July 5 – 13 is National Fishing Week

A great time to explore our great Canadian fishing heritage. Log on to www.catchfishing.com to check on events in your area, including several license free fishing weekends across the country. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_Nj3BEttuc .

Your Never Too Old to Start Fishing!

The Grandfather teaches the father, who teaches the son. Perhaps true at one time but times have changed; we have become an urban society. Our food comes from the grocery store shelf and our entertainment comes from TV, videos, and computers. Our fathers likely didn’t grow up on the land or simply may not have been interested in the outdoors. Then there are all of the new Canadians that have arrived over the past couple of decades, who may never have even dreamed of having leisure hours, let alone spending them by a quiet stream or drifting down a secluded lake.

Newcomers to fishing can be intimidated by their lack of knowledge and often don’t know where to start. Rods, reels, tackle, waders, boats; plugs, spinners, poppers, divers, rattlers; nymphs, muddlers, dry, wet…no wonder people are intimidated. But fear not; the art of angling is an evolution you don’t have to know everything to get started. Believe me when I tell you that hidden deep in the past of every pro angler there is a story of that bumbling, fumbling first cast. Fishing is about the experience, even more than about catching fish. It might sound cliché, but it is true.

So just how does someone get started? First of all there are the rules; some legal and other based on etiquette.

The very first thing to do if you are considering a venture into the world of recreational fishing is to pick up a copy of the annual fishing regulations available from most stores that sell fishing equipment or directly from the provincial ministry responsible for hunting and fishing (Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources http://www.mnr.gov.on.ca/en/Business/LetsFish/index.html - other provinces have similar links). Take some time to read it. Failure to understand the seasons and catch limits of various species can be a costly mistake. Next, buy your fishing license. These are usually available at local tackle shops, marinas, etc.

Now, assuming you’ve read the rules for your area, you are legal, but, there are also some unwritten laws; the ones that will get you into trouble with your fellow fishermen. Everyone is out for a good time and there is an air of respect and camaraderie amongst the fishing fraternity. Newcomers are quickly welcomed, but just as quickly shunned if basic rules of etiquette are not followed. There is one all encompassing rule from which everything else flows: “Show respect for others and for the environment”. There are few things more irritating than drift fishing a short run and having someone walk right in beside you and cast over your line. Or, to see someone toss trash into a lake or river with no thought of the consequences.

Now that you’re legal and know the basic rule of fishing etiquette, where to start?

Don’t worry about costly equipment, most of the waters flowing into the great lakes, the waters of reservoirs, streams, and even town ponds contain healthy fish populations. A hook, line, rod, reel and a can of worms is really all you need to get started.

Different types of fish prefer to live and eat under different conditions. That includes things such as water temperature, depth, and clarity as well as the type and amount of bottom structure available. There is a wealth of information, in all types of media, to assist the novice angler acquire basic knowledge about fish habitat and structure. Your chance of success is greatly enhanced if you take the time to learn the habits of the species you are seeking. http://canadianbiodiversity.mcgill.ca/english/species/fish/index.htm

Today most people own or have access to a computer. A couple of clicks will put you in touch with all the expert advice you will ever need. All you need to do is go to your favourite search engine, type in the word “fishing” followed by the location you want to fish (fishing+Toronto ON). You’ll be amazed at the amount of relevant information that unfolds before your eyes.

Another consideration is your proximity relative to the type of fish you have chosen to target. There is no point getting your heart set on fishing for grayling if you live in Southern Ontario, unless you can afford to spend a few thousand dollars to catch one. Consider the amount of free time you have, the amount of money you can afford to spend and then explore the type of fishing available in your area. I’ve spent some of my most memorable fishing hours sitting in a lawn chair beside a lazy river, fishing for the “lowly” carp with a big gob of worms on my hook.

Just remember that you’re never too old to begin the enjoyment of recreational fishing in Canada. It’s part of our heritage! Nearly every province in Canada offers a free fishing weekend and every angler started sometime, so don’t wait…just do it!

©Lloyd Fridenburg, 2008 – all rights reserved

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Letters to Smed – “The Purist” (conclusion)

It was a great day on the river. Too bad you couldn’t make it. I didn’t manage to hook anything but I did have some huge swirls at my fly. I remember when all you could catch here were bass, pike, and carp; Smed you’d be amazed at the number of absolutely huge browns lurking behind the rocks and in the pools now. And, it sure makes a difference when you have a bit of one-on-one instruction…

"Sorry for loosing my temper, Jim. I should have just persevered like you said." "I had done it." I was now a true flyfisherman! I could hear Jim saying, "Pull your line gently, giving it the occasional twitch."

Slowly I pulled in line. Foot by foot, giving the odd twitch. And then with a suddenness that almost put me back in the water, a two pound bass leapt to take my fly. I leaned back arching my 10 foot rod, as I had done countless times before and, you guessed again, my two pound test leader snapped with the sound of a dry twig.

"Don't loose your temper. Just tie on another fly and try again." I said out loud, while all I surveyed took on a reddish haze.

After my latest battle with the flyline, I moved further down stream to the fast water where I had caught the occasional trout. Once again I began my hypnotic, rhythmic motion.

"Yes this would be the cast to end all casts." I thought "This is truly what fishing was meant to be."

"Mooo-ahhh-yeee" came a sound like brakes squealing on the expressway, as I once again sank my hook into something solid. This time it was not me seeing red, but a big mean bull that looked to be the size of a freight car. And this bull had no sense of humour at all as he suddenly realized the source of the pain in his rump.

"Scrape, snort...Scrape, snort" came the sound as he pawed the ground. It felt as if the gates of hell had opened and this demon was sent to bring me in.

My perfectly balanced rod and ultra precision reel no longer mattered as they quickly sank to the bottom of the river. My only thought was of reaching that knurled old apple tree before the demon could reach me. I'm sure an Olympic sprinter couldn't have passed me at that moment, as I ran towards the tree, listening to the fast closing freight train. Tripping, slipping and all the while cursing the heavy chestwaders, I finally made it to the tree. I climbed with the agility of a chimpanzee and was out of harms way just as the bull ran, head-long, into the base of the tree.

"So here I am, sitting on this branch, ripping up my Jerkwater Jim notes, watching the sun go down, waiting for the 'bull from Hell' to get bored and leave so I can climb down and go pick some dew worms.

"By the way, if you happen to find a perfectly balanced rod and an ultra precision reel at the bottom of the Grand River, you're welcome to it." "But if your smart you'll throw it right back and go dig some worms, lest the 'bull from hell' set his sights on you."

Well it looks like a few years and a bit of grey hair and a bit more patience certainly was the ticket. Now I know were to go, I know some simple techniques all I need is a good ole fishing buddy by my side. Why don’t you throw your stuff in the car and we’ll head on up. Have a good one Smed.

This series was proudly brought to you by www.distinctnorthernart.com . Visit us and browse our wide variety of original wildlife art and etched glass wildlife mirrors. We feature the original wildlife art of Ontario wildlife artist Angus Burns.

Letters to Smed – “The Purist” (cont’d)

We got picked up about 8:00 and drove to the far side of Fergus. This is a part of the river I’ve never fished before and our guide was very gracious with his information and even before we left the car I had picked up more tips than I ever did on my own. Maybe this time will be different afterall…

I sat quietly at the edge of the still, deep, pool by the bend in the river. The same place I had caught countless bass and pike in the past. The past, that is, before I 'saw the light' and became a fly-fisherman.

"Sit quietly." Jim had said softly. "Watch the water for surfacing fish. You'll be able to tell by watching, which insects they're feeding on." "Then select a fly from your box that resembles the ones the fish are feeding on. Tie the fly onto your leader. Carefully and quietly cast to a spot where the fish are actively 'rising' and hang on." Jim said with confidence. And sure enough, right at that moment, Jim caught one of the nicest trout I had ever seen.

After watching the water for nearly 20 minutes, and still not being able to tell what in blazes the fish were feeding on, I gently pulled a brown, fuzzy looking, fly from my fishing vest and tied it to the leader, as Jim had instructed.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the far ridge as I eased my way, noiselessly, into the placid, misty water.

I'm not sure at which point it was that I lost control of the situation, but instead of a throbbing bass on the end of my line, I had sunk my hook solidly into a tree branch about 25 feet off the ground.

"Be prepared for the odd frustration" I had coached myself the night before, "Just break the leader and tie on a new one and start again."

After the occasional 'spicy' conversation with the maker of the seemingly untieable fly-line, and the invocation of assistance from 'on high', I was finally ready to try again.

The greater wisdom of my subconscious mind was over active today as it suggested, "Turn over that big rock and see what type of bugs are there. Pick a fly and 'match the hatch' just like Jim told you."

I should mention that I'm a big sissy when it comes to anything that slithers through the grass and, you guessed it, just as I began to move the rock, out slithered a 2 foot garter snake, sending chills up and down my spine. The same kind of feeling you get when an unexpected letter from Revenue Canada arrives. I jumped back; slipped on something long dead and foul smelling did a perfect pirouette and wound up sitting in two feet of water. I'm sure I could hear that snake chuckling as it slowly slithered to find a less exciting venue.

I had, however, managed to keep my perfectly balanced rod and ultra precision reel out of harms way, over my head.

"To Hell with matching the hatch! Just put on a damn fly, throw it out, and see what happens." I thought, beginning to allow just a bit of frustration to show through, as I emptied the water from my waders.

Looking behind to make sure the fly-grabbing tree was out of harms way, I began my rhythmic motion. Back and forth...back and forth...back and forth, and then one final cast and my fly drifted gently to the water in the middle of the pool.

Got someone at the door Smed ole buddy, so I’ll fire this off and get back to you later…

©Lloyd Fridenburg, 2008 – all rights reserved

This series will be continued and is proudly brought to you by www.distinctnorthernart.com . Visit us and browse our wide variety of original wildlife art and etched glass wildlife mirrors

Letters to Smed – “The Purist” (cont’d)

Well Smed, I’m nearly ready for the big day. I pinched the barbs on the few flies that I owned, tucked them in a nice box and managed to make a few casts across the back yard…without getting hung up on the fence. Still I’m a bit nervous about getting into this again…

"Off to the tackle shop I sped hauling my reams of notes and diagrams along with me.

One hour later and $250.00 lighter (Jim failed to explain the initial cost of this venture) I emerged from the store grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat. I could almost feel the throbbing fish on the end of my carefully weighted line as it made a wide, sweeping, bow in my perfectly balanced rod and was being slowly drawn closer to the net by my ultra precision reel.

After a few minor frustrations I finally had my prize assembled and trundled off, notes and diagrams in hand, to the backyard.

"Let about 8 feet of line extend from the tip of your rod and peel off as many yards of line as you intend to cast and let it fall at your feet." I could hear Jim saying. "Now swing your rod back in a sweeping arch and let several more feet of line slip through your fingers on the forward stroke. Continue this motion until your fly has reached the place you want it to land. Then with one final cast, let it float gently to the water."

"Why am I standing here with a hook in my pant leg and the rest of the line twirled around my rod?" I wondered. I stopped to read my notes and check my diagrams again. "Everything looks right. Lets give it another try."

As darkness began to fall, I finally seemed to be getting the hang of it. I could cast all the way across the yard, and only occasionally did I get caught on my neighbours clothesline. My, long cold, supper waited on the kitchen table as my lovely wife, who was no longer speaking to me, retired to the living room to snuggle up with a book on male psychology and mid-life crisis.

The sky was showing the first signs of brightening as I donned my chest waders, while sitting on a picnic table beside the car. The scenic Grand River, that I had fished for years, unfolded in the valley below and seemed to take on a new and more mature beauty now that I was able to, finally, wander it's banks as a fishing 'purist'. The mist hanging low over the water gave an air of surrealism to the scene. I sat for a moment and watched, with near reverence, this scene of early morning beauty.

I slipped on my fishing vest, that held all equipment necessary to catch the huge bass waiting below. (Of course those 'big' fish that had eluded me for years would be jumping out of the water when presented with the proper fly. Everyone knows a truly huge fish would never stoop so low as to eat worms and minnows.)

I lifted my rod with the gentleness of a mother holding her new baby, as I started off down the steep path leading to the rivers edge. Cattle were gently grazing in a nearby field and in the distance I could hear the first rooster crow. The air was fresh with the scent of mid-summer, while at the same time, cool and damp with the early morning dew. The sight and feel was enough to send shivers of ecstasy down your spine."

Catch ya later Smed…I’m off to pack up my stuff.

©Lloyd Fridenburg, 2008 – all rights reserved

This series will be continued and is proudly brought to you by www.distinctnorthernart.com . Visit us and browse our wide variety of original wildlife art and etched glass wildlife mirrors.