The Miramichi is an autumn adventure for Atlantic salmon

Anglers are fortunate to fish for Atlantic salmon. For one thing, these fish are not widely distributed. You’ll find them only in the rivers that flow into the Atlantic coastline of eastern Canada and those streams of Maine.

Every fly rod angler I know dreams of taking one of these great, silvery fish. This special creature must by law be captured with the artificial fly, cast in the conventional manner.

But no matter how you do it, the Atlantic salmon offers one of the greatest fly-fishing thrills possible on light tackle. The fresh-run fish, heavy and powerful from good feeding in the ocean, are loaded with spunk. It takes a calm hand with the fly rod to maneuver a fair-sized fish in the moving water that the salmon use.

The salmon is a great jumper. It’s not at all uncommon to get a dozen jumps – big jumps – from a returning fish. And you’ll stand to lose him on each leap if you’re not gentle with the rod – and if your luck doesn’t hold.

In many quarters, the Miramichi River in New Brunswick is called The Mother of All Salmon Rivers. Consider that in 1993 anglers landed and registered 22,759 fish. This jewel of a river gave up over 8,000 salmon measuring more than 25 inches in length and 5,861 grilse, siblings under 25 inches.

Since the season to angle ends on Oct. 15, it’ll be awhile before the 1994 data is available.

Dr. Jean Guerin of Veazie led a hard-charging Veazie Salmon Club delegation to the marvelous Canadian fishing grounds. In the group were Sam Blanchard, Southwest Harbor; Cliff Page, Veazie; Victor Peavey, Kenduskeag; Gerry Clapp, Lincoln; and Gentleman George Peavey of Bangor.

Guerin hooked one of the Miramichi’s finer specimen, a fish weighing close to 25 pounds. Grilse cooperated for the party. A grilse is a small salmon, usually a male and usually weighing less than 5 pounds, that returns to its natal river after one year at sea.

Downriver, specifically Black Brook, our team of all-star players performed nobly with their graphite sticks. The daily records of this team are above an audit. If one fails to provide daily data on hookups, releases or keeping a small salmon, a penalty bars the culprit from reaching for one of Sheila Curtis’ freshly-fried doughnuts. And clamping the cover on the doughnut jar is about as cruel a sentence as one might receive since this party stars at the groaning board.

In our group were Dr. Adrian Bom of Worcester, Mass., and president of the Black Brook Salmon Club; John Morris, Kingston, Pa.; Dr. Arne Youngberg, Cheshire, Conn.; Jack Cornell, Mountaintop, Pa.; Charlie Wood, Cambridge, Mass., and William (Bill) Mapel, Darien, Conn.

Our recording secretary, Mapel, after an audit, put these figures in the clubhouse book: 116 hookups and 83 fish to the net of which 52 were grilse and 31 qualified as full-fledged salmon.

Dr. Bom’s 25-pounder led the heavyweight division. Wood took a 20-pound, silvery dancer on a No. 6 Green Butt fly. Jack Cornell had a 21-pound beauty that engulfed a No. 10 Bom Bom. And Bill Mapel nailed a 19-pounder on a No. 12 hook.

Half the pleasure of salmon fishing is reliving successful and unsuccessful days in other years, and this we did. All agreed that during the past decade, there has been an intensifying awareness of the Atlantic salmon’s plight.

The restrictions against an angler killing an Atlantic salmon began in 1983, and the results are plain to see. Often in the past, the Miramichi was looked upon as a “grilse river.” Not anymore. Since catch-and-release fishing became law in ’83, the lovely river has become a major provider of outsize salmon. The 30-pounder is no longer considered a fluke hookup. More than a few have and will be taken before the end of this season.

A day never passes without some fishermen reporting the sighting of a 30- to 40-pound salmon. Since releasing all salmon over 25 inches became law, returning fish have come back into the river weighing from 5 to 10 pounds heavier.

Once back in a river, heavier and feistier, the noble Atlantic provides spectacular sport because there are times when the fish will come readily to flies. It is difficult to believe that one can successfully bring a salmon to net using a hook no bigger than a bent pin. Keeping a fish, say a 30-pounder, on a hook this size offers the angler the test of a lifetime. The Atlantic salmon, like no other quarry, makes long, powerful runs and leaps, leaps and leaps.

A Portland angler’s tale nicely tells the Atlantic salmon experience:

“That big salmon fought a 10-pound tippet until my shoulders had a knot between them. My wrists were tired, and I have a burnt thumb. The salmon jumped and he dived, throwing his streamline shoulders and massive tail into the effort. At one point, when I got him near shore, he took off on another of those 75- to 100-foot runs. That’s why I burned my thumb, trying to slow him down by braking the reel instead of tightening the drag. I fought that fish for 18 minutes before my guide got him in the net. The guide estimated the weight of the salmon at 27 pounds. I’ll be back next year. Count on it.”

Why do hundreds of Americans come to the Miramichi in the fall?

Maybe it’s the sound of the river, or hardwood cracking in an iron stove, or mist over a Black Brook Pool after a frosty night, or the scolding of a red squirrel, or the sweet song of a whitethroat in the late afternoon.

Or it could be a plate piled with steaks from a fat grilse with an egg sauce; or pancakes and real maple syrup; or a bottle of Ol’ Headache to wash down some of Angus Curtis’ smoked salmon.

When a fellow mixes all of these ingredients, he’s got a recipe that will take him back as long as he lives. Ask anyone who has done it and you’ll be told it’s a kingly sport.