Quebec…I’m In Love…Again

When I was younger, images of the classic fly-fisher casting a graceful rhythm of neon fly line would tickle my imagination and fill my head with visions of gently flowing streams and perfectly silent afternoons.

I would close my eyes, comforted by the imaginary yellow glow of the sun warming my eyelids and I’d imagine that it was me who was standing up to my knees in the crisp river romantically waving my fly rod, tantalizing trout with tiny flies and tempting Mother Nature to shatter the silence with the crashing of a tail.

Oh… fly-fishing seemed so romantic to me.

Enjoying nice weather on the Petite.

As the years passed and I was able to trade my conventional tackle for fancy fly gear, I could hardly wait to actually experience this fantasy.  Ecstatic, I would finally live my dream!  Me on a serene river’s edge; unfettered and free …just me and, hopefully, the fish.

My romantic expectations rivaled any Danielle Steel romance novel….. Looking back now, I chuckle at my naiveté.

Whatever made me think that fly-fishing was going to have fewer people and less distractions than a typical day on the water with my gear rod was totally wrong and I, unfortunately, was in for a rude awakening.

Most of the local rivers were busier than ever and, now with a fly rod in tow, the distractions only increased.  You see, in addition to the regular hustle and bustle of hard-core fishers, suddenly all types of anglers were increasingly chatty and eager to swap lessons, stories and gear reviews.

This was great, but I had more peace and quiet when I carried a bait rod …

I soon came to realize that socializing on busy rivers was all part of the norm, and I welcomed the knowledge and smiles that were directed my way, glad to be making new friends.

Regardless, my fantasies of what fly-fishing entailed were definitely skewed and I concluded that though it was indeed romantic in its own right, it certainly was not the glorified ‘River Runs Through It’ experience that I had once envisioned it to be.

Naturally, as the years passed and my list of favorite rivers increased (along with equally exciting adventures), I inevitably found majestic fisheries that were everything I had ever hoped for and more; right here in my home province of BC.

Huge steelhead, towering mountains, roaring rivers and not a single other angler in sight; this was the dream that had tantalized my imagination all those years before!  But in BC, although there are unique fisheries that are at their prime when the weather is ideal, a typical checklist for BC “big game hunters” includes multiple clothing layers, a fully stocked sink-tip wallet (optional), large weighted flies, and serious wading skills.

While I wouldn’t trade this fishery, including the necessary checklist for any other, there was still something missing from the fantasy that had possessed me over the years.

As time passed I began to accept that there was simply no such thing, and that I was just a dreamer seeking to find the unicorn in a horse…a young and wishful thinker.

This was all about to change….

July 2009 found me on a plane heading to a province I’d heard about for so many years (and admittedly, cursed while enduring the mandatory high school French classes required in high school).

I was on my way to Quebec and although I had no idea what to expect, there were three things that I definitely did know:

1.   Recently bitten by the Atlantic Salmon bug, I had developed an obsession, not only for their chrome, acrobatic and sleek bodies, but also for the skilled and artistic flies traditionally tied to specifically target these wondrous creatures;

2.  Quebec was famous for it’s Atlantic Salmon fishery, and that

3.  I should probably remember some of that French I had “learned” in high school so as to avoid any cold shoulders from the locals… oh, oh….

I was scheduled to fish some of the most famous rivers in the Gaspe Peninsula, all of which held monster wild Atlantic Salmon. Joining me on this trip was Fly Max Films cameraman, Tim Myers.  Together the two of us were on a mission to capture some amazing footage of the elusive Atlantic Salmon for an upcoming episode of our new show, Fly Nation.

We were staying at the Salmon Lodge in the Grand Cascapedia Valley and were eager to get settled in and prepare for our first day of fishing.

We rolled into the lodge (which we later found out was built in the 1800’s) late in the evening and the dark masked our surroundings.  A bright light shone on a small cabin’s front door and the number on the quaint white building told us that this was our new temporary home.

The black of night engulfed the view from our cabin and it was impossible to get even a glimpse of our surroundings.  With no expectations of what Quebec looked like; I certainly had no clue that I was about to be ruined forever!

Morning came fast and the sun warmed the room.  It was time to go fishing!

Stepping out into the daylight, I stopped for a moment to take it all in.  We were right on the Grand Cascapedia, on a bluff overlooking the wide river and plush evergreens from a bird’s eye view.  My God, it looked like BC!!!  It was incredible!

The next week consisted of fishing multiple rivers; the Bonaventure, Grand Cascapedia and Petite Cascapedia were all on the docket list.

Grand Cascapedia

The Grand Cascapedia is one of the larger rivers in the Gaspe Peninsula, and it’s extensive history of angling legends and epic fish battles make it one of the most famous Atlantic Salmon rivers in the world.  If I could land even a single fish here, I was going to be one happy girl.

This was the first of the three rivers that I was scheduled to fish, and I was chomping at the bit to get at it!

One of the most traditional rivers in the province, the Grand Cascapedia is “private” and requires the use of a guide and a special license.  Its water is gin clear and when the fish are there, they are easily visible.  True to form, it was utterly remarkable.

My guide, Clement, had me put on a dry fly (a Bomber) that made casting a sink tip seem easy.  Equivalent to the size of a small bird, the wind caught it mid-cast, making a violent “whooshing” sound as it pushed through the air.

Damn!  This thing was hard to cast and there were fish rolling nonchalantly in front of me in a pool of stagnant water.  This wasn’t my first time attempting to trick fish in unmoving still water.  I knew the likelihood of hooking one of these fish without the aid of a current was highly unlikely, and true to past experiences, try as I might with Bombers, Green Highlanders, and even the notorious Frances…. I couldn’t pay a fish to move.  It was time to try the next pool.

Working down to a very frustrating stagnant pool.

The next spot we arrived at was more my speed.  A long stretch of structured water, the river opened up and a welcomed current flowed gracefully.  “Hello lover”, I sighed and headed down the path.

Clement stopped me.  “Avril”, he motioned.  “This way.”

He pointed at a large canoe (26 feet long to be exact), and pulled it out into the current.  He got Tim and me to jump in while he assumed his position at the bow and we waited for him to pull out the oars and prepare to row.  Instead he grabbed a long pole, stood tall and began ‘poling’ us down the river.

I couldn’t believe my eyes!  I may as well have been fishing the flats for Bonefish!  Apparently, this poling tradition was a longstanding method and I was beginning to understand why.  Clement could see everything from where he stood, and the boat ride was smooth and slow without the obnoxious clanking of oars or splashing of water.

This dude was stealth!

Clement looked at me seriously and drew my eyes to a dead tree, which lay rotting in the water.  Sure enough, on the other side of the trunk were two salmon, their noses pointed forward, swaying in rhythm to the smooth current.

“Cast on top of them”, Clement instructed me.  I was a fumbling mess.  My nerves kicked in and the intrusive sound of the Bomber wasn’t helping.  Thirty casts later we had no choice but to move on, and the three of us settled on breaking for lunch.

Tim and I fiddled with cameras and talked about the upcoming afternoon while Clement set up lunch complete with a small table and chairs.  It was a lunch fit for a King, with only a couple of things missing – an orchestra of violinists serenading us and, of course, my “Mr. Right”.   Clement held out a bottle of Merlot and offered us each a glass.  We chuckled and politely declined.

Our first day ended with smiles and tired eyes.  Although I hadn’t hooked “my” Atlantic Salmon, nothing could dampen my good mood and I fell asleep with visions of jumping fish and thoughts of just how I lucky I was.

Bonaventure

The Bonaventure has always sounded like a Mexican fiesta to me.  The name just sounded fun and the pictures I’d seen of it carried as much character as its name did.

Unique rock floors and the clearest water I’ve ever seen in my life; I questioned if I had just found my new favorite river.

Our guide for today was a man named Roddy.  Nothing short of entertaining, Roddy had me laughing the entire day.  Whoever said that the French take themselves too seriously has yet to meet this man.  He and Tim poked jokes from behind me on the bank and I had to focus hard on landing my casts accurately.

Unlike the previous day, I was fishing a wide run with standard swinging techniques.  A dry line, long leader and small black Atlantic Salmon pattern had me casting a tight loop effortlessly and it swung through the current just barely submerged below the surface.  If this thing actually worked, I just might consider tossing my sink tips in the trash.

Cast, swing, step…. cast, swing, step….  Just like at home.

I had made it to the middle of the run when suddenly the soft loop I held in my rod hand was pulled taut and my fly was attacked by a scrappy salmon!  Instinctively I set the hook and the battle began. Jumping, running, rolling, that salmon fought for its life and I desperately prayed that the fly wouldn’t come loose.

As usual, I knocked on the cork of my rod, a superstitious habit I’ve developed over the years when fighting a fish I couldn’t fathom losing.  Soon enough, the silver bullet of a fish succumbed to the fight and Roddy helped me land it in one swoop of a catch and release friendly net.

Even if I wanted to wipe the stupid smile off my face, it was permanently pasted on and I was grinning like a proud child.

First Quebec Atlantic Salmon.

My trip was made and it was only the first fish of the trip!

Petite Cascapedia

The next couple of days were to be spent on the Petite Cascapedia and we transferred to a new lodge called Camp Malencon.

This truly unique lodge is right on the Petite.  We were greeted by an extremely friendly and gracious French woman, who made sure that we had enough food to feed an army and showed us around our new ‘home’.  The place was huge and fully equipped with a stocked kitchen and sunroom.  I could live here quite happily for the remainder of my angling days.

Naturally, I was under the impression that the Petite was a “petite” version of the Grande and that the fish would likely be smaller.  Boy was I wrong!

The water gleamed a dazzling blue, its beauty far surpassing the expectations I had formed based just on pictures of this river.  It was tropical, though the cool breeze and evergreen-lined embankment reminded me that I was in Quebec, not the Bahamas.

We arrived at the most spectacular run I had ever seen (no exaggeration there).  Clearer than a premium martini, every detail of the bottom of the pool was visible, as were the schools of salmon swarming the hole.

I could hardly contain my excitement as I tied on the heaviest fly my guide, Pat, had in his box.

Just…. can’t…. reach… Errgghh!  I mended and cast as far upstream as I could.  I simply couldn’t get my fly down to the bottom of that pool. I had my eye on a legitimate 25 pounder and was intent on at least turning his head.  I held my breath as my fly skimmed his nose…

Out of the corner of my eye, a looming dark shadow caught my eye.  It was over twice the size as the fish I was casting to, and his silhouette was frightening.  There’s no way that ‘thing’ was a fish!  It wasn’t even possible… was it?

I’d heard stories of dog sharks making their way into the rivers from the ocean, stalking salmon and disturbing the peace, but the way this fish moved was about as fishy as could be and I knew it was no shark.

I started shaking.  The fish was moving at a leisurely pace, but sure enough it was moving in my direction!  I lost all composure and turned to my guide in shock.  His face said it all; this fish was as big as I thought it was and it was nothing short of monstrous!!

I felt like an awkward schoolgirl again, watching the hot senior of the basketball team walk by me in the hall, hardly breathing as I waited for him to even glance in my direction.

As was expected, this scaly “hot senior” made his way past me without a care in the world…or even a glance in my direction.  I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking.

I looked across the river at Tim and the camera pointed in my direction.

“Did you see that!!!”  I yelled over.

“Oh yeah”, he said with the smugness of an uptown pimp, “I got it all…”

Caught on tape; this is one moment I do indeed wish to share.

How could such a beautiful place have gone under my radar for so long!?  I set up my rig with another monster Bomber, eager to take a fish on the surface.

The sun shone brightly and I took off my jacket to enjoy the heat.  Could this be real?  Warm weather, picture perfect water, gigantic fish, dry flies, tight loops and no one around to distract me?  I thought back to all the times I had sought such sanctity; only to head home at the end of the day disappointed and discouraged.  I remembered the fantasy that I had so long ago lost hope on.

Had I finally found it?  Had I finally matched the picture that I had created in my mind when I first entertained the thought of fly-fishing?

As a salmon broke the peace and smashed my fly, I knew I had found my answer.

On my final day of fishing we opted to spend a half-day on the Grand Cascapedia, taking one last shot at the fish of a lifetime.

Our guide, Glenn took us to a long stretch of river that was wide and rocky with overhanging trees and slippery wading.

Glenn pointed to the far bank and matter-of-factly said, “Cast there”.

I looked to where he pointed.  It was a long haul, and I’d left my Spey rod back at the lodge.  Suddenly my single-hander and I felt very small tucked between the boulders with a strong current pushing at my thighs.

Each cast, neared backing and I started to cramp.  My guide showed no sympathy and he pushed me to throw further.  I was beginning to like this guy.  He kinda reminded me of me…. with his “no pity… we’re fishing” sort of demeanour.   He meant business.

We looked at each other as a drop of rain fell from the sky, melting into the river around us.  More soon followed and the sound of thunder bellowed from above.

He looked at me.  “You know”, he said, “we usually wrap it up about now…lightening and fly rods don’t seem to go well together…”

A weather change on the Bonaventure.

But I was determined and I couldn’t let the rain bully me into leaving my last shot at hooking a beauty in the Grand.  I turned to him and grinned to let him know that I wasn’t budging.  He smiled and we continued to cast that ridiculous line as far as I could towards the other side of the river.

As quick as it had started, the rain stopped and the sun smiled through the clouds again.

As if on cue, my line tightened mid swing and the water exploded with a jumping salmon.  “Yes!”

Sometimes the fish that mean the most are the ones that make you work the hardest.

Grand Cascapedia fish….mission accomplished

My trip to Gaspe was truly my most memorable trip to date.  The weather, lodges, guides, fish, rivers, privacy….

Everything I had ever dreamt fly-fishing could be came to life during that week as I sought the pull of the notorious Quebec Atlantic Salmon.

True, private water is always helpful when it comes to seeking refuge, though it was the Quebec experience as a whole that sealed my opinion of this flawless fishery.  Days like these are the reason I started fly fishing in the first place and to find a love like that is not to be taken lightly.

This is a spectacular trip, and I highly recommend it for anglers wanting to learn what all the fuss is about and experience the thrill of hooking an Atlantic Salmon.

The prices are no more expensive than any other fishing lodge and the experience will stay with you for life.

Contact the Salmon Lodge at http://www.thesalmonlodge.com/ for more info.

Ape's Fav Five

As previously published in Chasing Silver Magazine

*Note- all flies are designed and tied by April Vokey.  For more information on purchasing any of these flies contact april@flygal.ca

British Columbia is world famous for its majestic rivers and legendary steelhead.  A truly unique fishery, B.C. is home to steelhead twelve months out of the year where they are pursued by determined anglers who brave all the accompanying elements; icy guides, subzero snow storms, rugged hiking and treacherous wading are all factors that the serious angler will endure.

Matt Moisley knows what I’m talking about.

The arrival of West-Coast steelhead tends to be most abundant as the weather begins to cool down, typically drawing the fish deeper into the pools and often times easing their aggression.
To stay in the game, seasoned anglers rig up their Spey rods with sink tips, and tie obnoxious flies to help coax the fish to bite.

Brrrr.  Ape with a double striper.

I remember the first steelhead I caught on one of my own fly patterns.  The breeze was cold and fresh snow laced the felts of my wading boots.  This was my favourite time of year.  Freezing temperatures kept a majority of anglers indoors, allowing us diehards to menace the rivers in true steelhead bum fashion.

Never a huge fan of nymphing or dead drifting, I always loved the concept of swinging a fly.  By casting towards the opposite bank and allowing my fly to sweep intrusively through the current, I was able to cover a maximum amount of water.  Working my way through the run, I would envision an aggressive buck tickled by the teasing feathers of my fly before lunging forward to attack.  Every step I made felt like one step closer to an epic battle.

Working the run (Michael Davidchik photo).

I had spent the entirety of my pre-season evenings behind my vice, stocking my fly box in preparation of this much-anticipated fishery.
I had always been drawn to the art of tying flies.  Such a male dominated sport, I got a kick of how incredibly feminine steelhead flies tended to look.  Popular flies with names like Showgirl and Cotton Candy, provoked me to take advantage of my creative side and display my ‘girly’ traits through my fly-tying.

Ape at the vise.

So there I stood with an overloaded fly box that looked like a foam lined candy store.  I sorted through my flies until an aesthetically pleasing pink and blue intruder variation, stood out from the rest.  I tied it on and cast it into the seam.  Half an hour later, it was “fish on” and I had landed myself a heavy wild buck.
It was at that moment that my love for the feminine pink pattern secured itself as my favourite and, to this day, remains on the top of my “preferred flies” list.

A pretty typical fly seen hanging out of most of my fish’s mouths…..

The beautiful thing about fly-tying is that the tyer can showcase their creativity and originality through their invented patterns.  As long as the fly appears to come to life in the water (which is the reason why Ed Ward‘s attractor pattern, the ‘Intruder‘, became such a big hit in B.C. several years ago) or is a reasonable imitation of a natural aquatic species, the tyer can create countless unique and efficient concoctions.

Different lighting and water conditions are all important variables when it comes to steelheading.  I make sure that at all times my fly box consists of a variety of flies suitable for all conditions.
Dark, bright, small and big flies all have their own unique purpose.
I find myself fishing dark flies when the water is murky, and bright ones when the water is clear.
The size of my fly usually depends on the level of the water, however I find that typically low and clear rivers fish best with smaller patterns.

But it’s not always that simple.  Different strains of steelhead sometimes require different tactics.  Different levels of aggression, time of year, genetic build are but a few contributing factors.
Some fish occasionally throw a wrench into my standard approach, keeping me on my toes.  Though you’ll never hear me complain, for it wouldn’t be fishing if it were any other way.

With this, I give you five of my favourite creations.

*=Note

*I  prefer to tie most of my flies with a trailing hook.  This allows me to replace any dull or broken off points by simply switching the hook, rather than disposing of the fly entirely.

1)    Snip off four or five inches of thin wire, thick monofilament, running line or     something of the sort.
2)    Folding it in half, lay each end on either side of the shank and wrap the thread     over the wire, winding it upwards.  The tie in point should be where the hook     shank begins to curve.
3)    Fold the wire back over and secure it with multiple downward winding wraps of     thread.
4)    Clip any tail ends.
5)    After completion of the fly, use wire cutters to cut the main hook near the bend     in the shaft.

Sugar Pop

Materials:

Pink thread
Silver oval tinsel
Krinkle Mirror Flash
Blue polar bear (or dubbing of choice)
Blue eared pheasant (dyed blue)
Pink rhea
Pink teal
Silver mini flat braid
Pink tinsel
Blue Flashabou
Jungle cock
Kingfisher

Tying Instructions:

1)    Tie in a strand of silver oval tinsel and wrap it up the hook five times, creating a     tag.
2)    Dub in the under fur of blue polar bear.
*Any dubbing will work, though I find that polar bear shimmers the best in the     water, and is the most efficient in preventing the rest of the materials from     collapsing.
3)    Tie in the tip of a single blue eared pheasant feather.  Fold both sides of the     feather fibres rearward and continue to wrap the feather several times until it fans     over the dubbing.
4)    Peel off a side of a rhea feather and tie in the tip (*if rhea is unavailable, marabou     or ostrich can    make a great substitute).  Make several wraps until it fans over the     blue eared hackle.
*You can stack the rhea if you prefer, though it will not result in the same     fullness.
5)    Tie in a strand of Krinkle Mirror Flash on either side of the hook.
6)    Peel a pink teal feather and hackle it over the rhea.
7)    Attach silver mini flat braid, pink tinsel, and blue flashabou.
8)    Wrap the mini braid forward, ribbing it with the tinsel and flashabou.
9)    Repeat steps 2-6.
10)    Pluck two small secondary feathers from a jungle cock cape and tie them in as     cheeks.
*Use flat-nosed pliers to pinch the stems to prevent them from rolling.
11)    Lay a kingfisher feather over the jungle cock, again flattening the stem with flat-    nosed pliers.
*The tip of a blue saddle feather makes a decent substitute.
12)    Whip finish and coat with head cement.
*Clear nail polish works just as well (your wife will understand.)

Burnt Orange Prawn

Materials:

Black thread
Gold oval tinsel
Golden pheasant tippet
Orange seal dubbing
Red seal dubbing
Gold Mylar tinsel
Orange blue-eared pheasant feather
Black rhea
Dark orange ring neck pheasant
Tragopan

Tying Instructions:

1)    Tie in a strand of gold oval tinsel and wrap it up the hook five times, creating a     tag.
2)    Tie in a single golden pheasant tippet.
3)    Pre-cut a piece of gold Mylar tinsel and select an orange blue-eared pheasant     feather.  Fold the feather fibres rearward, in preparation of step five.
4)    Dub the orange seal fur in a dubbing loop.
5)    Make two turns with the dubbing loop, securing the ends of the Mylar and blue-    eared pheasant with the wraps of the dubbing loop.  Let them dangle freely, while     continuing to wrap the dubbing loop forward ¾ up the hook.
6)    Rib the tinsel forward through the dubbing, using a pin to free any flattened fur.

7)    Wrap the pheasant hackle upwards, alongside the tinsel.
    Secure with thread and trim all ends.
9)    Peel a side of a black rhea feather and tie in the tip.
10)    Dub and wrap the red seal fur up the remainder of the shank.
11)    Hackle the black rhea through the dubbing.  You’ll only need to make two or three     wraps.
12)    Sequentially stack and layer three ring neck feathers, flattening the stems with     flat-nosed pliers.
13)    Tie in a pair of tragopan feathers as cheeks.
14)    Whip finish and coat with head cement.

The Five O-Clock Shadow

Materials:

Black thread
Small gold tinsel
Black polar bear
Red ostrich
Yellow saddle
Black mini flat braid
Silver oval tinsel
Red tinsel
Green tinsel
Red polar bear
Black rhea
Jungle cock

Tying Instructions:

1)    Wrap the gold tinsel ten times up the shank, creating a tag.
2)    Stack in a small clump of black polar bear as a tail.
3)    Conceal the bump from the clipped tail ends with  a strand of red ostrich.
4)    Attach a piece of black mini flat braid, green tinsel, red tinsel, silver oval tinsel     and tip of a yellow saddle feather (one side peeled).
5)    Wrap the black flat braid first, then the green and red tinsel, and lastly the yellow     saddle.
6)    Counter rib over all of step five’s materials with the silver oval tinsel.
*This is to slow the wear and tear of the rib during casting.
7)    Dub in the under fur of red polar bear or dubbing material of choice and make two     turns.
8)    Stack the strands of a black rhea feather all around the shank (top, bottom and     sides).
9)    Tie in a pair of jungle cock cheeks.
10)    Whip finish and coat with head cement.

Purple Whisper

Materials:

Black thread
Gold oval tinsel
Silver oval tinsel
Turquoise silk
Blue rhea
Natural Amherst
Purple marabou
Cerise marabou
Purple ring neck pheasant

Tying Instructions:

1)    Wrap the gold oval tinsel forward ten times, creating a tag.
2)    Tie in the turquoise silk, silver tinsel, gold tinsel and peeled blue rhea feather.
*To peel rhea, pinch the strands at the tip of the feather and carefully pull down.      The membrane should separate from the stem with all its fibres intact.  This gets     easier with practise but is well worth a few casualties to be able to have such a     remarkable hackle, free of the bulky stem.
When tying the peeled rhea onto a shank, wrap the membrane as though it were     the stem of a regular feather.
3)    Wrap the silk upwards and rib the tinsels atop the silk, side by side up the shank.
4)    Palmer the rhea up the hook, laying it directly beside the previously ribbed tinsel.
5)    Pick out a purple marabou feather that isn’t overly plumy.  Choose a stringy     feather over a fuzzy one to guarantee a crisp appearance.
*When buying packages of marabou, take a moment to take the feathers out of the     package and find the package with the least plumy fibres.  These affordable     feathers can often double as rhea or blue-eared pheasant in many patterns.
6)    Tie in the tip of the marabou feather, fold its fibres rearward, and wrap it forward     several times.
7)    Do the same with a cerise marabou feather.
8)    Tie in an over-wing of three overlapping purple ring neck pheasant feathers.      Flatten the stems with flat-nosed pliers to avoid them from rolling.
9)     Tie in two strands of natural Amherst on either side of the shank, and top with a     pair of jungle cock cheeks.
10)    Whip finish and coat with head cement.

Wizard of Oz

Materials:

Turquoise silk
Silver oval tinsel
Blue-eared pheasant (dyed blue)
Blue-eared pheasant (dyed purple)
Bright green ostrich
Jungle cock
Blue ostrich
Purple silk
Hammered silver tinsel
Blue tinsel
Gold tinsel
Green synthetic dubbing
Golden pheasant

Tying Instructions

1)    Tie in turquoise silk and silver oval tinsel.  Wrap the silk forward half an inch and     rib the tinsel on an angle atop the silk.
2)    Tie in the tip of the dyed blue blue-eared pheasant and fold both sides of the     feather fibres rearward, while wrapping it forward.
3)    Stack the green ostrich, spreading it evenly around the diameter of the shank.
4)    Tie in a pair of jungle cock cheeks.
5)    Conceal cut off ends with a strand of blue ostrich.
6)    Tie in the strands of purple silk, hammered silver tinsel, blue tinsel and gold     tinsel.
7)    Wrap the purple silk towards the hook’s eye, and rib all three tinsels upwards on     an angle, making sure they’re wrapped side by side.
8)    Dub in a small amount of synthetic green dubbing.
9)    Repeat step three.
10)    Repeat step two with the purple blue-eared pheasant feather.
11)    Repeat step four.
12)    Tie in an over wing of two overlapping golden pheasant feathers.  Flatten the     stems with flat-nosed pliers to avoid them from rolling.
13)    Whip finish and coat with head cement.

Fly Gal has teamed with two different lodges in both Terrace and Smithers, BC.  To book a trip on some of the world’s best steelhead  rivers, contact april@flygal.ca

For The Fly Gals- Part 1

As previously printed in the Canadian Fly Fisher magazine (2008).

I have a confession to make.

I’ve always been a sucker for a woman casting a fly rod.

I can’t help but watch in awe as she casts effortlessly into the cool breeze, gently throwing mends upriver, concentrating on her fly’s presentation before stripping the line back in and preparing to cast again.  I try so hard not to stare but, the truth is, I just can’t help myself.

Ade you’re sexy as hell babe!

Don’t get me wrong, I love to watch a tight loop cast from just about any angler, man or woman, but there’s just something different about a cast kissed with a feminine touch.

Ape throwing one out there.

Hello ladies, please allow me to introduce myself.
My name is April Vokey and I’m an avid angler and fishing guide in beautiful British Columbia.  Like so many of you, I’ve been bitten and deeply infected by the fishing bug, and, quite willingly, I allow it to consume my life.

Mathew Moisley photo.

My fascination with  fishing began when I was a little girl.  Never having the luxury of a father or grandfather who was really serious about fishing, the origins of my obsession with the sport has always been a mystery both to me and my family.

Nevertheless, my parents, always huge supporters of quality family time, were more than happy to take my sister and me to spend the day at the water, picnic basket and mini fishing rods in tow.  Although, as children, we had great fun casting worms and wedding bands, it wasn’t until I was old enough to drive, that I was able to take myself fishing and truly learn the ways of the river.

My first car; the Blue Beast (Buick Skylark).  This thing got me to the river and back and was the most reliable fishing buddy I had for a long time.

Getting started was intimidating.  I had a lot of questions and, with no one to answer them, I made my way to the library and took out every book I could find on different species of fish and methods of catching them.

I learned how they fished in the UK and the habits of countless ocean-dwelling creatures, but remained fairly ignorant about fishing in the Lower Mainland, B.C.  For this, I had to seek help from somebody with experience, so I headed to my local tackle shop.

The guys in the shop were more than helpful and provided me with knowledge about the river that I was interested in fishing, making sure that I was properly equipped.  They set me up with affordable gear, drew me detailed maps, and explained the basics of proper river etiquette.

Off to the river (Damn, BC is awesome!)  Aaron Goodis photo.

Little do they know it, but that was a day I will never forget.  Barriers dropped, and fears were forgotten, as I was welcomed with friendly faces, sincerely interested in showing me how to grow in the sport.  In return, that shop gained a loyal customer, never too proud to ask for advice and always eager to share her reports and experiences.

It is a relationship I strongly urge any aspiring angler to commit to.

As my days on the water accumulated and the years passed, a natural progression began. I found myself being lured by the beauty of the art of fly-fishing….. I longed to cast that fluorescent line with ease, my body flowing gracefully and my fly taunting unsuspecting fish as it swung across the current.

It has always seemed romantic to me, a classic sport as old as time, consisting  merely of a patient angler, several trusted flies, fly rod, spooled reel, and sheer appreciation of the tranquil surroundings and therapeutic songs of nature.

I never could, and never will for that matter, wrap my head around why such a poetic pastime has for so long been pursued primarily by men.

April Vokey photo.

Aaron Goodis photo.

Andrea and Jenna ready to rock ‘n roll (Trevor Welton photo).

For the longest time, my friends and family thought I was losing my mind.  Seeing me endure long drives and freezing weather, they knew there must be something extremely unique about this sport that I  continued to stubbornly pursue.

Typical scene of a BC canyon wall.  Looking back now, no wonder my parents freaked….

Even my little sis, Dana, began to understand what all the fuss was about (Steve Morrow photo).

I suppose it was inevitable that I would eventually find myself agreeing to bring some of my close girl friends out with me to share the experiences of a day of catch-and-release fishing on the river.  The outcome proved to be something I’d never experienced before.

As an angler who had always preferred to fish solo or with capable male fishing buddies, I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t slightly concerned as to how the day would unravel.

April and Nicole (Marcel Saring photo).

The truth is, I was completely taken aback by how incredibly enjoyable our time together on the water was.

With conversation not varying much from that we’d exchange over a cocktail on a girls’ night out, we easily lost track of time as we enjoyed our freedom and surroundings—hiking along the river bank, searching for that single adrenaline-packed moment.

It was much like taking a yoga class or a cleansing hike with a close friend—the adventure, movement, relaxation and concentration of fishing provided an escape from all the accumulated stresses of work, home, and life in general.  Spending time on the river with these patient, energetic and persistent women, it didn’t take me long to conclude that having a woman fishing buddy was the link that had been missing for me.

Guide Kate Taylor knows what I’m talking about.

Soon, I began to get phone calls and emails from other friends and acquaintances and, before long, I was taking women of all ages with me to experience a sport which so many of them had an interest in but were too intimidated to try.  These women included co-workers, relatives, friends of friends and guiding clients.

My girl Ashley.

Client Sheila.

It’s such a shame that intimidation prevents so many women from participating in fly fishing.  Afraid of lacking the strength and the skills necessary to be a successful angler, a vast majority of women opt to stick with sports more suitable to the physicality of a woman.  This is truly unfortunate, as there is nothing further from the truth than this major misconception.  In actuality, it is a fact that women are better casting students than men.

Giving a lesson.

Ask any reputable fishing guide or casting instructor, and most will agree that women do indeed learn more rapidly than men.

This is not meant as a put-down of the opposite sex, but rather as an observation of how each sex absorbs instruction and how easily they apply it to the task at hand.  Enthusiastic and open-minded, women sincerely listen to constructive criticism, immediately focusing on improving their faults.  Please note that this is not always the case when receiving instruction from one’s significant other, as that can often cause more harm than good.  You all know what I’m talking about!

Women tend to have a more gentle stroke, controlling the fly rod with careful movements, taking special precautions not to overpower it, the way most men do so regularly.

Maintaining the rod tip’s proper path in casting is crucial, and women are more apt in applying that unexaggerated, delicate motion, in which the tip is prevented from being forced too far back or too far forward on either side of the angler, enabling a sweetly loaded rod which delivers a beautifully timed, tight loop. With the realization that brute strength plays no part in the process of becoming a great caster, the intimidation factor is soon overcome and forgotten about completely, being replaced with the joy of perfect, effortless motion.

Right Shannon?  (Rod Vanderlinde photo)

As a firm believer in equal opportunity and a fishing buddy to both men and women, I have spent countless days on the water with a wide ranging assortment of anglers.

Over the years, some days have proven to be undeniably frustrating, and others, unbelievably picture-perfect.  However, my favourite days are just indescribably……..girly?

Yup!  With bright pink hats and manicured nails, I am self-admittedly a ‘girly-girl’.  I’m simply a woman who likes to play in the water, rather than a diva or a feminist—a serious angler in touch with my feminine side, who spends all of my free time chasing fish in the hope that they, in turn, will chase my fly.

You can be certain that there are more of us out there than you might think there are, and with time, as each woman begins to break through the subtle barrier of what has been up until now a ‘boys only club’, we are slowly finding each other and establishing our own niche.

Sarah Exton is feisty with her red nails!

Although it’s only natural that there will be days when an intense conversation with a female fishing companion is the last thing you wish to engage in while angling, I strongly encourage all women to make some effort to get to know other fellow female anglers in their area, as these fishing relationships do have a lot to offer.  If meeting a stranger isn’t for you, don’t give up, chances are that one of your close girlfriends or co-workers are probably interested in having you take them out for a day or two.  Whether it be meeting someone in your area, or introducing that lovable but completely novice friend who wants to accompany you (remind them that instructional magazine articles for beginners are not gender specific), your local tackle shop should be able to assist you.

A local angler, Radine, who has blessed me with a smile on more than one occasion.

A day of fishing with a female friend is like nothing else, as it forges a bond that only another woman can fully comprehend.  Women speak the same language, and with this advantage in communication, we are able to teach and learn from each other with great ease.  Accepting each other’s flaws and idiosyncrasies, there is an inherent comfort level between us that makes the day so special.

As in Sex and the City (only without the sex and without the city), we giggle as we hike, discussing relationships and life, never fretting about how much we are sweating or how often we have to use the bushes as a bathroom.  It’s a perfect partnership.

A day of fishing full of laughs, girl talk and serious misbehaving….

We hurt from laughing the next day.

Alright Fly Gals, unite!

Stay tuned for a chance to win a free hoody in part 2 of ‘For The Fly Gals’.

Ape.

Reminiscing Last Year's Steelhead……

The Steelhead season.

It never can come too early for the hardcore steelhead bum.  I wrote this little piece last year after an epic six week trip to BC’s interior and thought I would share.

Cheers to BC steelhead!

Cheers!  (April Vokey photo).

The Golden Valley

Whoever said that “running away from a problem is not the solution”, obviously never ran far enough away.  Either that, or he was the asshole that was being run from.

Running was exactly what I was doing.  Months of suffering from the common fisherman’s discomfort otherwise known as the “relationship migraine”, combined with other headaches courtesy of web designers, employers, and an over crowded house had all driven me to a near breaking point.

I packed my duffle, waders and Spey rod and met my two most reliable fishing buddies, my Water Master raft and my Toyota 4×4, outside in my driveway.
“Off we go boys….”
I didn’t know exactly where we were going, but I knew it was somewhere far up north to B.C.’s interior where wild Skeena steelhead were plentiful and equally as feisty as me.

The Skeena River is the second largest river in British Columbia and is one of the most famous Steelhead systems in the world.  The Bulkley, Morice, Kispiox, Copper…. the list of tributaries seems endless and an unusually warm October was bringing some of the best fishing the Bulkley River (a mid sized river flowing through the small town of Smithers) had seen in years.

The Bulkley River on an October evening.  (April Vokey photo)

A healthy gas station diet of energy drinks, chocolate, and beef jerky made the fourteen-hour drive to Smithers pass quickly, and the large statue of an old-school fisherman confirmed that I had reached my destination.   The autumn trees swayed gently in the breeze, shaking loose their colourful leaves and creating a highway of gold.   A snowy white mountain shone in the distance, lighting up the blue sky, easing my mind and ridding me of any negative energy; my emotional detox had begun.

Apparently the memo about the hot fishing had spread like an infectious plague throughout the tackle shops and fishing forum community.  Fortunately, word had also spread to a majority of my “not so well-behaved” fishing friends who had opted to make the trip at the same time.  It looked like my three-week vacation was about to take an unexpected, yet far more entertaining, turn.

Some of the usual suspects…….

Tattooed Dave Allen

Tommy Thompson

James Whalen

Aaron Goodis

Scott Baker McGarva

Brian Niska

…….To name but a few.

Drift boats, jet boats, and anglers from all around the world (ones that actually wake up for first light) made fishing…tricky.  There was no need to panic, however, as this dilemma was easily remedied by applying a strategy common to many of us B.C. natives.

We launched our boats at unknown take-outs, fished runs and pockets that most anglers rowed over, fished behind steelhead first timers and, my personal favourite, slept in and let the eager rush push through.

Locked and loaded in the Fly Gal rig.

The fishing had begun to slow down, but it didn’t really matter to any of us.  Between the sun, friendship, quiet drifts, and a decent supply of uplifting B.C. greenery, I had long forgotten about the stresses that were probably multiplying back at the home front.  It was perfect!

The boys sharing a pontoon.  Yup, they actually did the entire float sharing one boat.  Suicidal…

Anyone who has ever visited the small town of Smithers understands that “small” is an understatement.  So, it should have come as no surprise that when I foolishly agreed to participate in a “night out on the town”, we ended up in a tiny strip joint that even the locals opted to stay away from.

Exhausted from a day of rowing and fishing, I faded in and out of focus, catching brief clips of the standard fishermen b.s. and glimpses of a very naked blonde dancer.
I chuckled to myself.  Standing beside my fifteen-foot Spey rod with my blonde hair and long fake nails, I could quite easily pass as one those girls.  Perhaps this is how rumours get started…. Uh oh…. I promptly stopped chuckling and dyed my hair brown the following week.

The next day, I hit the river with good friend, Aaron Goodis.  Fishing with Aaron always makes for an enjoyable day even if the fishing is on lockdown.  Just watching Aaron cast puts a smile on my face every time.

We dropped his truck off at our pullout, loaded into my pickup and headed up river. At the small launch, we pumped up our boats, wadered up, secured our fly rods and set out into the current.  The sky was blue and the water was just the right color.  All the early risers had already pushed through and we had the river to ourselves.  I sat back and closed my eyes, listening to the sweet sound of chirping birds and…hissing air!!?

“Damn it!”  I cursed.  Somehow, in a state of idiocy, I had managed to put a fair-sized hole in the bottom of my raft and it was blowing bubbles like unwelcome farts in an oversized bathtub.  “Great!”  I muttered countless obscenities and rowed into shore.  My raft was leaking badly and in need of immediate repair.

Aaron and I found a roll of electrical tape and wound it around the chamber until the hissing stopped.  Miraculously, it held and we continued our search for chrome bars.
Although daylight was fading fast, neither of us had hooked a steelhead yet.  How could fish not be here!?  With no fish looking to battle, Aaron’s tight loops had provided the best entertainment of the day.

Note the electrical tape.  She was wounded, but floating, and that was all that mattered.

Every day, the fishing seemed to dwindle a little more than the last.  Though everyone was having a good time between the scenery, camaraderie, and occasional recycling of road kill, I was itching to play with some steel.  My girl Kateri had mentioned that the fishing in her neck of the woods looked promising, so several of us packed up and headed her way towards the Kispiox Valley.

No need to waste (Dave Allen photo).

Ross, a friend of ours, has an A-frame cabin that is located directly on the river in the Kispiox Valley.  The cabin comfortably houses six people and several menacing mice.  Ross is one of those guys that, although everyone knows his name, no one knows his age.  The epitome of a fishing bum (and bachelor), eight months out of the year he disappears into thin air, reappearing when (and only when) steelhead season rolls around.

Oh Ross; Why must you torture me so?  (April Vokey photo)

Although it was only eight in the evening when we arrived, Ross and fellow fishing bum, Doug Wiseman, were sound asleep.  Unsure as to whether they were so tired as a result of fishing too much or as a result of old age (this is what he gets for withholding that information), we made the unanimous decision that it was far too early for sleeping.  We threw down our bags, flicked on the lights and counted out pennies, preparing for a poker game.  All it took was the sound of shuffling cards and, wouldn’t you know it, the two of them were up and ready to play.

The next week flew by.  Fishing picked up again and I found myself increasingly thumbing through the local paper, checking out available real estate.  I was enjoying one of the best fishing trips of my life and was not ready for it to come to an end.

Dirty truck for a dirty boy (Mr.Gladstone).  I couldn’t help myself…

Challenged to a push up contest, and you know I had to take it.  You still owe me $20.00 Niska!

Unfortunately, falling snow, an empty bank account, and a full mailbox told me that it was time to head home, so I packed up the truck and hit the freeway, driving back to reality.

My stay in Smithers provided me with the three things that every fishing trip should deliver – tranquility, excitement and ever-lasting memories.  True, I had some serious emails to catch up on and, yes I had a lot of making up to do with my guy, but I’d do it all over again in the blink of an eye.  I had taken the time to ground myself, and as a result, came back an energized, relaxed, and appreciative woman.  It was a refreshing and much needed break.

So, while some may say that I was running away from my problems, I prefer to say that I was running towards a solution.  A solution that just so happened to include giant steelhead.  How can anybody argue that?