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August 16, 2001 - Way up north in search of salmonThe Suffolk Times • August 16, 2001 in searc RECENTLY WE HAD the Opportunity to spend a week salmon fishing at a camp in Canada. Now you can't ask for a better offer than that. We were up at 4:30 a.m. Sunday morning and headed for LaGuardia Airport. We flew Air Canada into Montreal, where we transferred to a smaller propeller - driven plane to go farther north to the fish camp. FOCUS But that was just the begin - ON ning. We were NATURE met at the plane b Paul and driven, first y on modern high - StoutenbuMh says, then on asphalt roads and finally onto a bumpy dirt road through the woods and brush of New Brunswick to the river. In many places along the highway were signs saying "Moose Crossing." The deer popula- tion there has dwindled while the moose have increased to the extent that they create a real hazard on the highways, much like our deer do here. Once at the river we stepped into wide, motorized canoes and were soon on our way toward the camp. It's a gorgeous area, green on both sides of~ the river with mixed hard- woods and pines and spruce, birch, cedar and others. We were told there had been piles of ice along the river edge up until just a few months ago. It must really get cold up there. The camp has an ice house in which they store ice cut from the river during the winter. The river water has frozen as much as 29 inches thick. The routine at camp is to fish in the morning and then again in the evening. Since we arrived late in the afternoon, we headed out at 6 p.m. to take advantage of the evening fish- ing. The river flows between low, green.mountains that come down sharply to the river's edge, and all about us as we fished were these masses of greenery. What we were after was the Atlantic salmon, that beautiful fish Way up north of salmon Photo by Barbara Stoutenburgh Fly fishing in one of the many sparkling clear rivers of northern New Brunswick, Canada, is as near to per- fect as it can get. that spends most of its life at sea and comes up these freshwater rivers to spawn and return to the sea, unlike the Pacific salmon, which dies after it spawns. Of course, you can only take certain fish of certain sizes at certain times. And only one fish per person, but we weren't going to have to worry about that, particularly with my limited fly- casting experience. Prior to this my only fly fishing had been with Bill Golder some years ago when we fished the Nissequogue River on Long Island. And so I was having a time trying to get the fly out far enough to do any good, but that didn't bother me because I was so taken with the surroundings. In some places the sides were so steep one wondered how the trees could take root in that rocky terrain. As we fished, the sun went down and left us in a valley of shadows, calm and quiet and peaceful. I must say the area reminded me of years ago when I was in the service in New Guinea. There were rivers we would go up, the gunner's mate and I, and then float back down in a rubber raft with the jungle on both sides of us. It was the only place I could equate to this magical river. In the evening, shadows were created not by individ- ual trees, but by a solid mass of dark- ness. The only difference I found here from New Guinea was that I didn't hear natives chanting in the far dis- tance along with the mysterious beat- ing of their drums. We fished until dark and then head- ed back to camp for dinner. We didn't need to catch anything as it was all just such a wonderful experience, with the silence of the woods around you and the rippling of the water as we traveled toward the camp. Next morning when we got up we found ourselves a little chilly. Sweaters were put on, knowning all too well they would be off as soon as the sun warmed the earth and the water around us. This routine of fish- ing from 9 in the morning to noon and then again at night from 6 to 8 would be carried out for the next week. Each time we went out, our hopes of finding the elusive salmon were high. We could never get over how clear the water was. The camp is probably 40 feet up on the bank of the river, and looking down from there you could see every stone and every boulder in the sparkling, clear water. No wonder they come up here in the winter to cut ice. The water is so pure. The only actual noise we could hear (we never heard an airplane) was an occasional motorized canoe heading up the river to some other camp or cabin, as there are no roads farther up. Of course, in the winter they get about by snowmobile but now water transportation is their only way of travel. These canoes are kind of neat; they're much wider than the average canoe, much bigger and heavier built. They're powered by a 15 hp outboard and move right along. Everything they use here in camp is brought in via the long way: moved through the woods to where the canoes are, then upriver and into camp. It's nice to know that places like this still exist, but even here in New Brunswick we hear there are pressures of progress busy at work. _In between fishinL7 trine Barbara and I would wa c t e area around the camp, indulging our- selves in, "Oh, look at this," or "Come see this!" We were now being intro- duced to a whole new world of wild- flowers. Clintonia, with the beautiful, deep blue berries that now followed the yellow flowers of the spring; bunchberry, covering the ground with its clusters of scarlet berries that had made a bed of white earlier when in blossom; princess pine, that ground - hugging evergreen; and even beech - drops, those parasitic nonchlorophyll plants that can be found under beech trees. The white wood aster in some places stood as high as six feet with its dainty white flowers on top. We saw the yellow -flower St. Johnswort. (I've mentioned before that my grandfather had us kids collect it so he could make some special rubbing lotion.) Joe -pye -weed grew along the riverbed, with its big, bold rosy - violet flower tops. The pretty little starflower that had already passed and left its seedpod grew along the river with anemone, which still held a few of its white blossoms. There were wildflowers that were new to us yet there were still some of the old standbys we know so well, such as the daisy, vetch and buttercup, whose seeds somehow had manage to pene- rate this out -of- the -way river edge. Next week we'll continue our trip o see some of the birds and animals f this vast area.