Atlantic Salmon, Malbaie River Outfitters

Malbaie River Outfitters in Gaspé, Canada

The flight from the UK was relatively uneventful on Air Canada from LHR Terminal 3 to Montreal. This took just over seven hours. A four hour wait in Montreal was followed by another two hours on Air Canada’s internal airline Jazz on a Dash 8 touching down in Quebec City. The return to French as a base language did take a little getting used to. On arrival at Gaspé Henry Gilbey and I were met by Dalton, the manager of Malbaie River Outfitters, who helped us with our luggage and welcomed us warmly.

The drive to Malbaie River Outfitters Lodge took 35 minutes, and on arrival we were shown to our rooms and immediately offered refreshments and some sandwiches even though everyone else was in bed. Here we met Bill Greiner who is the owner of the operation, and he briefed us on how the fishing had been, and what we would be up to the following day. The lodge itself is an old established building with a huge amount of rustic charm, and really feels and smells like a fishing lodge. It is of wooden construction with wood panelling, and from the central hallway & sitting room centered around a massive open fire two corridors run off containing three bedrooms and a bathroom on both sides. Wader racks and rod racks are in the corridors, and the rooms themselves each contain two queen sized beds, sinks, and huge walk in closet for clothing and equipment. Skirting heaters make them warm and snug. Below the main lodge are also a series of individual cabins ideal for couples or families.

The following morning jet lag set in and both Henry and I were padding round the lodge at 0230 in the morning looking for coffee and feeling a little dazed and confused. We discussed the day to come with excitement, planning shots that we wanted. Finally breakfast time at 0700 – 0730 pulled around, and we met a couple of the other guests and chatted to them about the general area and how their fishing had been the previous day. Joe has been fishing this area for many years, and although this blip in the runs experienced across the Atlantic sea board this season has been unusual, he did say that the fishing in these areas has been on an upward trend over the years.

After breakfast the kit was piled into the back of our guide Drapper’s car, and we headed off. The drive to the Grande Rivière take approximately 45 minutes, and also involves a stop at the local petrol station to log the names of the fishermen for the particular beats in question. A further 10 minutes had us parked by the fishing hut of our beat on sector 3, and Henry immediately began to mutter expletives as the Grande pool unfurled in front of us to reveal a large pool of maybe 30 yards. From the car park upwards of 60 salmon could be seen hanging in the gin clear water. The largest of these were well in excess of 30lbs, and our pulses began to quicken as we frantically assembled rods and donned waders and boots. Weapon of choice on these rivers at this time of year is a 9’ 8# set up with a floating line and un-weighted flies. For leaders here they are particularly purist in their approach using hand tied tapered leaders down to an 8lb point. Sink tips are permitted, but weighted flies are illegal as it is just too easy to snag these fish.

The river resembled some rivers I have seen in Iceland in terms of clarity of water, but certainly not in number of salmon or size. The water has a very attractive green tinge, and is so clear that it is very difficult to judge depth. Joe kindly allowed me to take first shot, and the fish did not seem to mind as we came down the stairs and shuffled down the bank to come from below them. I have always been of the opinion that stealth was important with clear water, but there was no reaction to our presence at all. Starting fly was a size 8 double Royal Coachman, and the technique was to cast upstream at an angle across the fish and to strip the fly back in a series of 8 – 9 inch strips at a reasonable pace. Again, new to me, but Drapper explained that there was practically no current towards the end of the season, so very hard to achieve an effective down stream swing. Immediately four fish up in the mid teens broke away from the pod and gave chase, but none actually took the fly. The next ten casts also produced follows, each time with my heart in my mouth I watched as they gave chase, and then at the last minute swirled around and rejoined their brethren. Over the next couple of hours we proceeded to try various flies, and each time watching the salmon react to colour, size, depth and speed of retrieve. Belligerently I did also attempt a down and across cast and retrieve, a little more like my previous experience, but found it really was impossible to get a good drift. I therefore got back in my box and listened to the guide.

Unlike conventional salmon fishing the fact that you can see all these giant fish and watch their reaction goads the fishermen on, and suddenly hours had evaporated as Henry captured image after image and sequence after sequence. We moved up to the next pool above named the Sardine Box, and found another pod of fish lying in the current. This particular pool is extremely difficult to get a fly to move as the fish are hanging underneath the current, and the only way was to cast directly over their heads and strip it straight back. The beat itself contained a further two pools, both of which fish in considerably higher water conditions than we were had, so our efforts were concentrated on these two. On inspection neither of them actually contained fish (It is that easy to see). Suddenly the brilliant sunshine evaporated from the pool, the clouds came over, and I hit my first salmon. Having cast consistently over the rear group for twenty minutes or so, a fish suddenly wheeled round, gave chase, and inhaled my fly. After a series of runs, Drapper had the leader in his hand a number of times to attempt a handtail, and the fish popped the fly and rejoined the school to sulk on the bottom. It was about 8lbs, and I was grateful for the experience. As the day progressed Joe landed a couple of nice fish, and almost immediately after his second fish one of the submarines at the head of the pool gave a flash of white mouth as it snapped at the fly and he was attached to a fish in the mid twenties.

At first the fish tried to keep its station as Joe applied more pressure, and slowly began to realise that something was seriously wrong. It then became infuriated, charging around the pool and shaking its broad head while pushing a large bow wave across the smooth surface. I noticed that with very run it made, Joe merely bowed the rod and let it take out its aggression against the silky smooth drag of his Sea Master reel, and then calmly raised the rod and regained line. Henry and I watched the entire battle unfurl below us in pin point focus, taking photographs and willing the fight to end in success… and it did. Slowly Drapper drew the fish in and managed to grasp the wrist. The fight was over and Joe had managed a fish of 25 lbs on 8lb tippet on an 8# rod and a size 8 Green Francis. Quite an achievement in anyone’s book!

We rested the pool for twenty minutes or so and slowly from the edges the fish returned and took up station, Joe’s lunker among them. Almost immediately after I started casting I hooked another fish. It just goes to show that a large amount about what we know of salmon behaviour is speculation. After this Joe and I felt satisfied enough that the day was done, and the fish had been harassed enough. We packed up and headed home, chattering excitedly about the days events.

The following day Joe and I had been assigned to sector 5 on the upper Grande Rivière, and this took a little long to reach. Another seven miles up the forestry track from our previous day’s activity was the Grande Sable pool which was to be our base. Having parked the car, Drapper returned shortly afterwards with an ATV that they use for moving clients up to the pool. Again there was a perfect wooden gazebo with a picnic table we could use as a base. The river up here is towered on either side by the shear climbs, and the river flows over hard rock bands below. The whole hillside is covered in tall birches, most of which were reverting to their autumn colours giving us the most incredibly vista down the valley.

Although narrower than further down the river is still crystal clear, and we were immediately greeted by the gratifying sight of 80 salmon stacked up in the pool. Almost as soon as we had spotted their positions it began to rain hard, and visibility decreased dramatically. Joe announced he did not enjoy fishing in the rain, the fish don’t take, took up station under the cover of the gazebo, and lit a pipe. Never one to be told that something can’t be done I donned my hood and ventured out into the down pour. Having tried small conventional patterns such as the Royal Coachman, it was time to get unorthodox and the Orange Rubber Legs made an appearance for a swim. Again under Drapper’s instruction I was casting upstream and half way up the pool the line went tight and a large fish in the mid teens erupted from the surface before cart wheeling down the pool. The rubber legs waving around its face really upset it and after three four more great leaps and some frantic head shaking the battle was over. The rain continued. After resting the pool for approximately 20 minutes I had another crack. Again the line went tight, and this time a small strip strike ensured that the fly was going no where. Shortly afterwards we hand tailed a lovely hen fish of about 10 lbs.

Malbaie River Outfitters fish 8 different rivers, and the following day we set out with Tony Paterson, one of the senior guides, to investigate the northern rivers of the Dartmouth, the York, Saint Jean, and the Malbaie itself. Tony used to manage a private lodge on the York and so is particularly experienced. Each river has its own individual character, seasons and rock strata.

The Dartmouth is the nearest they have to a spate stream, and this river tends to produce a lot of fish towards the beginning of the season when it has water. The upper section we investigated took again about 45 minutes to reach, and is just north of the town of Gaspé itself. At the falls pool the river flows through a tight rock gorge from a set of falls providing a natural barrier, and the deep pool in this canyon provides a natural holding area for a huge number of salmon. It is a fairly dramatic course with shear cliffs on either side. The series of wooden stairs and viewing platforms that have been put in place provide the perfect place to sit and observe the fish moving up and down the pool. As you progress down the river it opens out into a meander with a base mostly comprised of loose freestone going from shallows to cut banks. It is not a huge river, and can easily be fished with a single handed rod.

The York which is just south of Gaspé town empties itself into the bay below the town. Due east from the town the higher mountains covered in trees provide a stunning back drop for this river. Bigger than the Dartmouth it is crisscrossed with hard bands of rock that form incredible rock pools of crystal clear water interspersed with beautiful runs. Again an early season river the York has some large salmon hanging in these pools. The tiered shale of the rock strata give these pools some incredible topography. While we watched some large salmon were just hanging in the tail as they ascended out of the twenty foot deep pool.

Approximately 10 minutes drive south of here is the Saint Jean River. This river has featured in a number of magazine articles and chapters of books, and is perhaps slightly better known than some of the others. It has a very different character to many of the others, and is considerably larger. This river is probably best fished with a two hander, and the two pools we visited were Wild Rose, a beautiful run that required about another foot of water to hold fish, and the Bluff pool. The Bluff pool is one of the most stunning I have ever seen. On the bend of a large meander the river drives against the cliff so the near side is shear down into the deep water below. It is a perfect piece of fly water for two handed fishing, and produces some really huge fish. Even as we watched amongst the fish racked up below us a huge flash betrayed the presence of a really large specimen. It is here that Simon Gawesworth runs his Spey casting courses in the first two weeks of June.

Finally just below the lodge is the Malbaie which can only really be described as a salmon river in miniature. The pool just below the lodge holds fish and is quite a good place for clients who have struggled during the day to go and catch a fish to have a last crack before dinner.

Bill informed us that evening that for the following day he had a surprise for us, and would we mind a walk. There were some pools on the lower section of the North Pabos which had hardly been fished as they were a long way down. The North, West and East Pabos rivers are about a further 15 minutes drive from the Grande Rivière, and each have their own individual character. The North Pabos is the largest of the three and again runs crystal clear. Today we were joined by Drapper’s father, the famous Austin Clark who has been guiding in this region for 47 years. He filled us in on the drive over on the different character of these rivers, when the runs appear, and what tactics worked best under different conditions. Having driven past numerous lakes as we entered the park we drew up along side one of the most breathtakingly beautiful rivers I have ever seen.

The North Pabos twists its course through a picturesque shear sided valley covered in trees, all of which were just turning to a red golden colour as they took on their autumn regalia… a little like the salmon. The four of us strapped on our packs and began the yomp down to the pools we were headed for. The walk in normally takes an hour according to Drapper, and we picked up the pace over the rock and sometimes treacherous shale. Soon sweat dripped from our brows and we stripped down a few layers. I always love walking into a spot like this as it really gives a sense of the wilderness that surrounds you. While we took a quick breather I suddenly noticed the 64 year old Austin storming down the other bank and putting us three younger men to shame!

After 45 minutes we reached our location which was lucky pool number 13. The pool had been created as the river smashed against a hard band of rock and then pushed around the bend. A lip dropped away to a depth of 12 feet or so, and there hanging in current as if suspended in the air were about 60 salmon. The fish at the head of the pool had to top out at over 30 lbs. Henry and I were speechless. Drapper quickly clambered up the side of the cliff so that he could have a better vantage point and see their reaction to the fly. At this point unfortunately the pool was in sunshine and I failed to move a fish after running several patterns through the pool.

So we moved down the river a little further to a long run with shingle on the far bank dropping away to another hard rock band providing a deep run. Here the fish in the pool were taking advantage of the strips of shadow that dropped over the river. I moved into position below and began to cast upstream with a small size 12 double Dotty Orange. The line sung out, fly landed and Drapper corrected the position.

The next cast dropped straight over a pod of fish, and as I stripped the fly back towards me three fish gave chase. The large one in the middle managed to pip the smaller grilse at the post and hit the fly before swirling round and heading back up river to his lie. I set the hook. The fish shook his head then went airborne. I pulled him below the rest of the fish and played him pretty hard. After a few more jumps it calmed down and we were able to hand tail him. The fish had fought hard and was challenging on the 8# I was using. We carefully revived the hen fish and then watched her rejoin the remainder of the school to sulk on the bottom. We rested the pool for a while and then I managed to irritate another cock fish into hitting the small orange fly. At this point I thought we should leave these poor harassed fish and also thought that the other pool with the lunkers in it would be in the shade.

Sure enough, we arrived and the whole river pool was bathed in the soft light. I could see that the salmon were already hanging higher in the water and there were signs of action. I began casting upstream at the seven or so fish hanging in the back of the pool, and immediately a large male rose up and grabbed the fly. I tightened up and felt him for an instant before the hook just came loose. Shouts of derision came from Henry on the cliff, mostly centred on my ineptness as a fisherman and other comments about uselessness. Sympathy, there was none…

I moved further up the pool and cast a long line over to the far bank with a square cast, and again began to strip the fly. Most of the pool at this point to me was invisible due to the polarisation angle. Suddenly various expletives began to be uttered by all three on the cliff face and Drapper urged me to keep stripping. Suddenly the angle changed and I saw something resembling a small crocodile chasing the fly across the pool with its white mouth open as it closed around the fly. I managed to resist the huge impulse to scream like a girl in a very unprofessional and un-agent like manner. A huge boil in the water, a very brief tightening of the line, and then it was gone… My legs were shaking and lamenting moans came from the cliff. Drapper then informed me that the fish had closed its mouth on the fly, turned, and the fly had moved through the gap between the top of its mouth and its kype. All three estimated the fish at well over 30lbs. I was gutted, but elated simultaneously to have had the opportunity to fish an area as stunningly beautiful as this, and to have come into contact with fish of this size. I can’t think of another place on the planet where I could have experienced something like this. We walked back out of the valley in a slower fashion, enjoying the afternoon sunshine and the sights and sounds that surrounded us. Eventually the trail led back to the car and headed home, tired but happy. These memories will remain with me for ever. Will I go back? Oh yes… anyone coming?