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More Fishing in Canada

I have made several fishing trips to Canada over the years, the later ones being with my brother-in-law, Jay.  I can vividly remember being up on the Seal River on a bright sunny day, with our boat to the side of a waterfall. The water was so clear we could see right to the rocks on the bottom in ten to fifteen feet of water. On the rocks we could easily see northern pike waiting to ambush their next meal. They looked to be about 8 pounds each. I cast toward shore and reeled to the boat which was in deeper water, and was surprised that the fish showed no interest in my lure.  Later we tied the boat up to a branch on shore and the cast out and reeled in towards shore. This worked and we caught several nice sized Northerns. It was exciting because, in the clear water, we could see all the action as the northern took interest in our lures and then struck the lure.

We also fished near Ear Falls a number of times. Our cabin was on the English River. We cleaned our fish, but then, in order to not attract bears near the cabin, took the guts and heads and dumped them on the other side of the river. Sure as day, a mother and her cubs found the fish guts and we were able to watch them from what we considered a safe vantage point on the other side of the river. I was soon to learn that a river is no obstacle at all for a bear. After the fish were gone, the mother decided to lead her cubs across to our side of the river. It took them less than a minute to cross. Luckily she had seen us and purposely led her cubs downriver so as to avoid contact with us.

One occasion, Jay had caught a northern, but while trying to get it off the hook, the fish jumped around and swallowed the hook and somehow caused it to embed deep into Jay’s hand. I had to cut the fish to pieces to get it out of the way. But the hook was firmly embedded in Jay’s hand, and we decided we had to go back to the cabin to work on getting it out. It was a windy day, and while we were busy with getting the fish off the hook, the boat had blown into shore and grounded on some rocks. I had to get out of the boat, and lift and push it off the rocks, while Jay tried to run the motor with one hand.  When the boat was clear I had to jump in before it was out of reach of shore, and the rocks were quite slippery.  We made it back to camp where we determined it would take some surgery to get the hook out of Jay’s hand. In true western fashion, I told Jay to down a couple of beers, and then brace his hand on a post. I got a firm grip on the lure and told him to look away and count to three.  On the count of two I gave it a hard quick pull, and the hook came out, but it tore a hole in his hand.  I pulled on the count of two because I was afraid he would flinch on the count of three. From then on, I was known as the trip’s doctor.