Write Angler - Rick Hordin Copywriting Fishing and Canoe Camping in Northern Manitoba

Safely back at home in Wolseley, it feels like I've awakened from a dream. I drove 700 miles with an ambitious member of the fly fishing club to a train station in Northern Manitoba, loaded our gear and canoe, and then rode that train until midnight when we were dropped off in the middle of nowhere in pitch blackness. An old but comfortable hunting shack was a welcome shelter for the night.

The canoe and gear were portaged to the river early next morning where a precarious load was heaped upon it. We paddled down that wild river for a week, stopping to fish the inviting spots and camping wherever a good gravel bar with a fresh supply of bug-sweeping wind was available.

The river and landscape were a seemingly endless vision of captivating beauty and seductive dangers. Neither of us was skilled in whitewater canoeing, yet... The crash course was quite exhilarating. Fast water was common in the upper river, but there were relatively few obstacles to avoid. By contrast, the entire lower stretch was a lengthy series of S-bends, punctuated by varying sets of rocks and rapids which threatened to eject us and our gear several times. I now feel fairly confident I can navigate my way around much better in almost any river. Next time though, I'll bring a canoe without a keel on it...

The fish we came here for, some of the last wild brook trout in Canada, were either resident or sea run, and thrilling to catch on flies from top to bottom. Mouse patterns clearly represented a common menu item for the fish. Watching five pound brookies slam them on the surface really gets the adrenaline flowing. We had to work a little hard for our fish due to unusually cold summer weather - talk about the Great White North! But since all of them were between 19" & 22", it was work we were happy to do! From locals we learned that their population has been steadily shrinking due to habitat loss and over-harvest from the natives who (need not even buy a license and) harvest them heavily during spawning season when they are most vulnerable. With this kind of activity, it won't be long before the entire fishery becomes unsustainable and collapses. Unfortunately this has been the fate of far too many trout rivers that Canada was once famous for. (Read Bush Pilot by Lee Wulff for more about the places he fished that used to have a lot of trout). Shouldn't Rights also be about doing the right thing? I have to count my blessings to be able to experience a piece of it before it disappears completely.

Cold clear evenings brought dazzling displays from the Aurora Borealis, something I never tire of. My camera (Olympus Tough - bought for it's waterproof shell) did no justice to the shimmering and shifting green lights that filled the dark starry sky on three consecutive nights. There is no light pollution out here. I don't use the word often, but this deserves to be called Awesome! The mornings left our camp covered with frost. Yep, it was like -4C at night. Good thing about the chill was the beer stayed nice and cold for the entire week! It also kept the blessed bugs down until the day warmed up a bit. We learned to pack up while the frost was still on the ground and get on the water asap. Plus, that meant more fishing time.

Technical turns were the order of the day for the big push to the finish line at the river's mouth - where it emptied into the mighty Nelson River. I mean MIGHTY. The size and current in this river is staggering and defies a proper description. You just have to see it to really appreciate all that power surging its way toward Hudson Bay. How anyone paddled upstream against that force in the old days is unbelievable. On that note: we did see someone taking a canoe back up to the takeout - but he had a 10hp Johnson on the back of it. Also on that note, the Nelson is now bigger than its historical stature; most of the Churchill River has been diverted to add to the Nelson's hydro-electric potential.

Here at the river mouth was to be our last night in the wilderness, and the group of First Nations folks we'd met earlier in the week were already camped there. We were greeted at the bank by a few teenagers from the group who, wthout pause, dragged our canoe up above the high tide mark, helped carry our gear to a suitable site, and then built a fire for us! We found out they were part of a 2 week youth wilderness trip organized by the Fox Cree Nation. Later, the Elders welcomed us into their tent and told us stories about the old ways on the land, with topics ranging from bear encounters to Saskwatch. The generous hospitality of the North was overwhelming. They caually mentioned a polar bear and her cub were seen wandering around the area, so they were setting up an all-night bear watch to keep an eye on things. I gladly offered them the last of our coffee; they immediately started a pot going. So, after the day of river-running adrenaline, we were granted the option to slept peacefully on a bumpy, rocky slope - which required a secure stakeout of the tent to keep from sliding into the river. There really was not a flat spot anywhere to be found here, but it sure beat getting eaten!

Speaking of that, the bugs at this location wasted no opportunity! I had to wear a head net and gloves at this camp almost the entire time there. The only other time we had to do that was our first night out where we found ourselves actually drinking beer thru the mesh of our head nets. I remember thinking and hoping the whole trip would not be a complete bug fest, or we'd be in for a week of real fun times. Oh boy.

We were lucky to know someone who arranged to have us picked us up at the Nelson camp on Friday between 11am and 1pm. After fishing a prime pool in the morning we ran (like mad) back to camp and paddled our way to the rendezvous. It was 11:04 when we arrived to see a boat making its way in. Peanut, as he is known (we never got his real name), helped us move our gear and canoe into his Lund open boat. Soon we were racing upstream toward Conawapa, a camp on the Mighty Nelson where we were told (fingers crossed) my truck would be brought from the train station. In a nutshell, Peanut was born at York Factory (where his father ran a hunting camp) and raised in this area. I found out later, that he is known as one of the toughest men of the North and that young bucks cannot seem to resist the temptation to (unsuccessfully) prove otherwise. We got along great, especially after I fixed a problem with the outboard motor that would not restart after running out of gas... While this circus was happening, we drifted back downriver at an alarmingly furious pace. But that's another story...

Our man in Conawapa met us at the launch and offered us showers, dinner and a place to stay for the night. How could we refuse? We desperately wanted all of that. Dinner was fresh walleye and ribs, along with tacos, salads, potatoes, etc... Some people have a hollow leg, I have two. I think I ate enough for 3 people.

After dinner, we raced to the Limestone River to make a few last casts at sunset. I opted for a large pool near the road and soon noticed the tell-tale rise of a trout. As calmly as possible, I clipped off the nymph and tied on a long 6# tippet to give the best drift to my Tessa Caddis. I waded out in the current as far as I dared, and on the second cast, the rise connected! Several ripping runs into the fast current had me concerned that the tippet would pop, but it held. Cautiously, I backed into the slower shoreline water and grabbed the fish for a one-hand picture. It was another sea run brookie, a female just under 20" (almost another Master Angler). With the slot limit, apparently it's hard to catch a legal-sized fish here. That is not a worry of mine... Instead, I found myself wondering if the proposed dam at Conawapa also contains plans for a fish ladder. Environmental impact? Since there are plans for a sturgeon hatchery (another fish stock in peril), perhaps they can add a few brook trout tanks to retain and cultivate some of these precious brood stock genes? Or they could shorten the retention period (for all fishing) and let them spawn naturally? Surely these fish deserve preservation and protection?

Hospitality at Conawapa went way beyond our expectations. Beer and jokes flowed profusely in this dry camp and the crew did not leave our tent until 3:30am. BTW, the crew here is simply amazing; they are Professional and friendly yet full of fierce spirit. My buddy and I were pretty shagged on Saturday morning at 7:20am when we were told we'd better hurry if we wanted to catch breakfast before it closed at 8. I borrowed a compressor to top off the tires and we bid farewell to our gracious hosts. I left with a touch of melancholy that I recognized as more than just a hangover. There is so much of this area I need yet to explore and there is so little time to do it...

We dropped off the canoe borrowed from our extended family in Paint Lake, and gave them our well-used aluminum paddles as a thank you gift. After a great lunch of burgers and fresh-fried potatoes (Ah, real food!) it was another 7.5 hrs to Winnipeg.

The house was dark and quiet when I arrived. My wife's bike was missing and I suspected where I'd find it. I hastily unloaded my gear and hopped on my bike to where all our friends in the neighbourhood were congregated for a night of socializing. It was a great homecoming. As I related bits of my story, they looked at me in disbelief. I cannot believe some of it myself. The only evidence I have that tells me I did not dream this tale are the bodies of dead mosquitoes as I unpack my soggy gear, and these pictures. While I sort out the rest of it, I hope you find something to dream about too.