Sweat equity: Persistence pays off on two very different backcountry fishing adventures

“Okay guys, there’s always a big brook trout below these rocks,” said Kyle Fountain, the most experienced Gods River guide at northern Manitoba’s Elk Island Lodge. Or course, the fishing fates delight in humbling anglers who use words like “always.”

We were on the water with Lynn Henning, a good friend and companion of mine on many angling adventures. It was final afternoon of a four-day trip to Gods, renowned for its trophy pike and lake trout fishing. A Manitoba institution, Elk Island Lodge also has access to Gods River, a half-hour flight north, which is even more famous because of its big and plentiful brook trout. We’d been fishing hard, taking full advantage of Kyle’s knowledge of the water, and exceptional boat-handling skills. But not much was happening.

It was exactly four weeks after my northern Ontario outpost adventure with Wes, and this highly anticipated Manitoba trip was developing some parallels, including catching the tail end of another hellish heat wave. The trip did start on an implausibly high note, though. On our first day, we began fishing behind a long, low point on Gods, practically within shouting distance of the lodge. I was still applying sunscreen as Lynn made a couple of short warm-up casts with his beloved Len Thompson Five of Diamonds spoon. He then heaved it further away and, on literally his third cast of the trip, connected with a 42-inch northern pike. It seemed like an omen of great things to come. But omens can be tricky things.

The next day, we flew out to Gods River in search of brook trout. It’s a magnificent wilderness river, surrounded by low vegetation and muskeg, rarely wider than 100 metres, and moving enough water to create Class II and III rapids. It’s peppered with so many rocks, that the boats here carry not one, but two spare propellers. There’s almost nowhere to wade, and the river is much too fast to drift. In some places, you can nudge your boat against rocks to make a few casts, or even hop out for a better angle. In others, the only option is to use the motor to balance the boat against the main flow, holding it steady enough to flip casts toward structure or into the current seams. It’s not an easy river to fish, but the brookies are there, and persistent anglers are very often rewarded with 20-inch-plus fish. On this day, after hundreds of casts, Lynn and I took a skunk.

The next morning, we awoke to some of the most appalling July weather we’d ever seen, with a 20°C plunge in temperature, driving rain and shrieking wind. Naturally, we still went fishing. With gloved hands and water dripping off our hoods, we trolled sheltered spots near the lodge. We hauled in a handful of modest lake trout and walleye, but not what you’d hope to experience at the same latitude as Hudson Bay.

We caught a break on our final day, which dawned calm and clear enough to fly back to the river. Obviously, any day you’re climbing into a floatplane to go fishing is a good day. But after travelling so far, then blanking on the river and sloshing and shivering on the lake, we were feeling a little discouraged. Still, I had recent evidence that if you hang in there, and fish hard and fish smart, things can turn your way.