I’m just back from an exploratory trip to Canada for lake trout. The trip was a success, providing not only a fun time but fodder for a story. This story, or versions thereof, will appear in three of our forthcoming books: Long Flies, The  Angler as Predator, and Fly Designing. Watch for the elements of each in the story below.

Twelve thousand years later, and the earth is still rebounding at a rate of about ½ inch (1 cm) per year from the pressure of five miles of ice that pressed down upon it. Such rebound will continue for at least another 10,000 years. Rounded patches of exposed Canadian Shield granite, smoothed by the unrelenting grinding of the glaciers, dot the boreal forest that now occupies the land. The rocks in the lake, however, are angular and rough. Twelve thousand years is not nearly enough time for these stones to have been bumped and rubbed smooth by wave action. The shoreline is tough wading among the jagged slabs of rock, and here and there, piles of the granite slabs form points and reefs. It is there that the lakers come to spawn in the early autumn of the Canadian north.

Dave Graebel was anxious to see if these late season lakers could be taken on the fly rod; I was certain they could be. And so Dave and I and Craig Richardson mounted an expedition to Dave’s remote cabin in the wildness of Ontario. Sink tip lines, full sinking lines, and specifically designed long leaders on floating lines went into the kit bag along with twenty dozen flies in a range of colors, sizes, and designs. Split shot in a variety of sizes lay snuggled among the reels and spare spools, extra leader materials, fishing pliers, hemostats, nippers, and other necessary paraphernalia for such a distant adventure. The travel tube, made from four-inch, schedule 40 plastic pipe was jammed with seven-weight through ten-weight rods, both as primary tools and as backups in the advent of accidental dismemberment.

The big Otter settled to the lake as smoothly as any landing on the tarmac, and in a few minutes we had unloaded fishing gear, waders and brogues, cold weather clothing, and an ample supply of food and fuel. Once the cabin was opened and the gear organized, we mounted the motors on the boats and headed for Rocky Reef, a particularly favored spot for the fall lakers. Dave trolled a spoon, and I cast a Bullhead Silver leech along the shoreline. On my first cast, a laker had the fly. The take was a hard stop—like catching the fly on a big rock, and at first I wasn’t certain that it was not a rock. But the sudden twisting fight of the fish banished any misgivings that I might have had.

“I’ve got one,” I called back to Dave.

“It might be a walleye,” he called back.

“If it is,” I yelled over the wind and the sound of the 15-horse motor, “it’s the biggest one in this lake.”

It was indeed a laker, and a nice one, too. No, not the big 20-pound-plus brutes we had hoped for, but a nice 7-pounder. It found strong and deep, like all the chars, but the spring of the 9-weight graphite rod was too tiring, and soon the fish was next to the boat. Dave caught the barbless hook and flipped it out in one easy motion. We moved one. Suddenly Dave’s trolling rod jumped hard, and he jumped equally hard, catching the rod as it lurched out of his hands. Another laker of equal size. In an hour we landed five and lost another that shook the barbless hook of my fly. We had found them, and we would return on the morrow.

After an icy bath in the lake the next morning, we heard the Otter returning. It was Dave’s son, Bill, and his friend Scott Snead. We had expected them much later in the day, but the morning had dawned clear and bright, and the pilot got them out just after first light. Now we really did have an expedition. Scott and I would head out to fly cast for the lakers, Craig, Dave, and Bill would troll a jig and minnow and cast big spoons in search of whatever wanted to eat.

I was certain that running the boat over the shallow water we wanted to fish was unwise, so Scott and I beached the boat 50 yards from Rocky Reef and on its deep-water side. We kept to the shoreline and stalked the point with care. Crossing to its shallow-water  side, I flipped the fly out about 20 feet from shore, and gave it a short strip of about six inches. Instantly a laker seized the imitation and tore off out beyond the point of the reef. Scott waded quietly out to the rocky point and began casting. By the time I had beached the fish, photographed it, and got it back in the water, his rod was thumping. As it turned out, his was to be the biggest fish of the trip, a 34 x 15 inch brute that fought the rod hard and long.

The lakers were not thin of body, but their streamlined shape didn’t give them the weight of a salmon or big brown. The fish came in at just about 11 pounds. A nice fish, to be certain. We continued to fish, casting as far as we could and working the sunken lines back with a series of short strips punctuated with the occasion long strip and a pause or two. The take was always hard. The day finished with five of the big char each. It was not the horn of plenty that we thought it was going to be, but I didn’t hear any complaining from either of us. Dave and crew caught three lakers, all of which went back into the water. The walleyes they found later in the day, however, were more than welcome for dinner that evening.

The third day dawned cloudy and cold, and our morning bath was brisk, to say the least. The lakers were waiting for us, however, and our spirits were high as we motored to Rocky Reef. Dave and Bill went in search of other reefs, while Craig put us ashore. Then he too, went in search of other potential hot spots. The fish were in the shallows, and immediately I was into a nice laker. Scott, back out on the point, had to work hard to find one, and soon I was up, four to two on him. It was not a contest, but it did point out clearly that the fish preferred the shallow waters of the bay rather than the deep waters off the point.

At lunch time, Craig returned with a big smile on his grizzled face. “I’ve found them,” he announced. “They’re in the second bay around the shore from here.” “I got eight on a jig and minnow.” Needles to say we were hot to try his new found spot. So after lunch, Bill and Scott headed there with Craig. I elected to stay at the reef and continue to explore its potential. The fish in “Craig’s Cove” did indeed prove to be willing and eager, and Bill and Scott each took four more before it was time to head back. I found two additional lakers on the deep water side of Rocky Reef, one on my very last cast as the boat was heading in to pick me up for the trip back. We’d totaled twenty-four lakers that day.

Our dreams were filled with the powerful strikes of tough-fighting lakers, and we awoke with the certainty of a day that would give up thirty or more of the big fish. But the raw wind, dropping temperatures, and overcast, rainy sky had other ideas. Except for a trout that Bill took in another part of the lake, we got blanked. There were no fish to be found in any of our haunts, and none to be found anywhere else. Even the walleyes has zipped their lips tight, and we barely boated enough for dinner.

But the lure of lakers on Rocky Reef had infected us, and we left the next morning with a vow to return. Our flight path took us directly over the inlet, where in the spring, the biggest of the big ones will be in the shallows, eating spawning walleyes. I can feel the take of a big laker, even now, drawing the line through my fingers as it turns with a big Bullhead Silver Leech in the corner of its jaw. I can see it twisting and fighting against the unyielding pull of the 10-weight, and I can feel its strength as it slides out of my grip and back to the dark waters of the lake. It will be a celebration of life for both of us.

A nice laker showing average body condition of a spawning fall fish.

A laker showing a very healthy body weight.

Doubles.

Scott and Mr. 34 x 15.