Blog written by: James Smedley
“We should go try and catch a salmon,” my wife, Francine, announces on a warm, sunny and uncharacteristically calm August morning. I haven’t been salmon fishing in years; long enough for me to forget about rough weather, empty creels and other unsavory accompaniments to my salmon fishing past. So I throw together a loose assembly of salmon gear, figuring that a sunny morning bobbing around on Lake Superior can’t be all bad. And it isn’t. Within the hour we are on the pancake-flat waters of Michipicoten Bay and it’s absolutely beautiful.
Mid-summer on Lake Superior usually includes significant winds and correspondingly large waves, a combination that is accentuated into fall. But so far this summer, dead calm waters on the Big Lake has been the norm. As we slather on sunscreen, recline in our seats and gaze out at the heat-hazed sculpted shoreline, I’m more than pleased to be part of this rare scene - and I reason that we can always rig up for lake trout if the salmon don’t cooperate .
I first fished salmon in Michipicoten Bay near Wawa in the mid-1980s, back when I was working on a charter fishing boat out of Batchawana Bay north of Sault Ste. Marie. Our bread and butter fish were 2-5 pound lake trout. While I have great reverence for the noble grey trout, they are not particularly fierce fighters in comparison to other species, like salmon. When we trailed the boat up to Wawa to check out the hot salmon bite we’d been hearing about, we were like mounted cavalry lined up against the blitzkrieg; woefully unprepared for the strength, size and power of adult Superior salmon. The first few fish that hit were lost to broken lines. This was entirely the fault of ill-prepared anglers with drags set a little too tight and line a little too light.
Adjustments were made and we experienced several days of excellent salmon fishing. When I moved to Wawa some years later and sought to repeat the experience, I recall a blur of inclement weather, waves large enough to summon the spectre of seasickness, accompanied by very few fish. There was definitely a downturn in the salmon fishery compared to the “glory days” of the mid-80s. There were bright spots when the stars would align and I would land one or two Chinook, but the fishing was a shadow of what it once was and so became my enthusiasm for the salmon hunt.
Ill Prepared Again
The other factor in my waning passion for salmon fishing is my lukewarm attitude towards down rigging. While it’s incredibly effective, it can be a little boring when there aren’t any fish around to release our rods. Don’t get me wrong, if down rigging for salmon was the only game in town I’d be at it steady. But it isn’t, and my limited angling time is spent fly fishing and spin-casting for more reliable species like brook trout, steelhead, walleye and smallmouth. As I glance back at our set up, it’s painfully obvious that I’ve never been that serious about equipping myself for salmon.
Our trusted and capable 18 foot Lund Impact is saddled with a 1 x 6 pine board spanning from gunwale to gunwale to which are attached two vintage hand cranked Luhr Jensen downriggers. Thick rubber bands linking the main pulleys to the line counters disintegrated long ago and are hastily replaced with Francine’s hair elastics. Although I have reasonable salmon rods stashed in the rafters of our basement I elect to go with a pair of 9 foot trout rods. It probably has a lot to do with my tendency to tempt fate by being ill-prepared that our crowning accessory today is a short handled rubber net used for scooping bass and walleye.
At the business end, my salmon arsenal is still pretty relevant. I have a good collection of dodgers and squids, body baits and spoons that have yielded salmon. I’ve rigged a silver dodger and green squid on one line and a lure known as a Whopper Stopper on the other, a hand-me-down from my uncle John. It’s a hard-plastic, silver and purple body bait. Brand unknown. It’s the lure my aunt Sandra suggested my uncle John use when he was experiencing a salmon slump in Lake Huron. Sandra has no interest or expertise in fishing but of course this inexpensive no-name lure, selected in ignorance, started catching fish when nothing else would. John dubbed it the Whopper Stopper and bought every one he could find. When John moved on to that great brook trout creek in the sky, a handful of Whopper Stoppers came to me. Remarkably the unassuming lure has proven deadly for virtually every species of fish I chase.
So it’s not a total surprise when Francine’s downrigger releases. I pull the rod from the holder and hand it to my wife who holds the rod with both hands while line screams from the spinning reel. I release my rod and crank up the downrigger ball then turn my attention to Francine. With the rod bent double and the fish sounding straight down, it’s a crash refresher course on the power and determination of these silvery fish.
It soon becomes apparent that somehow the fish has wrapped the line around the downrigger cable. I’m wracked by the painful realization that 20 pound test braid will not withstand the friction of its union with braided wire cable. When the line snaps we are crestfallen at the loss of what was undoubtedly a large salmon, but the salt in the wound is the loss of one of my precious Whopper Stoppers.
After re-rigging and continuing to troll under the hot midmorning sun, there is period of gnashing of teeth and wrenching of garments, when Francine and I wonder if we blew our only chance at one of these powerful and delicious fish. We don’t wonder long.
Things unfold a little differently this time, with this fish making for surface. Once airborne we get an idea of its dimensions. Francine eventually works it within the vicinity of the boat and my wife scrutinizes the size of this torpedo shaped fish in comparison to the diminutive net her husband is wielding. “This could be tricky,” I say, displaying my mastery of understatement. Although it is a bit of the circus we manage to get the net under the fish and land the first Chinook salmon we’ve ever caught as a couple. It’s at least 15 pounds. Within the hour we are delighted to hook and land two more 20 pound class King Salmon before landing the boat on the sand shore and eating lunch on the beach.
As tiny waves lap against the brown sand we’re both extremely thankful for such a day of fruitful tranquility. August is generally not a calm month on Lake Superior and we savor the day because we don’t expect it will be repeated soon.
Calm Prevails
There are a few breezy days when Lake Superior becomes unfriendly to navigation, but generally August unfolds remarkably calm. When Francine suggests returning to the bay to try and repeat our success, I’m keen on giving it a shot but aware that lightning rarely strikes in the same spot. Once on the water the number of boats seems to indicate that others have been lucky too. In spite of my pessimism I did dust off the salmon rods and stowed the larger net in the boat. We’re still using the old hand cranked down riggers but reason that the arm exercise is good for us and it’s not long before we’re hooking and scooping salmon like a well oiled machine.
As the month progresses I’m starting to enjoy salmon fishing. All the things I traditionally dislike about the activity seem to have evaporated this year. As a rule Francine is quite reluctant to be on Lake Superior. The fact that we get out on the water four or five times through August, and that Francine is the one who initiates these angling voyages, is testament to the uncharacteristic serenity of the lake.
Wise anglers know to never get lulled into a false sense of security. The winds in Michipicoten Bay can blow up quickly and large swells mixed with the aroma of fish slime and idling outboards can hasten a greenish hue to the pallor of once-intrepid anglers. Large waves on Superior may not be particularly dangerous to small craft but getting off the water can be. Landing on the surf-pounded beach is not an option. Boaters must return up the mouth of the Michipicoten River, which is anything but simple in rough weather. The passage is narrow, with rock on one side and sand on the other. The marriage of Superior’s swells with the strong current of the river, combined with the shallow water of the estuary, results in some dangerous offspring. Knowing when to get off the lake is a delicate equation where we must weigh the limitations of our boat and our navigational skills against the conditions at the mouth.
This year, however, Lake Superior is generous and we take advantage. When my daughter Lillian comes home for a visit she joins Francine and I and experiences an exciting battle with her first salmon ever, a 16 pound beauty. Ten days later I return with Lillian and her partner Daniel on the last day of August. Not only do we land some Kings, we are thoroughly entertained by an influx of pink salmon. Although much smaller than Chinook, these lively little salmon are holding close to surface and we catch them by simply flat lining with diving crank baits or casting spoons.
Our appreciation for this bounty of salmon is reflected in the care that we take in processing our catch. Lillian is particularly serious about using as much of the fish as possible. In addition to canning, smoking and freezing, Lillian even draws a broth from the bones. Although there are an exceptional number of calm days into September - and word on the street is the salmon fishing is better than ever - once we lay in a supply of preserved fish to last the winter, we don’t return to Superior.
=As I write this I am well fortified with salmon and remain thankful for what the lake provided in the form of delicious fish and exceptionally beautiful days on the water. Memories of this year’s bounty will certainly be enough to inspire salmon fishing trips next season. If the fishing is half as good as it was last year I may learn to love salmon fishing. If it’s not, it won’t take many days of days of uneventful down rigging in rough weather before I learn to dislike salmon fishing again. The jury is still out.
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