Waiting for the ice to clear the river, the latter half of April brought high waters, much mud, a chance to get some jigflies tied and some quality time with the girls when not heli-choppering back-and-forth to work and staying over on the mainland.
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NORTH FRENCH TO KIASKO.
The softwater year kicked off Friday May 2nd about five days after the river cleared of debris and ice.
The James Bay break-up was a high one and it left the rivers flowing to flood levels. Not expecting much for fishing because everywhere was a blown out muddy mess, still very eager I roused at 5:00am.
First stop was at the minnow trap… seven dace. Even my bait spot was blown out from the flooding. By 6:45am I was off and headed up the Moose River under cold and calm skies, yet a welcoming warm sun. Forty-five minutes later I rounded the bend at the mouth of the North French River finding clearer water and pleasing sun-lit, spring landscapes.
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With plenty day ahead and easily navigable water levels the motor wouldn’t slow. Every destination came quick and I found myself just continuing to push on up river. After reaching a spot called Kagowask Rapids before 9am it was decided to just keep going and motor up to the Kiasko River; a junction on the North French about 55km upriver from home. Reaching this point would allow me to make my way back during the remainder of the day and fish 22 spots I had marked on map along the 45 km return. The ride up was perfect.
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1045 and I made it. Four hours under 15hp against the current. Started casting to flooded shoreline near the mouth of the Kiasko and plied the backside of a couple islands too, searching out pike. Nothing, so I dropped back down through 1/4 mile rapids and receded 5km to some creek mouths. Only a few short casts at these spots with a spoon, spinner then jig and I still remained fish-less. Surely the next spot called the S-Bend would hold some pike in the slack water eddies.
Arriving there the shoreline trees were flooded out. With a Johnson spoon I cast as deep in and around the thick stuff as possible, actually not expecting fish to be around. Was drifting when on about the 20th cast into some dead grass I got a boil when the lure smacked down, then felt the weight of a fish. A good one it peeled the reel and B-lined to my right towards some flooded out alder bushes. Tried to put the brakes on it’s run and tightened the drag while lifting the rod to turn it’s head around. Then there was slack.
Guess they don’t make Johnson’s like they used too. This one was brand new, had put the tape on it the night before.
Stuck around the bend continuing to pepper the shallows but after twenty minutes or so never saw another fish.
Moving on downriver I parked the boat at a creek mouth. Normally the creek is a great spot for eyes, although I had never fished it this early in May before. Walters weren’t open but I had also caught a number of pike here before. Started casting with a spoon, then switched to a dressed in-line when finally changed to a bucktail jig. The jig was the ticket, working it real slow drifting the outflow. Sure enough, before long ad pike on, first bit of bronze in the softwater season.
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Sticking with the jig in standard Mickey Finn colors, a dozen more casts later and I found a second pike eager for the offering.
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Being around 1:00pm I broke out the Coleman and heated up some chili. While doing so I managed to release one more smallish pike but then after some lure changes couldn’t entice anymore. Happy to catch no incidental walleyes thinking that they’re up that creek getting their freak-on making success of a well timed spring orgy.
Further down river it was mid-afternoon in the narrows of some calm back bays that I managed one more pike from some dead shoreline weeds. Here I spent an hour or more covering everything but the pike numbers were nowhere to be figured.
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5:00pm rolled around fast. On route down river I was met by an old pal, 76 year old Jimmy Sutherland. Jimmy was out working his trap-lines for beaver, mink, marten and otter and he asked if I’d seen anything while out. I had in fact, and told him. While up river saw four beavers, a couple otters and a marten up a tree, not to mention a number of eagles, ospreys, cranes, geese and ducks of every kind. Spotted one beautiful black cormorant as well. I gave Jimmy mental GPS waypoints to his sought after pelts and said goodbye once he finished his tea.
A big rapid was last stop for the day. Mostly a walleye spot, I still often catch pike there fishing the early green weeds that grow on the northern shoreline shallows of an eddy. Spoons, spinners and a Smithwick proved useless so back went on a jig. After three nice walleye this size in about ten minutes I packed it in and called it a day.
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CHEEPAS TO MOOSE TO FRENCH.
Two days after the first day of the softwater I was back on the river. The morning was supposed to be cool with trace rain but on route the 30km up to the Cheepas I was hit with two snow squalls. Sucks driving with your head between your knees but when the weather let up I was at the Polar Bear Express train bridge that crosses the Cheepas.
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The Cheepas was the highest I’d ever seen. Dirty, dirty, dirty too. Once I got on it, couldn’t help but push up this river and take advantage of the easy travel, just like had been done on the French. Rounding every bend holds hope of locating that perfect fishing spot.
I finally found myself at noon fishing an eddy about 40km up this river and 70km from home. On route this far up, I don’t think I had ever chased so many cranes off the shorelines.
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It was a mistake to go all that way though. There weren’t many good fish-able eddies because of the flooding and within the 40km stretch I knew of eight holes to try fishing on the way off the river. Do the math… All spots produced nothing, as guessing they would after coming up empty handed on the third stop. All were eddies except this one creek. I actually made my way out of there pretty quick, eager to try the Moose River’s back bays.
Back on the chocolate-milk Moose River…
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… under temporary sun I got down to business and really beat a few back bays. This one bay here was way too chilly yet, or at least it felt that way.
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A number of spots were still loaded with shoreline ice actually.
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Only place I knew fish were biting was the French. The water there was clearer, likely a little warmer and I guess more feeding friendly. Ripping over there as a last ditch effort to avoid a 12 hour day skunk, I didn’t find any pike waiting there either. Did find three of these though which all got a quick release.
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BUTLER AND WAVY.
Work and a sick little one kept me off the water nearly two weeks. In May that’s friggin’ torture. Friday was planned for Bren and I to leave for a couple overnights up the river but, forecast was calling for 100% humidity, heavy rains and zero degrees this evening. Decided we’d wait a day to let it blow by. In the meantime the early part of the day was expected to be alright so I grabbed the trouting gear and made a short trip to search out any searun beauties that may be running up the local cricks.
First stop was Butler.
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This short creek just runs up to a dam where dirty bubbling water spills over the rocks creating perfect frothy pools below. Caught a few nice ones here in recent years, but not today. Fished a black then white bucktail tipped with a worm, then chucked a #3 silver inline.
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There’s no real clue as to when the fish will show up. The best local knowledge to go by is to fish brookies when the trees just first split their buds. This is a good cue to get at it, but since 2002 I’ve logged every trout day and know that a number of great fish have been caught sooner than the signs of green leaves in the trees. One of the best was caught May 2nd, 2002 and was in fact the first speck I caught here in the Moose. Loved this fish….
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Anyway, back in real time I took off out of Butler and headed to Wavy. This creek is officially a favorite for specks, because they come in best numbers here. On Wavy you troll for them though, which isn’t as fun as casting but I get to take in more scenery.
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I gave it an hour or so of fishing and about two hours of just touring around and exploring areas of this creek I never had before. The water was still sickly high and when the tide came in it did not raise the levels one bit. Normally this crick can rise and fall 1 to 2 meters every 12 hours, and this time of year each tide could bring a new run of speckled trout.
As far up Wavy as I could go it opened into an awesome pool with an incoming creek. Chucked a few bucks then dropped a minnow out there to sit while I in turn ingested a piece of lemon meringue pie, washing it down with a Blue. That would be it for the day, and on the way off the creek back onto the Moose thought I’d snap a shot of some leftover ice from the break-up.
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NORTH FRENCH.
Eight… counted a measly eight sticklebacks in the minnow trap at a brisk 6:00am in the morning. Thank freaking gawd a few days earlier a warm rain brought the worms up onto the road, and so when coming off a nightshift I spent an hour getting soaked and walking around eyes half shut picking a few dozen.
Bren and I were busting out early, no other trucks at the launch. Our boat fully loaded we made good time getting up onto the North French, happy to see water levels still high.
We were less two hours traveling before easing off the throttle and anchoring off the back of a small island. The two converging currents there formed a hump and the eyes like waiting along side it to pick off food passing by; usually fallfish and sucker. Bren wasted no time getting her first fish of the softwater season.
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Couldn’t stay long catching fish as we wanted to be sure of getting a certain campsite on the busy May long weekend. Eagerly we hurried on and found our spot uninhabited. Bren made camp quick, as she always does.
The early afternoon was warming up nicely and from our site up to the Kiasko was only about a two hour ride. Bren and I fished a couple spots on route and caught a number of smallish walleye mainly at incoming creeks and runoffs.
Along the way we had found a tiny, maybe two foot wide runoff that trickled off the bank, onto a shallow rocky shoal, then over into a calm pool. Where the river’s main current and the pool seamed you could see the froth line perfectly. Bren and I anchored out in the flow and pounded the slack water and out to the current, most times getting hits when the jigs reached the froth. She got the first nice one and after a few more the bite slowed. Figured we’d stop again on the way back.
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It was four hours from our campsite later when we arrived at the Kiasko. Had planned on fajitas for dinner and brought a bottle of wine which we were supposed to have at camp. Being hungry now, we skipped the drink and got busy with supper.
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Heading to Kiasko proved to be a good ride up. In Quarter Mile Rapids I bumped the motor only once, surprised at how shallow it always is there even when the river is up. Fishing at Kiasko proved poor and so while retreating back down part of the rapids (more like shallow rock garden) I snapped this pic.
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Going up Quarter Mile took 35 minutes in shallow drive, coming down, about ten.
We couldn’t pass by the runoff spot without a cast so we stopped again, anchoring out into the current adjacent the head of the pool.
Bren was doing well for the most part using bucktails and for a change I was using plastics. Had rigged up a 3-inch pink and white grub when I tossed it into a foot of dirty water just a meter from shore. SHHHTICK!!
What was momentarily thought to be a rock started moving slow, then gave two solid head-shakes before jetting into the main current. My light rod buckled before the reel started singing. For a second I thought Bren might be lifting anchor cause there’s never much line on an ultralight, but the fish turned when I tightened the drag a little and it seemed to hold. Before long, the fish was coming back our way.
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I said to Bren once seeing it come up, “this could be my biggest!” I didn’t like how it was hooked though, on the outside of it’s right cheek back at the end of it’s mouth. Thought that one bad turn of the head and it’d easily cut line two inches above the jig. Got nervous during a fight that pushed on to ten minutes. The fish was using the current to rest while I had to carefully drag it up. Once it got close to the boat it would take off again, using the fast current for help.
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I tried netting it myself once it got sort of close but missed a few times. Finally Bren helped out when asked, and so moving more to the bow she came in behind so I could just drop the fish back into the net. It worked… and then we (well, me) got very picture happy.
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Fish came in at 7 1/2 pounds equaling my personal best softwater walleye. Post spawn this big golden girl was really healthy looking for her likely old age. My first fish of this size I had mounted and that one was a little more beat up. For a river fish from these parts I can’t stress how rare a catch a fish this size can be… only my second in three years. Both came on pink! Was really pleased with this fish. Here’s an OOD cover shat if ya wanna….
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Told Bren we could home now as the opener was already my best, but she was having fun and chose to stay. Before heading back down river we picked off a few more eyes on what was turning out to be a great evening.
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A near full moon came up at camp and the stars were out. We had a short lived bonfire to warm the bones before bed.
6:00am and through earplugs I hear the pitter patter of rain overhead. Still asleep really, I remembered before leaving home the forecast was calling 40% chance of scattered showers for today. 9:00am it was still coming down.
Under shelter of a big spruce we cooked breakfast and once waved to some unknown friends that called out, “Hey Bunker,” as they drove on by. Bren and I had planned to fish the morning up river, then drop back here to pack up camp, then fish our way off the French. Began thinking it was big fish karma that the rain had arrived now. Before long it was 11:00am and the downpouring showed no sign of letting up, so we broke camp and made a soggy exit from the river.
Along the way we passed a number of boats and campers, as we had the day before. Us heading down river now while they were all heading up. Seemed we were either one step ahead in the plan or they knew something we didn’t. I guessed the rain must be expected to stop if campers were coming out today.
Along route there was a spot a friend had “traded” to me in kindness. He told me where he had caught trout a few days earlier, because I had added a couple fishing rods to a LeBaron order for him to buy when they arrived up here in the Moose. His rods were all recently stolen and he was not happy to have to pay $70 a piece for new Ugly Stiks at the local shop. Explained I could get him two rods for $80. The deal was mint.
I had passed by this spot dozens of times over the years and never stopped. It doesn’t look like anything but a sandbar. When we arrived there, even with the rains I was quick to find where the bow of his boat cut the sand when it landed ashore, then I followed footprints to where he had likely fished. Bren took a minute to comb the rocks finding a few fossils and a crayfish skeleton. The bottom along the bank felt like a mix of sand and stone with the odd dead weed.
Same pink grub, I cast out, retrieved, took three steps down the bank, then did it again. Doing this about a dozen times finally a fish hit. On the surface I saw it was a silvery searun speck and almost instantly I got a hard boner on.
Attempting to land a 15 to 16 inch trout on shore it spit the hook in the shallow sand and flopped back into the river. I ran back to the boat to tell Bren, grab the net and hook a new worm onto the jig. Was praying that I hadn’t just stung the only trout in the pool. Those prayers were answered for a couple casts later I landed an absolutely gorgeous 17 incher.
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After pics it was the same thing. Another worm, back to the spot, and within a half dozen casts, THWAP & SPLASH, here comes some aerial assault tactics and a whole bunch of “Happy Scrappy.” This super silver fish about a 15 incher.
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But it wasn’t over yet. I got a pink bucktail onto Bren’s line and together we set off for another. We weren’t two minutes when another speck took my bait. This one I could tell right away had some shoulders as it peeled a little reel before going airborne. Man was I excited! Once landing this stunning 18 incher I knew this was the best single day casting for searuns I’d ever had. Kind of began to understand why some people get that sickness for fishing the chromers. These trout were KA-to-the-ROME!!! YO!
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Bonked a couple. Painstaking a little for me to harvest these gems but my three girls love eating trout more than any other fish. They picked that stuffed succulent lemon salsa buttered meat clean and had a fish eaten in three minutes back home. The second fish I made sure to get at least a taste. Cleaning the fish I found mostly yellow stonefly and recently hatched crayfish in their bellies, and a few other odds and crawlies too.
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That is May so far. In just the four outings the war canoe has seen over 400 kilometers in the pursuit of fish. Arriving home the forecast remains rainy with the likelihood of a little snow for the next few days, Weather Network totally blew that one.
A bummer really, as I still have four off work and had planned a quick repack here at home then a few days camping alone on the Cheepas. Good fishing karma is getting me bad as 7 of my 9 days off for opener look to be rain… but I ain’t complaining cause the one overnight with Bren where we caught some sun, silver and gold, made up for it all.
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Bunk.
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