WHEN IT'S HOT - WHERE DO FISH LIE?
The "dog days" of summer bring heat which warms the waters of rivers and drives coldwater
species such as Eastern brook trout and Atlantic salmon deep into the recesses of cold, dark
waters where there is relief and reduced stress.
These are periods when it is difficult to attract a trout or salmon to a fly, perhaps even to know
where they are situated in the river since they do not appear in their normal places. It is at times
like this that a little pre-knowledge goes a long way.
Where are they hiding? Let's try a little hint.
You've certainly felt it on your legs while wading. It's a sudden frigid chill or numbing cold
which penetrates even the thickest insulated or neoprene waders, and you've probably dismissed
it as a "cold spot" and thought nothing more about it.
Sure enough, in a few minutes you've passed it by and are now back to normal water
temperatures.
What you've done is walk through one of the best holding areas for coldwater species that you
can find during warm summer days, an underwater spring or the exit of an underground stream
which is dumping cold water into the pool.
You should thank your Guardian Angel, then jump up onto the bank and carve a mark on a tree
or build a pile of rocks to mark it for the next time you pass through this piece of water on a
scorcher of a day.
I spent some of my early years of salmon angling at a place called Mercer's Pool on Adies
Stream, a tributary of the Upper Humber River of Newfoundland. The site was difficult to reach
by canoe or an hour's walk through rough woods, so not many people bothered to expend the
energy when many other places were closer.
At one time, water levels in the river were controlled by a dam at the outlet of Adies Lake.
Gates could be lowered, raised, or even totally removed to keep the river flows relatively
uniform, a need when the Bowater paper mill at Corner Brook used the waterway to float
pulpwood from the rich spruce and fir forests surrounding the lake.
Once the area was cut out and floating discontinued, so was maintenance on the dam. First to go
was the fish ladder, parts of it destroyed by spring ice, so the river guardian each year was faced
with building a sluice along one of the sides to accommodate salmon migration.
A few years later the entire top section of the dam disappeared, destroyed by ice and extremely
high flood waters, and parts of the old wooden structure washed into various pools downstream.
I ran into a few of the deadheads in my fibreglass canoe and can attest to where some of the
pieces ended up!
Once the dam was destroyed and water levels were governed by Nature, everything changed on
that river. Instead of a smooth, constant flow in which to ascend the river, salmon instead
encountered dried former holding pools, shallows and lots of big rocks.
Mercer's Pool lies about three miles downstream from the lake, and is one of the last deep pools
before a series of rapids. It filled up with salmon when levels fell, some of the largest fish which
had made it over Big Falls and proceeded upstream through a gauntlet of rapids, poachers and
anglers. There were often fish in the 30 pound range which made Mercer's Pool home until fall
rains raised the river and permitted unobstructed upstream passage.
Traditional lies were easy to find. Gravel bars, deep bends, underwater boulders, all of these
held salmon. But when water heated up to the 20 degrees Celcius mark, they weren't staying at
these lies except in early morning or after dark. They lay in entirely different areas of the pool,
and I found them quite by accident.
The first time was when water was lower than I'd ever seen it. It was mid-August, and my
canoe's bottom had deep gouges and scratches from bouncing over exposed rocks on the way
downstream to Mercer's Pool. Going back would require plenty of lining and wading with the
canoe in tow.
I pitched camp, set up the evening meal and waded out to cast into this beautiful isolated piece
of water. On the way I stopped to place a few cans of juice into a small spring ringed by rocks
which was on the beach near my campsite. The water was icy cold, and sand dribbled upward at
the bottom under the spring's pressure.
A few small grilse lay in the shade of a huge rock in midstream, and raised half-heartedly for a
small black dry fly which I floated over the lie. After an hour or so of flogging the water with a
series of flies I decided to move across the river to investigate some movement I'd noticed near
reeds far away from the main stream's flow. Crossing was only possible due to the extremely
low water, and even then I was near the top of my waders.
I made it through the main channel and walked the shore toward the far bank of reeds and water
grasses. The water was "dead" in this part of the river, and I questioned whether it may have
been a beaver, otter or other creature which had created the wakes and movements in the flat
surface.
I sat on a large rock and watched, and to my surprise I observed several large - and I do mean
LARGE -salmon moving about in this slack water. From the size of their backs and dorsal fins,
it seemed a couple would have gone 20 pounds or so.
I cautiously laid a dry fly over the rolling fish. Nothing. I tried several more casts, ending with a
little twitch just before lifting from the surface. Still nothing. I changed to a small wet fly, cast
next to the grasses, began a fast retrieve, and BOOM! a heavy fish took the fly and headed
downstream at the first hint of pressure. The turbulence created by the salmon caused several
other fish to react, their movements easily observed by surface eddies.
The fish wasn't on long. It parted company with my fly at the first jump, and I reeled in while
studying the grassy area. The water was fairly clear and shallow, so I stepped out to get a better
angle for my next presentation. It was like walking into a bathtub full of ice cubes!
The water temperature had to be at least 10 degrees cooler than in the main stream. It was little
wonder that salmon were lying here. Cold springs were evident all around me.
I hooked another two large fish, estimated in the 10 to 15 pound range, and lost them both, or
what we like to call a "long distance release". I put the canoe out and fished from it the next
day, taking a couple of grilse at the tail end of that cold spring area where the main current
joined it and then dribbled down to little or nothing. I broke camp and spent the remainder of
that day dragging the canoe up over rocks and rapids on my return to the lake.
In succeeding summers I often tried that spring area, but when water was normal or high the
salmon lay where they normally would. It was only on the very hot days when levels were below
normal and temperatures neared the stress point that the grassy area held fish.
Some years later, on a visit to Nova Scotia, I was shown a similar spot by Bill Bryson, who at the
time was promoting that province's fishing and hunting product with Nova Scotia's Department
of Tourism.
Near Bill's private cabin is a small steady of slack water, and the far bank is lined with tall reeds
and grass. It looked like a place that would hold smallmouth bass or other warm water fish.
Bill pointed out that he was successful in hooking salmon at that juncture on summer days when
water was hot and low. His methodology was to cast a tiny wet fly tight to the grass and begin a
fast retrieve. Bill said he lost most of them on the first few jumps. The area was spring-fed.
Sound familiar?
During succeeding summers I've noticed similar places on various rivers, and always make a
mental note, and if possible leave a natural marker so I can locate it next time I'm passing
through that area.
Next time you wade through one of those cold spots, tattoo the location on your memory and notch a tree. It's sure to become a "hot spot" during summer's Dog Days!
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