Dear Debbie,
Many years ago (the first week of July 1962) when I was a young buck (26), in the air force stationed at the Chatham RCAF airbase I decided that I wanted to take up fishing for Atlantic salmon. I thought at the time, because I was an experienced trout fisherman and fly tier that it would be fairly simple. Wrong.
Anyway, I jumped in my car, not aware of the restrictions on river access, and headed out for a day on the river. I guess it was my luck day because after many efforts to find a place on the river where I could fish I stumbled onto an older guy (maybe 50) sitting on the porch of a red shingled house looking out onto a beautiful stretch of the LSWM between Red Bank and Sillikers.
He asked me what the hell I wanted and would I care for a shot of rum, (black diamond dom’a) I told him that I was looking for a place to catch a salmon and yes, I would enjoy a shot. He listened to my tale of plight and he seemed pretty amused at my story. He then asked to see my gear and that gave him another good chuckle. He said that even a 3lb grilse would bust my gear up pretty bad.
Anyway, he pointed to the river and said I could help myself. He watched me for about an hour and a half and then wandered down the river with an old cane rod and suggested that I try that rig. As I nearly killed myself slipping and sliding on the slipperiest bowling ball rocks that I ever walked on I got back on shore and looked at the rod he was offering me to use.
It had an old orange coloured D level line about 10-12 feet of leader and a little fly he called a green butt. He pointed to an old tree and said if I looked into the river I’d see a white rock with a couple of black stripes running from side to side. I looked and sure enough I saw the rock and said so, he then told me to look at the back and downstream of the rock, to my surprise I could see a couple of shadows moving around behind that rock.
He told me that I was looking at a couple of little grilse, about 3-5 lbs. I was going to flip my line out while I was right there beside the rock like I would for a trout, but was told to go upstream about forty feet and cast out midstream and let my fly drift across in front of the rock. Somewhere about the fifth trip through the “pool” and the hundredth cast I felt a bump on the fly and “set the hook” nothing. That got another chuckle and a comment to the effect that I was in too big a hurry. Let him rest a bit, go around again and if you feel a pull say “slow and sure takes the fish home” then lift your rod tip. Feeling a bit stupid and chaffed, I did what I was told to do. The next trip down through the pool I felt a hard pull and saw a big swirl of a dorsal fin, I said “slow and sure takes the fish home” and lifted my rod tip, hard. After what seemed to be forever, (about 5 min) with a lot of slipping, yelling, and a voice saying “don’t horse him”, we had the prettiest little grilse I’ve ever caught on the bank.
This was my introduction to “Harry Blackmore” one of the nicest men I’ve ever met on the river, he killed my first fish for me, cleaned it, and wrapped it up in some newspaper, soaked it in the river and put a plastic bag for me to take home. I’ve never forgotten this experience. That was 40 or so years ago.
Since that time I have lived in Quebec, Ontario, Alberta and again in Ontario. I’ve had some pretty good fishing experiences, but none that I remember as well as my first salmon that I caught only because of a fellow angler – Harry.
Debbie, you are probably wondering why you’re getting this e-mail tonight. Well the reason is simple. I was watching today’s showing of the “New Fly Fisher” on the Outdoor Life Network. The host started talking about fishing on the Little SW and mentioned Harry’s name. The memories flooded back and I have to tell me story to someone, connect with my past love of fishing with Harry. I was stationed at Chatham AFB till 1968 when I was transferred to Camp Borden, Ont. These six years were the best years of my life. You are truly fortunate to have camps there in Gods Country. Someday I hope to be down your way.
I look forward to meeting you.
Yours truly,
Phil Thomas
P.S. Are you related to Harry?
CLOSE THIS WINDOW