Home Again - Wherever That Is

So. I’m back. Having a little trouble realising just where that is exactly. I keep waking up hungry at 4:00 AM, thinking I’m still on board the Vanessa, my pal John Dixon’s boat but my bio-clock is showing signs of readjusting.

One of the things about camping is that it makes you appreciate normal life, things like a real bed and a shower become unimaginable luxuries. After five straight weeks under the western Canadian sky, my ears are like fried bacon and I’m covered with festering bites by a range of blood seeking critters. Glad to be back? Well, yeah, I guess, but the funny thing is I could have kept going. Once you’re over that two week holiday hump, you’re in the groove.

I visited most of my old favorites; the Crowsnest, the Oldman and the Elk; along with a few more I have only touched briefly over my life. Found some great new ones, which is always a pleasant surprise. The best thing though, is that the fishing is still as good as ever - like I said in my last column, it’s actually better than ever.

As you probably know, it was a big forest fire season out there. The big Crowsanest fire was just getting going when I arrived and in some places the fires have got worse over the summer. Many of the forest roads were closed and I managed to nip in with my Scottish pal Bob Morton only hours before they closed the road to one of my favorite streams. We had a fabulous afternoon with over a dozen big cutthroats and a few big rainbows. We took it easy, and called it a day early in the afternoon, not waiting for the evening rise which can be fantastic. If we’d known the road would be closed the next day, we would have soldiered on.



As I sit with my very early morning jet-lag coffee, some vignettes remain clearly in my mind, like video clips. On the Crow, one perfect morning, I had just landed a big rainbow, one of a half dozen real beauties. It had swallowed the barbless DHE, gill hooked, and upon putting it back it I saw that it was bleeding. I would have killed it but it swam away before I could get the net back in action, and I saw a cloud of blood puff from its gills. I watched it turn on its side in deep water and disappear. I felt miserable, spoiling what had been a memorable session on one of my old homewaters. Less than two minutes later I heard a great swooshing sound and looked up to see an enormous bald eagle only feet above my head - with my trout in its talons. Where it had come from i have no idea, but it sure didn’t miss that fish. I felt a lot better after that, just part of the food chain.

I met up with Bob Morton in the local pub last night. We’re thinking of an evening session on the Tay this week. It’ll be good to fish the big river, get reaquainted. I like the Tay in low water, tough but interesting - like the Bow, but with fascinating differences, which will be sharp and fresh to me after so long away. It’s really all the same place. Homewaters are where the heart is.