nice l2 inch speckled, deep body and beautifully colored. Trout were raising all around and as I fished I thought to myself, it's not the same without Dryfly here. He would have a dozen by now. However for now I'll try for a few more so I can say, "How many?" and for once be ahead of him.
The Canoe Escapade
Tom and I in the Guzzle tailpond
Every time I get into a canoe I think about the first canoe that Tom and I purchased for a song. It was a l2 foot one and not too stable, especially for beginners. We proceeded to the Guzzle headpond to try her out. After cruising around for a bit we became adventurous and headed for the spillway area. Adjacent to this structure was a bypass gate structure. Today the gate was up to get rid of excess water. This looked like a good place to try for a trout, with a bit of fast water. Unfortunately we underestimated the current, and the next thing we knew we were being drawn toward the opening. Frantic back-paddling was to no avail and through the opening we went. There was about a three foot dropoff which resulted in a sort of nosedive into the pool below resulting in sort of a submarine type landing followed by a cork-like type of surfacing. Probably the quickest bath we had ever had with no harm done, but lots of laughter.
A Shocking Experience
Our dad immigrated from England to Canada at about 18 years of age, worked on a farm in the Annapolis valley, and owned his own farm until heart conditions forced him to give up that life. He moved to the area of Milton, Queens County, N.S., and started work with what was then the Town of Liverpool Electric Company. The Guzzle plant was where he started as an operator and when it was shut down, due to the construction of the Deep Brook Development, worked as a gardener keeping flower gardens and shrubs in shape, which was just fine with him. He was a great gardener and, even though the area where we lived was in the woods, over time he managed to develop three garden areas, one of which was adjacent to the pond at the end of the Guzzle tailrace. This pond had a family of beavers who enjoyed the various products that he grew so Tom and I decided to find a way to protect his crops. We ran a wire from our barn down through the woods and along the shore, supporting it in that area about beaver nose high. Following construction a test was necessary. My dog King was a black lab and loved the water. I took him down to the waters edge, threw a stick out and away he went after it. Tom threw the switch and King came to shore, bounded (or started to) up the bank, hit the wire and went three feet into the air. He seemed to show no ill effects other than distrust of me for a while. The main thing we could report was that within a few days a rigid beaver was found on the shore and the plunder of turnips and cabbage ceased.
A Brief History of the Guzzle
In l893, the Acadian Pulp and Paper Co Ltd (later the MacLeod Power and Paper Ltd) established a pulp mill at Rapid Falls, 2 miles above Milton. Then in l900 a second dam and mill was built just downriver at Cowie Falls. In l899 the Town of Liverpool built their first small hydro plant at the mouth of Beaver Brook. This plant was superceded in l903 by the 20 ft head, 700 HP Guzzle Plant, about five and a half miles from Liverpool. Subsequently in l928 the Guzzle Plant was acquired by the Nova Scotia Power Commission, in connection with their plans for major development upstream near Rossignol, and at that time a second 700 HP turbine was added.
The Nova Scotia Power Commission
Ninth Annual Report
On September 11th, 1928, as the outcome of negotiations with the Town of Liverpool, an Agreement of Sale was signed, whereby the Commission took over the Town's hydro-electric plant at the Guzzle, on the Mersey River, and agreed to supply the Town's metered requirements of electric power and energy until November 1st, 1929, and agreed to enter, on or about May 1st, 1929, into a long term contract to supply the Town's requirement of power and energy at cost, commencing November 1st, 1929, or when the three developments under construction had been put into operation. At September 30th, 1928, the Commission was rehabilitating this plant and installing two 700 H.P. turbines, and corresponding generators.
N.S. Power Commission Work Order 657
Markland System - The construction of a Hydro-Electric Development on the Mersey River at What is Known as Deep Brook. 1948
This was the first job that I was employed on by N.S. Power and, ironically as it may seem, the job that led to the inevitable demise of the Guzzle.
The following is an excerpt from Work Order 657 ... After due consideration, it was decided that the Deep Brook site is the next proper step, and that it should be machined with two 6,000 HP turbines. Active work on the Development was commenced in the early Summer, with good progress having been made at the end of the year. The Development, however, will not be completed until early 1950
A Touch of Norway
I was fortunate to have the opportunity to visit Norway a few years back while my son was working there. Naturally I took my fishing gear along in case I got a chance to wet a fly and I can assure you I was glad I did. The beauty of this country, its clear streams and lakes are hard to describe, other than a fishermans paradise. What surprised me was that on the occasions that I was able to try my luck there was no competition. Co-workers of my son invited me on a couple of outings on excellent trout streams, and one in particular left vivid memories.
I met my "guide" after work at his office, about 5.30 p.m. and fished until 11.00, at which time dusk was upon us. The river was a fast water stream strewn with large boulders and many good holding spots.
I had tied a "creation" of mine, consisting of peacock herl body, brown hackle legs and gold pheasant tippets tail which worked well at home so I tried it. It seemed that every holding pool among the rocks had trout and I caught one after another. My partner was having some luck but wondered what I was using and was surprised the trout were not more selective. After some time it seemed I was losing my touch or the fly was, as I would have good raises and feel the strike but no success. Examination of the fly showed no curved portion of hook, probably lost on a frantic backcast to a difficult lie. As darkness descended upon us we were forced to head back to our vehicle and home. At that time of year there was only about four or five hours of darkness.
|Tom the Fly Tyer
Brother Tom started fishing at an early age, and the state of our finances dictated the need to provide flies from whatever sources were available. Fortunately my mother kept chickens which was a great source of material, and in addition we would shoot the odd partridge to supplement the feather needs. Squirrels were the main source of fur, their tails being widely used (as they are now). At one time he was encouraged to enter a selection of his handiwork in the Queens County exhibition at Caledonia and won a prize. He is always creating new patterns and I am amazed at the tiny creations he produces.
One evening when we were fishing at the Red Bank pool on the Margaree it was nearing dusk when he hooked and landed a nice salmon on a small yellow wing fly with a peacock herl body, tied on a size twelve hook. The wing was a loop type and a couple of the other fishermen were not too impressed with it, but like a lot of his creations, it worked. The fly shown on this web page (the Pinhey Special) has proven very successful for both trout and salmon. Even now he produces small flies that would drive me up the wall to tie (although I did manage to tie these two).
The Mersey Lodge
Before the construction of Lower Great and Deep Brook Developments, the Mersey Paper operated a Lodge a few miles below No.3 (Big Falls). Visitors to the mill and staff were hosted here where they could enjoy the benefits of the Mersey River, including salmon fishing. The manager of the Lodge was a good friend of my dads, and purchased various produce from our gardens. In addition to that he would from time to time need a number of broilers (small chickens) for a dinner. My mother was the "manager" of this branch of the business and Tom and I were the hired hands. I remember vividly on one occasion, when a request for a dozen or more were required on short notice, the scene in the yard. A head would be lopped off, the chicken still hopping and spraying blood far and wide, until there was a melee of bloody, headless birds going in all directions. The next step was the dunking in boiling water and the stripping of the feathers, followed by the removal of the innards.
Another source of a little income was the odd time that the manager would need a salmon for a special do. Going price was one dollar for a grilse, five for a salmon. One of my biggest paydays was when I was able to supply a nice salmon and the five dollars was mine. How I got that fish only Tom can tell.
Moose Lake Camp
Along with two of my old fishing partners, one of which is now deceased, I was able to enjoy a few fishing trips on the headwaters of the Ingram River. Glenn Westhaver introduced me to the area some years before he died and we spent a few nights at his camp on Moose Lake which had belonged to his father. Nearby was the remains of his grandfather's original camp.
During our evenings in camp he would entertain me with stories of his boyhood experiences such as walking into the camp after school so that he could be at one of his favorite pools early in the morning. This involved an 8 mile trek from the Ingramport area. The quantity and size of the trout were probably exaggerated (as most fish stories are) but I was soon to learn that trout in the surrounding pools were plentiful and of good size.
Access to the camp was via Bowaters road to a spot near the foot of Bates Lake, thence by boat to the lakehead, then a twenty minute plus or minus hike, depending on the pack you carried, thence across a second lake via another boat, a short hike to a third boat which got us to the camp.
Due to dumping of garbage, especially large household items such as refrigerators, the Bowater road has been closed to all vehicles except those with special permits. Our last trip was by four wheeler which is not the best way by far to get to our first boat, a distance of 6 miles or so.
Fond memories of trips which resulted in as many trout as you wished to catch and keep, but before present day restrictions, only a few were taken home, in addition to one feed in camp.
The camp location, only a short row to the run, plus its access to at least six more good pools plus runs, is a fly-fisherman's paradise.
The last report on the camp was that it is badly in need of repairs due to wind damage to the roof. Possibly something has been done but it would be unfortunate to lose this bit of history.
First to the Pool
On one trip to the camp on Moose Lake with my fishing buddy Reg and his son Garth, weather and water conditions were good. Garth and I were a bit competetive and we both knew the hot spots and would make a poorly disguised effort to be the first at certain ones. Many jokes and remarks were made regarding this "competition". The utmost challenge was the pool at the foot of Falls Lake where the remains of an old logging dam provided a perfect spot for the "Big One" to lie. Until this trip we were about even in the competition but Garth, more like a Bull Moose in heat, beat me to it, and as I was emerging from the bushes I heard his triumphant yell and saw him pull a nice twelve inch plus speckled out on the shore. I was relegated to the area above the old dam, which was loaded with sunken logs and part of the old cribwork. I tried a few half hearted casts, then from amidst the logs saw a beauty rise and take the fly (a Muddler I think). I got him away from the mess and was able to land him. Even Garth had to admit he was a little bigger than his. Being first didn't matter in the end.
This was proven again when Garth and I met two chaps at the foot of the run at Hand Lake and asked them whether they had fished the run up to Falls Lake. "Yeah, and never saw a thing," was the answer. We fished our way to the top of the run and had good luck in almost every pool.
The Oldman River
Anyone that has watched fishing programs on tv, or read fishing stories from the various sports magazines, is probably familiar with the above name. On one visit to Calgary to visit our son I was fortunate to get an invitation to go for a days fishing. Norman, a geologist with the same outfit as my son Scott, is an avid fisherman and had previously sent me data on other spots that I could try, complete with which flies would work best. After a two-hour drive south of Calgary, over flat prairie and ranch land with the mountains in the distance on our right, we arrived at our destination. The river at this point had carved a channel through the prairie so that access was down a steep bank to riverside, then along the shore with sort of a canyon wall behind us. We fished upriver, stopping for lunch and finally exiting by shinnying up a steep bank. At one point as we progressed I was near the top of my chest waders with a sheer rock wall at my back, but Norman assured me I was ok. Fast water, deep pools, runs and little backwater eddys provided a variety of challenges. Wet or dry flies worked equally well on rainbow, speckled and cutthroat trout. At times the inability to get a fly to the far side where trout were continually rising was frustrating.
On our return along the top of the cut I could see a spot, below where we had started, with a sharp turn and fairly rapid water. We descended down to this spot and Norman quickly landed a couple of nice speckled. After a few attempts to reach across the fast water to the eddy I was rewarded with a vicious strike and eventually a 22 inch rainbow which ended up on the table the next night for dinner.
On a later trip through the area, with my wife Carol, I stopped at a spot further up the river and said, "I'll just be a few minutes. I want to try that spot where a few logs have formed a bit of a pool." Down over the bank (it's funny how things are so easy when you're going fishing and so difficult when you're coming back), across the shallows from rock to rock until I could reach the pool. Two casts and a nice rainbow was landed and released. A few more casts - another good strike and downstream went this one with no thought of coming back, over some white water and rocks with the final result of freedom, complete with my fly and part of my leader. As you can guess my "few minutes" were gone so I started back to the car. It must have been twice as far and the bank was twice as steep and much higher, but it was worth it. In these days of drought (summer 2001) mental images of this river quite often come to mind, and I'm thankful I had the opportunity to visit the Oldman and someday, maybe, have another go.
The summer of 2001 was a sad time for NS fishermen as low and warm water resulted in little activity after mid-June. A couple of spots where water was being discharged from dams provided some action and even in late August I was able to pick up a couple of nice brookies below a dam where water was being bypassed.
One day in late July I decided I would visit my favorite river for the last time and as I suspected it was very low, with just a small stream entering the lake where I usually had good luck. Feeling discouraged I was about to head for home, but decided to take one last look at 'the back pool' where there were always a few trout rising.
The short hike through the woods brought me to a place where the 'normal' crossing of a cove was tricky at times even in chest waders. It was only about ten inches deep and I walked across and could see mostly green growth near my favorite spot. A very small brook enters there so having come this far I decided to cast over the area with a grasshopper imitation. It had hardly settled on the surface when it was gone with a splash, a ten-inch brookie, which I released as quickly as possible. After a few more raises I attempted to get the fly near the far bank, with the result of the line and fly ending up on top of some tall grass. With a quick jerk of the rod the fly flew out and had hardly hit the water when it was gone in a flash, a nine-inch brookie which I released. Then using the same tactic (this time on purpose) I got the same result three more times! A later visit was not as successful.
One important observation I would like to point out; one of the first trout became lodged in the weeds for a minute or two and appeared active on release. As I was leaving the pool I saw a trout belly up and it could not be revived. This was my last trip to the 'back pool', as I am sure it was the trout that had gotten tangled up and the extra exertion, coupled with warm water, resulted in his demise.
The Ingram River
A number of my fishing experiences relate to the Ingram River and its watershed which includes the following lakes; starting from the outlet at Ingramport to it's headwaters of Falls Lake.
From tidewater to River Lake there is a small run over which the No. 3 highway and the old railway (this is now part of the rails to trails) cross, before reaching the foot of River Lake. The lake is divided in two by a wide run, the upper section being the larger section and into which the Ingram River flows creating a perfect pool. In addition there is a small run from Kiley Lake and another small run that enters in a more shallow backwater. River Lake is accessible by boat, canoe, or foot depending on your ability to move the former vessels to a launching spot. Looking upriver the main trail is to the left of the lake. At one time there was access to the lakeshore on the right-hand side but that was closed off due to garbage being disposed of in the area.
From the rivers entry into River Lake upstream to the foot of Snake Lake there are many small pools and runs, in some cases nice pools caused by what at times long past had been small holding dams for logging. Highway 103 crosses the river at about the halfway mark and the bridge structure provides a nice pool. From here to Snake Lake there are only two fair sized pools, one where there appears to have been some sort of structure and another under the transmission line crossing. At the outlet of Snake there is a short run emptying into a deep hole and then a short run into a nice corner pool.
The few times I have fished Snake lake provided some luck as the lake narrows and then leads into a long run to Pogwa Lake. Years ago during a Scouting trip fellow Scouter Mel Dauphinee Sr. (now deceased) and I followed an old trail from logging operations up to where the run leaves Pogwa, and camped on the beach that night. I have not been back there since I took my boat into the west side of the lake and visited the site again, but I would think there are some good pools in the outlet run.
Pogwa Lake is a ghostshaped lake, and the river enters on the right shoulder. It is at this spot where I have had some of the best fishing on the river. Unfortunately this is not accessible as the Bowater Road is closed, so unless you have an atv or dirt bike etc. it's a long walk, and a hard uphill bike ride. From this point up to the foot of Bates Lake there are many pools and runs, deep holes, and just below the lake a deep large pool resulting from the old logging dam, remains of which are still in existence. It has been some time since I fished the area but was surprised to take a few brown trout from the area above the old dam.
The lower end of Bates narrows, after leaving the pool above the old dam, into a short rocky run, and in the past provided good fishing, although not the few times I have passed through. Our trips to the camp at Moose Lake mentioned in other stories usually began from a spot where the Mersey Road comes close to the lakeshore about a quarter mile above the Old Annapolis Road. At this point there is a small brook entering, with a beaver dam before reaching the main lake. The first of our boats was stored here, which took us up the lake to a second boat located not far from the river outlet. This was our first stop and provided good fishing many times. On one trip, one of our party (Garth) hooked, played and landed a nice grilse and released same. Gaspereaux are also common in this lake and further up the watershed.
From this point it was about a twenty-minute walk to our next boat, however there are pools along this stretch of river which have provided great sport. I recall one trip when my son-in-law Peter and I took a boat that we had repaired up from home, and after towing it up Bates poled and walked it up to Simey Lake. As we neared the last good pool it started to snow, and fish started showing. The season was open and rods were put into action with excellent results.
Simey is a small lake with Moose Brook entering the east side. This provides a great spot for small flies, as does the river entry at the head of the lake. Here again there seems to be the remains of an old dam which provides a deep hole and, at times, great action just at the drop-off. A short walk through the woods to the next boat on Moose Lake, then a row across to the camp shown in previous story completes the first day. The run between Simey and Moose is short and shallow rocky terrain provides little chance to fish.
Moose Lake is difficult to write about because of the many memories I have with my friends, and the times spent with Glenn Westhaver (camp owner). He was a true woodsman, and I owe a lot to him for information he passed along. We would take the boat over to the run and have great sport, until the setting sun would see us back to camp for tea or something stronger. There have been times when the number of fish landed was forgotten, as few were kept other than for food and to bring some out.
From Moose to Hand Lake the river is rocky, the odd pool and, depending on water level, will provide some good fishing. Just below Hand Lake, which is almost a two part Lake, there are two good pools. In the past there used to be a large tree across the river, which provided access, and later a wire which enabled crossing by holding on (unless very high water), at which time the boat provided access to the west side and a trail up to Hand. A boat at Hand took us across to the outlet from Falls Lake. There is also a trail through to that spot but sometimes may be hard to find. After the outlet from Falls Lake is a short run of river with pool after pool, two with good waterfalls, but we have had good luck in most of the smaller pools. At the foot of Falls the remains of an old dam provides a really good spot, especially above the dam except for sunken logs. Flies work better.
My experience with Falls Lake is limited to one trip with another group, when most fishing was done by trolling, which I find boring compared to working the river. This is a large lake and gets some overflow from Big St. Margarets in high water times (Falls is referred to as South on the map I am looking at).
I realize I have let my memories get involved in the physical description but maybe that will make it more interesting.
|Tales||Casting contest I Tangier River I Boyhood memories I Newfie salmon I Muddler's memories I Does a bear? I First ever salmon I The Tickmobile|
|U-Fish I 4 a.m. I Lyin seasun I Anecdotes I Fishgirl salmon I A natural fly I Main Event I Honeymoon I Vernon I Leslie I Coyote? I Newfie trout|