Fishing trip features tall tales and high water

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Visit a Canadian salmon river a few times, and you get to know the lay of the land – or water – pretty well. The pools are all named, after all, and when you fish each of them in a traditional rotation, you gain a certain familiarity.

Sometimes.

Other times, things are completely different, and everything you thought you learned goes right out the window.

“I think this is the first time all year I haven’t had water in my boat,” guide David Mann said on Wednesday, as we anchored in Mowatt’s Pool for an evening of fishing on New Brunswick’s Upsalquitch River.

It’s been a wet early summer on the Upsalquitch, and Mann, the head guide at MacLennan Lodge, had greeted me with the two words I had expected, but didn’t want to hear.

“She’s high,” he sighed, looking out the window at the discolored Upsalquitch.

I was a grateful guest of BDN publisher Rick Warren at MacLennan Lodge, and had taken three other anglers with me for what we hoped would be three glorious days of fishing … water-level willing.

Dave Simpson of Eddington is the head cameraman at ABC-7 in Bangor; Pat Keliher is the executive director of what used to be called the Maine Atlantic Salmon Commission (now he’s the director of the tongue-twisting Bureau of Sea-Run Fisheries and Habitat). Norm Dube, a fisheries biologist who works for Keliher, completed our party.

Simpson is an old friend who produces a TV segment with me each week, and we had yet another great time on the water. Keliher – who earned top rod honors after catching three grilse and an 8-pound salmon during his stay – and Dube were perfect fishing companions. Their conduct during our evening dart competitions, however, was a bit troubling. I’m not quite sure how Simpson and I were defeated so soundly, but I’ve never met a conspiracy theory I didn’t like, and we’re still waiting for the instant replay review of a few of Keliher’s ceiling-scraping game-winners.

The salmon pools Simpson and I had come to know were unrecognizable due to the high water, but it didn’t take long for us to begin to settle into the unique MacLennan rhythm again.

Ollie Marshall made sure of that.

Marshall, is a white-haired, wise-cracking, joke-telling guide who keeps the mood light around MacLennan Lodge.

“Every camp needs an Ollie,” David Mann told me, though he’d probably never admit to the words if asked by his old friend. “He’s a worker. You need anything done, and Ollie will be there.”

Yes, every camp needs an Ollie.

“But just one,” Mann allowed.

This year, Marshall wasn’t answering to “Ollie,” it seemed. Instead, he told us, assuming a slightly regal air, he was “Mr. Marshall.”

Marshall pointed out a photo on a nearby wall, in which he posed with a monstrous Canadian wrestler who had stopped by for a show in nearby Campbellton.

“I’m the tag team champion now,” Marshall said.

Thus, he figured, he also deserved to be called “Mr. Marshall.”

David Mann and his brother, Shane, along with Mr. Marshall, are the guides at MacLennan.

Ann Murray cooks up far too much wonderful fare, in the salmon camp tradition. Nancy Firth cleans and tidies and brings food to the table – also according to tradition – and surely does plenty of other things that anglers never even realize. Sue Mann, David’s wife, offers us still more unneeded (but appreciated) calories after we leave the river each evening.

All of which is fantastic, and almost makes a traveling angler forget about the picturesque ribbon of water that flows past the back porch, and has beckoned us here in the first place.

Almost. But not quite.

Yes, the river is high. No, the water isn’t the crystal-clear nectar that we’ve come to expect.

But yes, we’re going fishing.

And, as it turned out, the fish were happy to cooperate.

Everyone in our party caught fish. Everybody watched as fish rolled toward other flies that were offered. Everybody had long-distance releases, and had plenty of stories of the ones that got away.

And everyone felt honored to have been able to spend a few days in a special place where things are still done according to the long-honored salmon-camp tradition.

Eat breakfast at 8 a.m. Fish from 9 until noon. Eat again. Take a nap if you choose. Snack a bit. Fish again from 6:30 p.m. until nearly 9. Eat again.

And all day long, tell stories, listen to stories, and get to know your guides, your fishing pals … and yourself … a bit better.

This year, for instance, I learned that my name is not John. I won’t tell you what it really is, but should you end up in Robinsonville, New Brunswick, I’m sure Mr. Marshall will be glad to spill the beans.

In return, I’ll tell you that Mr. Marshall forgot to pack his fly box one night, and told me I’d have to fish the entire pool with a grizzly king.

Since our pool was only a couple hundred yards from camp, he eventually decided he was kidding and retrieved his fly box.

And I eventually decided that I wouldn’t remain mum on the matter (as I may or may not have promised) and would have to rat him out to his fellow guides, his employer (and several thousand readers).

Sorry Mr. Marshall.

Of course, as usually happens at MacLennan Lodge, Mr. Marshall gets the last word, whether he says anything or not.

After our last evening on the river, we made the long, slow return upstream.

As we finally caught sight of camp, the motor died. Mr. Marshall leaned back, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it.

“Are we fishing here?” I asked.

“No,” Mr. Marshall told us. “Me motor just needs a rest.”

At the time, it seemed plausible.

A couple hours later, when Keliher started laughing, I realized that Mr. Marshall had delivered the last punch line of the trip.

Again.

That, of course, is also according to MacLennan tradition.

And we wouldn’t have had it any other way.

jholyoke@bangordailynews.net

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