This summer, I found myself in Upper Ontario, fishing the Nipigon River. Many fly fishers consider the Nipigon holy waters, given its history. More than 110 years ago, Dr. W.J. Cook caught a 31.5-inch, 14-pound brook trout on a fly on the river. He shattered the previous world record and set a bar that no one else has reached since. I was optimistic that I might land a personal-best brookie. Furthermore, I loathe to admit, there was some small hope that I could pull out another monster brook trout and have my name enshrined in the record books. After all, I was there chasing trophy Brook trout.
Chasing Trophy Brook Trout – Fishing for the Trout of a Lifetime.
A lot has happened on the Nipigon in the century since that record brookie was caught. Cook’s trophy trout brought in waves of anglers, each trying to best Cook, who decimated the fish population in the process. Then came the logging, which destroyed spawning habitat. Four hydroelectric dams built on the river cut off trout from the outside, preventing them from entering the Nipigon. The trout population dwindled. The time of the Nipigon as a trophy river was over … or was it?
About 20 years ago, the Ontario provincial government instituted new fishing regulations to prevent the further decimation of the trout population. A stricter fishing season was instituted. (On the lower Nipigon, where I would be fishing, the season begins from the last Saturday in April until the Tuesday following Labor Day weekend. Above that dam, on the Upper Nipigon River and Lake Nipigon, the season remains open until Sept. 15. Fly fishers can only keep brook trout larger than 22 inches. Moreover, most prefer to release these monsters to further strengthen the gene pool.
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Reel Deal Guides
I’m fishing with James Boraski, owner of the Reel Deal guide service. A former fisheries employee, he’s been netting fish for clients on this river for 14 years. He’s also a writer and a local media figure, which only adds to the pressure. Not only do I have to cast accurately and catch fish so as not embarrass myself, but I also have to write an entertaining and educational article. It must be free of typos and hackneyed fishing cliches, that’ll be read by a peer? Shit.
The section of the Nipigon we fish is massive. When we back Boraski’s boat into the water, I mistake it for Lake Nipigon further upstream. The river is surrounded by forest, with a few First Nations campsites connected by doubletrack. We’re in the ancestral home of the Ojibwe people, and they have the exclusive camping rights here.
First Cast
After about a 15-minute boat ride, we arrive within a few hundred yards of the dam’s tailwater. Boraski gives me a green streamer and a sinking tip leader. Then, he points out a few spots where he and his clients have had success before. On my third cast, I shoot the line near the scraggly-looking bank, just in front of some underwater structure. I may not have even begun stripping yet when I feel a massive tug, and my 8wt Sage Foundation rod nearly bends in half. I know it’s a good fish as it attempts to flee downstream, tugging hard against the line.
Before I can get it to Boranski, who’s holding the net, I make the cardinal sin of daydreaming, thinking of Cook’s record. Is there an actual record book? How do I get a copy? Will I get an endorsement deal from this, and if so, how much money can I make from it? (I’m a freelance writer after all, and we, like monks, have taken a vow of poverty.) Will I sign a big deal with Sage or Patagonia? Or, dream of dreams, could I be the new face of Old Style beer?
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Picture Time
With those thoughts in my mind, I can practically taste the ice-cold lager as I angled the big brookie into Boraski’s net. Unfortunately, I came in a bit short of the world record. More accurately, I came in a lot short, but it was still a 20-inch brook trout, by far the largest brookie I ever netted. As I posed for the mandatory grip and grin, I wasn’t sure which was bigger: the fish or my smile.
After I released the fish back into the water, I knew the rest of the day was going to be a nonstop trout massacre. This had to be a sign of things to come, right? When I made my next cast, I just knew the day would be filled with lunkers and laughter. But how quickly elation can turn into dejection.
That big brookie set an unrealistic expectation for the rest of the day. We tried different spots, different flies, but almost nothing worked. I saw a brookie leap from the water, so I cast in its direction. Not even a courtesy strike. Across the river, I saw another jump, then another. Before long, it seemed every trout was jumping out of the water like they were Michael Jordan at the 1987 Slam Dunk Competition. It was as if these Nipigon brookies knew why anglers across North America come to this river, and they wanted to give us payback by extending a metaphorical middle fin.
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Quiet Time
Boraski was just as flummoxed as I was. We couldn’t understand why none of the fish were taking anything. Luckily, the frustration quickly turned to laughter. It’s not like I could get angry. While other people are actually working on this gorgeous bluebird day, I’m out fishing, for Pete’s sake!
After a few hours, I finally caught another fish — a baby brookie – then maybe an hour later, I hauled in a 14-incher. As the sun began to dip further on the horizon and our day on the river was rapidly coming to an end, it was like I was reliving last call at my campus dive bar back in the day, handing out shots, trying to entice literally any woman to come home with me. My last fish of the day wasn’t even a trout, but a sucker. It felt somewhat appropriate.
Later on, Boraski and I stood in front of his motel chatting after our day on the water. You know it was a good day when you want to hang out more and maybe drink a beer or four after spending the entire day fishing.
Out of Time
Luckily, he’s a great guy as well as a good guide. But unfortunately, I had to cut things short, as I had nearly an hour to drive to get to my campsite that night in Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. It was completely dark by the time I arrived. Nonetheless, I managed to set up my gear without issue.
People routinely catch 25-inch brookies on the river – including four that summer, Boraski said later – and larger fish approaching 28 inches aren’t uncommon. Turns out, just like my writing career, my best-ever effort was still just sub-par. That’s one way to look at it, but not the way I choose to.
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Chasing Trophy Brook Trout
My 20-inch brookie might not have been a world record, but it was my record, and, in the end, that’s the only thing that matters. So what if the rest of the day was hit-and-miss? That night, I had visions of 20-inch brook trout swimming around in my dreams, world records be damned.
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