Adventures of an Angler in Canada, Nova Scotia and the United States

by Charles Lanman

I must now give you some account of my experience in the way of salmon-fishing with the fly, of which glorious sport I have recently had an abundance. If, however, I should give you a number of episodes, you will please to remember that “it is my way,” and that I deem it a privilege of the angler to be as wayward in his discourse as are the channels of his favourite mountain streams.

My first salmon expedition of the season was to the St. Margaret River. I had two companions with me; one an accomplished fly-fisher of Quebec, and the other the principal man of Tadousac, a lumber merchant. We went in a gig-boat belonging to the latter, and, having started at nine o’clock, we reached our place of destination by twelve. We found the river uncommonly high, and a little rily. We made a desperate effort, however, and threw the line about three hours, capturing four salmon, only one of which was it my privilege to take. He was a handsome fellow, weighing seventeen pounds, and in good condition; he afforded my companions a good deal of fun, and placed me in a peculiar situation. He had taken the hook when I was wading in swift water up to my middle, and as soon as he discovered his predicament, he made a sudden wheel and started down the stream. My rod bent nearly double, and I saw that I must give him all the line he wanted; and having only three hundred feet on my reel, I found it necessary to follow him with all speed. In doing so I lost my footing, and was swept by the current against a pile of logs; meantime, my reel was in the water and whizzing away at a tremendous rate. The log upon which I depended, happened to be in a balancing condition, and, when I attempted to surmount it, it plunged into the current and floated down the stream, having your humble servant astride of one end, and clinging to it with all his might. Onward went the salmon, the log, and the fisherman. Finally, the log found its way into an eddy of the river, and, while it was swinging about as if out of mere malice, I left it, and fortunately reached the shore. My life having been spared, I was more anxious than ever to take the life of the salmon which had caused the ducking, and so I held aloft my rod, and continued down the stream over an immense number of logs and rocks, which seemed to have been placed there for my especial annoyance. On coming in sight of my fish, I found him in still water, with his belly turned upward and completely drowned. I immediately drew him on a sand-bank near by, and, while engaged in the reasonable employment of drying my clothes, my brother fishermen came up to congratulate me upon my success, but laughing in the meantime most heartily. The lumber merchant said, that the log I had been riding belonged to him, and it was his intention to charge me one shilling for my passage from the rift where I had hooked the salmon to the spot where I had landed him, which was in full view of the Saguenay; and my Quebec friend remarked, that he knew the people of Yankee-land had a queer way of doing things, but he was not acquainted with their peculiar mode of taking salmon. As may be readily imagined, we retraced our steps back to the log shantee where we had stopped, and, having carefully stowed away our salmon, we laid aside our fishing tackle, and made arrangements for a little sport of another kind.

The hamlet of St. Margaret, where we spent the night, contains some eight or ten log shantees, which are occupied by about twenty families, composed of Canadians, Indians, and half-breeds. They obtain their living by “driving” logs, and are as happy as they are ignorant. Anxious to see what we could of society among this people, we sent forth a manifesto calling upon the citizens generally to attend a dance at the cabin of a certain man, whom we had engaged to give the party at our expense. Punctual to the appointed hour the assembly came together. Many of the men did not take the trouble even to wash their hands, or put on a coat before coming to the party; but the women were neatly dressed, with blue and scarlet petticoats, over which were displayed night-gowns of white cotton. The fiddler was an Indian, and the dancing-hall (some twelve feet square) was lighted with a wooden lamp, supplied with seal-oil. The dance was without any particular method, and when a gentleman wished to trip the light fantastic toe, he only had to station himself on the floor, when one of his friends would select his partner, and lead her up for his acceptance. The consequence was, that if a man wished to dance with any particular lady, he was obliged to make a previous arrangement with his leading-up friend. The fiddler not only furnished all the music, but also performed a goodly portion of the dancing—fiddling and dancing at the same time. The supper was laid on the table at ten o’clock, and consisted principally of dried beaver-tail and cariboo meat, fried and boiled salmon, (which was cooked out of doors near the entrance to the cabin), rye-bread, maple molasses, and tea.

The party broke up at twelve o’clock; when we retired to the cabin where we had secured lodgings, and it is an actual fact, that our sleeping-room on that night was occupied not only by ourselves, but by two women, one man, and four children, (divided into three beds), all members of the same family, with whom we had succeeded in obtaining accommodations. On the following morning we rose at an early hour, and again tried our luck at salmon-fishing, but only killed a few trout; whereupon we boarded our gig and started down the romantic Saguenay, telling stories and singing songs.

Another river in this region which affords good salmon fishing is the Esquemain. It empties itself into the St. Lawrence about twenty miles east of the Saguenay. It is a cold, clear, and rapid stream, abounding in rapids and deep pools. At its mouth is situated a saw-mill, but its water-works are so managed as not to interfere with the salmon. The fish of this stream ascend to a great distance, and, though rather small, are exceedingly abundant.

The best fishing in the river is at the foot of a waterfall, which forms a sheet of foam, about one mile above the mouth. My Quebec friend accompanied me to this place, and, though we only threw the fly about six hours (three in the evening and three in the morning), yet we killed thirteen salmon, without losing a single line, and with the loss of only three flies.

Owing to the bushy shores of the stream, we were compelled to fish standing upon boulders situated in its centre; and whenever we hooked a fish, there was no alternative but to plunge into the current and trust to fortune. For some unaccountable reason (of course it could not have been our fault), we lost more than half of those we hooked; but it was worth a moderate fortune to see the magnificent leaps which the fish performed, not only when they took the fly, but when they attempted to escape. There was not one individual that did not give us a race of at least half a mile. The largest taken during this expedition was killed by my companion, and caused more trouble than all his other prizes. Not only did this fellow attempt to clear himself by stemming the foam of a rapid, and rubbing his nose against a rock to break the hook, but he also swept himself completely round a large boulder, poked his head into a net, and ran with the speed of lightning to the extreme end of his line. It took my friend forty minutes to land this salmon; and I can assure you that he was particularly pleased when he found that his fish weighed one pound more than the largest I had taken. The fact was, our rods were almost precisely alike in length and strength; and, as two countries were represented in our persons, the strife between us was desperate. I will acknowledge that the Canada gentleman took the largest salmon; but the States’ angler took them in the greatest number.

Notwithstanding all the fine sport that we enjoyed on the Esquemain, I am compelled to state that it was more than counterbalanced by the suffering that we endured from the black fly and musquito. The black fly is about half as large as the common house fly, and, though it bites you only in the day-time, they are as abundant in the air as the sand upon the sea-shore, and venomous to an uncommon degree. The musquito of this region is an uncommonly gaunt, long-legged, and hungry creature, and his howl is peculiarly horrible.

We had been almost devoured by the black flies during the afternoon, and as soon as darkness came, we secured a couple of beds in a Frenchman’s house, and as we tumbled in, congratulated ourselves upon a little comfortable repose. It was an exceedingly sultry night, and, though we were both in a complete fever from the fly-poison circulating in our veins, the heat excelled the fever, and our bodies were literally in a melting condition. We endeavoured to find relief by lying on the bare floor, with no covering but a single sheet; and this arrangement might have answered, had it not been for the flood of musquitoes which poured into the room, as one of us happened to open a window to obtain fresh air. Every spot on our bodies, which the flies had left untouched, was immediately settled upon by these devils in miniature. They pierced the very sheets that covered us, and sucked away at our blood without any mercy.

Unwilling to depart this life without one effort more to save it, we then dressed ourselves and sauntered into the open air. We made our way towards a pile of lumber near the saw-mill, and, without a particle of covering, endeavoured to obtain a little sleep; but the insect hounds soon found us out, and we bolted for another place. Our course now lay towards the rude bridge which spans the Esquemain, just above the mill. Our intentions at the time, though not uttered aloud, I verily believe were of a fearful character. On reaching the bridge, however, a refreshing breeze sprang up, and we enjoyed a brief respite from our savage enemies.