Cast the name Restigouche among anglers addicted to Atlantic salmon fishing and you’ll raise smiles as wide as the river regarded as one of the world’s greatest salmon-fishing grounds. Why such acclaim? Because from its headwaters in Kedgwick to its confluence with the sea at Campbellton, New Brunswick, the Restigouche’s swift, serpentine course provides deep pools and runs that hold prodigious salmon.

For the uninitiated, rest assured that the use of the adjective “prodigious” to describe Restigouche salmon was not an exaggeration. However, to eliminate any doubts, I offer a recounting of an incredible angling feat that happened recently on the river. Last Tuesday, the news that an angler named Phil Dresdner had caught and released a 48-pound salmon and a 60-pound salmon in one day’s fishing on the Restigouche was announced briefly in this column. But to cover the pool properly, so to speak, I phoned Dresdner at his office in Princeton, N.J. Now, set your drag and brace your feet.

To begin with, it was Dresdner’s first trip to the Restigouche. If you’re at all familiar with the river, you know it is controlled almost exclusively by privately-owned camps, many of which belong to the Restigouche Club. Suffice it to say that when Dresdner and his fishing partners dropped their duffel at Indian House Camp they weren’t exactly brown-bagging it.

“The weather was sunny and the river was low and warm,” said the 68-year-old investment counselor. “For two and a half days all we did was practice our casting. It started raining, though, and the river rose three-four inches.” Typical of Gaspe-area rivers, the Restigouche rises quickly when rain funnels down the valley’s high, spruce-studded hills.

“It was raining when we went out the next morning and the river was still rising,” Dresdner recalled. “My guide, Jean D’Amour, anchored the canoe in the Home Pool and, because of the slightly roily water, recommended a No. 1, single-hook Green Highlander fly. I was fishing with an 8-weight, four-piece Sage rod, a Battenkill reel, and a No. 9 floating line with 12-pound test leader.” Obviously, the man prefers fishing light.

Maybe you know that after a few days of constant casting, interrupted only by drifting the canoe to the next drop, concentration, like leader tippets, begins to shrink. So it was that Dresdner took a break and let his guide fish. And wouldn’t you know that was when a bulging swirl blossomed on the surface and the reel skirled to the sudden, heart-stopping take that is the soul and spirit of Atlantic salmon fishing.

It was 10:15 when Dresdner took the rod.”The fish never jumped, so I had no idea how big it was,” said the veteran angler. “It took me an hour and 25 minutes to land it, which we did without going ashore. I would have felt more comfortable playing the fish from shore but for some reason the guide didn’t see it that way.” Consequently, Dresdner fought the fish and the river to boot.

“When the fish was finally alongside,” Dresdner continued, “the guide netted it and the scales built into the net’s handle broke. He got the salmon’s measurements, though – 42 inches long and 30 inches in girth – and from them estimated its weight at 48 pounds. He was so hasty in releasing the fish that I didn’t get a chance to take a picture of it or to get a scale sample. It all happened so quickly that I hardly had a chance to realize what I’d done.”

Now, if that isn’t enough to make you forget to water the beans, read on: “It was close to noon when we went back onto the river and I began fishing with the same fly,” Dresdner recounted. Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.

“I hadn’t fished long when I felt a tug, but the fish didn’t take. So I cast again and the fish took with a big swirl. Right after it was hooked, though, the salmon jumped straight into the air and cleared the water by a good foot or so. When I saw the size of it I thought sure I’d lose it.”

Judging from what I was told, I’d say the guide didn’t do much to make his Sport think otherwise. Again, the salmon was played from the canoe. “I don’t know how many times, a dozen at least, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the fly line coming back onto the reel,” Dresner allowed. “I’d think the fish was tiring and then off it would go again, peeling off backing until the reel spool was unhealthily thin.”

If you’ve ever been strung to a big salmon you know that each time the fly line comes back onto the reel the feeling is akin to getting money back on your income taxes. But each time the fish reclaims the line, you feel bankrupt.

In the arena of the Restigouche, the give-and-take combat continued for three hours and 55 minutes before the sea-going gladiator was defeated and the thumbs up sign was given. The salmon’s measurements – 48 inches long, 32-inch girth – translated to 60 pounds, give or take.

“I made sure I got a picture of that fish,” Dresdner said through a chuckle. “I couldn’t believe a knot didn’t let go or the hook didn’t wear a hole and drop out or the fish didn’t just come unstuck in that length of time – either fish, for that matter. It was quite an experience and it’s taking some time to settle. Bits and pieces keep coming back to me. I remember clearly, though, that both salmon swam away strong and fast when released.”

Now, the obvious question: What is the modest, easy-going angler who fishes trout from Montana to Argentina, bonefish in the Bahamas and bass wherever they’re biting going to do for an encore? “Well,” said Dresner, “In a couple of weeks I’m going salmon fishing in Iceland. I don’t know what will happen over there.”

I’m willing to bet one thing will happen for sure: The first fly that Phil Dresdner offers to those Icelandic salmon will be a No. 1 Green Highlander.