Aurora Fontinalis - The Flyfishing Forum

By Luis Nasim and Eugene Hoyano
Images by Eugene Hoyano

But, where, O nature, is thy law?
From the midnight lands comes up the dawn!
Is it not the sun setting its throne?
Is it not the icy seas that are flashing fire?
Lo, a cold flame has covered us!
Lo, in the night-time day has come upon the earth.

What makes a clear ray tremble in the night?
What strikes a slender flame into the firmament?
Like lightening without storm clouds,
Climbs to the heights from earth?
How can it be that frozen steam
Should midst winter bring forth fire?

Mikhail Lomonosov (1711 - 1765)

As the last vestiges of sunshine disappear for another day, green curtains descend from the heavens and begin to dance in the northern sky. The aurora borealis, also known as the northern lights, will once again put on a show, a grand finale of sorts to cap a glorious day in the Canadian northeast wilderness catching brook trout as thick as one's arm.

A labyrinth of lakes interconnected by flowing water greets the visitor. Not always as easy as it looks, however, as weather conditions and the moodiness of fish can play against the plans of even the most optimistic.

Despite the challenges, the possibility of a world record brookie is ever present... or at the very least, the fish of a lifetime for most "mortal" fly fishers.

The bareness of the tundra and lack of roads projects an eerie, mystical image. There is almost as much water as terra firma, and that land is densely covered with typical north woods forest consisting largely of black spruce.

A great variety of flies hatch over the relatively short season. From the meaty Hexagenia through the slate drakes to the smaller callibaetis and the various and prolific caddis hatches, there is no lack of insects on which these squaretails will feed. But who can argue with the excitement of a mouse induced take by one of these leviathan char. After all, that is what images of Labrador and the brook trout of the great white north bring to mind. Depending on where one fishes, the angler should be warned to bring plenty of these patterns, since many of the waters also contain pike which will smash the deer hair bugs as greedily as brook trout do.

Approaching Paradise

The Arrival

Camp

In these "slow growth" northern latitudes trout need a long life to achieve the magnificent proportions they grow to, with some fish living well beyond a decade.

Where else can one cast flies generally reserved for largemouth bass and come up with brook trout like these. Lemming imitations can prove extremely productive in these northern latitudes.

Remoteness, and self-restraint have helped maintain this fragile balance which provides such quality fishing experience. It's best left to talented artists to produce lifelike replicas of a trophy brook trout so we can rest assured that places like these will continue to to exist and produce their speckled treasures.

Check out Kurt Vitch's hard-carved works in the Public Market

Boreal skies provide a clear view of northern constellations. Here Perseus can be clearly seen between 1 and 2 o'clock.

A big boulder split the tail of the small pool that was no more than thirty feet wide. The smooth even flow tumbled past a line of smaller scattered rocks into the next pool below. It was a typical northern brookie stream. Clear and cold with a slight tea tint. Willow bushes and boulders lined both shores with black spruce trees behind. At the tailout, the water was deeper along each bank and shallower around the center boulder.

We had spent all morning canoeing and portaging up river through numerous pools and short rapids. Our plan was to ascend the stream till lunch, then leisurely fish our way back down. It wasn't an easy ascent but it was even harder not being able to cast on the way up because we knew every pool held fish. Half a day upriver our gear was quickly assembled... we needed a pair of brookies for a shore lunch. My hair mouse hit the water with splat landing about three feet away from the center boulder, slowly drifting for a few feet, then, SLURP! It disappeared into a laundry basket size swirl. I knew that this one would qualify for shore lunch, it was not a trophy for these waters, just another chunky brookie. The fish moved slightly toward me, felt the hook and shook its head, then bolted downstream past the line of rocks into the pool below. My five weight rod was thumping as the speckle bulldogged in the depths of the pool. I worked it over to me and it proceeded to zoom back up the deeper shore channel to a holding position just up river. Adding a little more pressure with the rod, the fish turned and I stripped line frantically as it headed back toward me. I was anxious for a glimpse. Would it be a female or the prized male?

Protect the Treasure...

Destruction and Death left behind by mining operations...

not at all an uncommon sight in North America and around the world. Mine tailings from gold, copper and zinc mines poison our environment with arsenic, cyanide and other hazardous byproducts.

One must question whether mining makes sense when you consider the high contamination rate of pristine lands, the potential hazard of leaching these poisons into clean waters and the high cost of cleaning up and reclaiming mine tailings. Even the public's health is at risk.

It is of paramount importance that we protect ecologically significant places from mining practices of any sort. As a society, we must look for alternative industries to sustain economies for communities affected.

		...like frantic synchronized swimmers in complete unison...
My jaw dropped! I could not believe what I was seeing. It was both! A female of about two pounds was hooked, twisting and turning at my feet and incredibly, swimming side by side with her, through every twist and turn was the fish of dreams. A true trophy male brookie, in full flaming spawning colors. The buck did not miss a turn or run, like frantic synchronized swimmers in complete unison, so close together with bodies touching... totally inseparable. They were right there. I could have netted them both in one scoop.
	My heart was pounding. What should I do? I yelled to my friends to come and witness this incredible sight. Quickly glancing over their direction, I saw both were fast to good fish of their own. They had no idea what I was witnessing and they probably couldn't care less because we were all in brookie heaven! Finally, there lay the female, exhausted... with the male lying directly below her in less than three feet of water. Totally forgetting about lunch and without touching her, I reached down and grabbed the shank of the mouse easily pulling the barbless hook from her mouth. She turned and descended to the depths of the pool. To my absolute amazement the buck remained at my feet. I could have easily reached down and touched him. Why didn't he follow his mate? Imagine... the most beautiful classic trophy brookie, all two feet of it, red spots, blue halos, fluorescent orange belly, glowing on a dark, deep, thick body with a small black kype. I dropped the mouse in the water directly in front of me and right over his head. I twitched the mouse. No reaction. I let it sit motionless... still no reaction. Slowly I swam it back and forth, then let it sit again. The few seconds that elapsed seemed like forever. I was oblivious to the world around me. It was just me, the mouse and the trophy. Then, ever so slowly, he tilted his head upward and started to rise. My heart was about to explode. The mouse lay motionless. Ever so gently his kype just kissed the very tip of the submerged mouse tail, without even a ripple, as if thanking me for releasing his mate. He then sank, turned, and slowly finned his way back into the depths. I stood there... dumbstruck. I could not believe what I had just witnessed, my head scrambled trying to comprehend. What he did was a deliberate action. I was clearly visible to him and he had seen me release his mate unharmed. Could this be an unheard of display of emotion? Is it possible? How many different ways could his behavior be interpreted? There is no question he saw me and did not feel threatened by my presence. A very moving, mystical... magical moment that I shall never forget.


A Hefty Buck	A trophy on anyone's terms