Day 3
After breakfast and the sight of a Paul doing a 'toast tower' demolition, it was decided to split and divide our troops. Alex and I would guide Paul and Andrew on small mountain streams to the west of our location. The guide and Nigel were to go on a secret stream, somewhere or other.

We were given a snowmobile map (which is handy if you have a snow mobile, but if you have a car....?). Anyway, we went in the direction suggested and saw a 'turn off' that appeared to be the correct one. We followed the trail, found what we took to be a campsite and a very, very nice section of river and thought: “Well, why on earth not...?”

I think the river was the Carbendale, I'm not entirely sure, but the steep rocky semi-canyon sides and the riffles, pools and boulder-strewn ribbon of white water and aquamarine depths had an alluring, trout fuelled, 'fish-me,' feel to it. So we did. I set up Andrew with a simple little Parachute pattern something that would ride the boisterous currents yet sit nicely in the smoother flows sufficiently not cause alarm. Right from the word 'go' it was fabulous; casting to the front and behind rocks, through riffles and runs we caught fish – bright little East-slope cutthroat and cut-bows. One particular pool we managed to wriggle round a sheer rock face sliding into a near emerald deep pool and fish the head of water sending smaller flies towards a procession of rising trout – I am relived to say a Duck’s Dun seemed to mimic the Sulphur duns tolerably and work well enough to take five really good cutthroat for Andrew, winkled from the pool all around the 12 to 14 inch mark. Splendid.

With the appointed meeting time nearing, we pulled out of the area where we shouldn’t have been, musing what a happy accident it was. Let’s hear it for happenstance.

Meeting Nigel and the guide, we were duly informed that we would fish an area that evening on the Crowsnest where the gathering wind would lessen and the prospects looked good for some rising fish. Oops, wrong on both counts. Wind scuttled and puckered the river surface into wavelets and not a fish rose. The guide and Nigel took one fish shortly on arrival, from a deep run, following another run sliding around a huge midstream boulder. Alex and Paul tried to tease fish with Spiders, downstream. Andrew and I switched to a refined 'Klink and Dink' combination which almost immediately got broken on a feisty rainbow, and secured another which stayed on and zipped about the pool like a rather upset hornet – on a 19 Pheasant Tail Nymph from an opposite deep run – again spilling around a massive boulder.

Andrew and I seemed to score with our 'K&D' whilst others struggled. I think all fishers, travelling anywhere in the world would be advised to do what comes naturally … in fishing terms. Don’t see the differences; look for the similarities. Fly, feeding patterns, imitations … there are far more parallels than many think.

Back at the Lodge the chill and journeying suggested 'early doors' ... and the prospect of trying to escape the crowds on the Labour Day holiday weekend – one of the bigger holiday periods in the area.

Day 4
OK, given a holiday weekend, would you actually chose a beauty spot to go to? And then realistically expect to get way from crowds and fish? Precisely.

Still, fair dos’, the prospect of walking up a mountain to fish a lake (right), especially in late summer sunshine, was appealing. A vertical hike of 45 minutes is always going to test modest fitness levels. It was OK. No dramas, no bear attacks, nothing ... we arrived all of us intact, even the float tube.

And it was worth it, despite a wicked little scampering wind which whipped around the bowl of mountains cradling this almost opal-like lake. One sensed this adventure might be called to a fast halt; it was a lovely day which hinted at natural malevolence around the next bend of an hour. The lake – or rather a series of lakes in the mountain chain – had been stocked by the state of Alberta years past, with an exciting bag of scuds/shrimp and another bag of trout, literally dropped aerially from that passing aeroplane; an elegant re-stocking programme. Some of the fish had, of course, survived; but none that we could see.

Whilst Nigel and co. ate even more cinnamon buns, I thought I would ready the float tube. The tube looked in good fettle; I then asked the guide for the fins to propel the said surface fishing vehicle to which he replied: ”Oh we don’t bother with fins.” No fins, I thought, maybe he thinks I have webbed feet. Oh!” I said. “No fins? Interesting.” He had clearly forgotten the fins. Oh well, It was a nice enough place to be, especially sharing with most of Alberta’s population for company in a vast cook-out, trees being felled, fires cooking … and we did catch some pretty little rainbows (one on a size 16 micro Booby fished on the surface; as perfect as any beetle pattern you could wish to see).

Day 5
Storm clouds gather: Enter the icy rain. Next time ….

And they say fishing destination waters is fun. It is. And exciting. And unpredictable.