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WILLACHUCK LAKE

Our August 2000 contribution from Jon Beer

I'm not exactly sure what to feel about this: see what you think.

It could, I suppose, have happened anywhere. It actually happened in a small lake at the end of an old trail from the eastern end of Lake Eutsuk. I bet that doesn't help. Eutsuk Lake is fifty miles long which would make it the biggest lake in Britain - if it were in Britain, which it isn't. It doesn't even make it onto most maps of western Canada. Eutsuk Lake is not near anywhere important, or anywhere at all, come to that. It is lost deep in the mountains of northern British Columbia. You have to fly there in something that floats. There's no other way.

And then you will need a boat to get to the end of the lake. You are looking for an old beaver lodge on the northern shore which is where the trail starts. This trail was not easy to find. No-one had used it for a couple of years since it had become blocked by fallen trees up in the forest. We were following a guide with a chain saw. An hour or so later we made it over a couple of ridges to a reed-fringed lake amid the pines.

The thing is: this lake does not get fished a lot. I had made the trip up the trail with the guide and a couple of anglers from Chicago. We all had float tubes and on a grey, still morning we pushed off from the shore and flippered away.

I had no idea what to put on the end of my line. The lake was reputed to hold good wild rainbows, indigenous to these cold western waters and something about the heft of a large bag of sugar had just crashed in the margins on the far side of the lake so I decided I would work my way over there. My friend Philip fishes for rainbows in the reservoirs of England. He uses buzzers and nymphs and emergers and so forth and then, when he gets no joy with these, he sticks on a Whiskey Fly and starts catching fish. He isn't proud of this addiction to Whiskey Flies but he says he can't help himself. So what I did was stick on a Whiskey Fly and let the line trail as I flippered across to the other side of the lake.

I didn't get that far. About halfway across there was a sudden shock on the line and the stuff started peeling off the reel at an alarming rate. Belly boats are fun. A good fish spins you round and a better one tows you along as you fight it. This first wild Willachuck rainbow measured 18 inches. It was as tight as a drum. I released it and recommenced the my flippering.

It took some time to get to the far side of the lake. Fish kept grabbing the fly and trying to drag me back. I had three by the time I made it to the margins. There were fish moving here and I cast to them in the prescribed manner but had no offers before the activity faded. I had put them down. So I paddled off towards another bay. As soon as I was under way a fish hammered the trailing fly and we were back in business. Fish were beginning to rise in earnest now and a hatch of flies began to stud the surface. They were perhaps a shade smaller than our Mayflies: the guide called them Grey Drakes and I guess he should know. I had paddled towards him to ask but it took time get there, to fight and shake off several fish that grabbed the Whiskey Fly on the way. At one time the fly was dangling in the water as I measured the fish on the apron of the float tube. You can guess what happened. I was well into the teens by the time I got over to the guide. I took off the Whiskey Fly and put on a floating dun imitation. I knew it was the right thing to do: that's what the others were using. I was, frankly, a bit bored by just trolling around catching these splendid fish. Also, the guide wanted a go with the Whiskey Fly.

The floating dun did take a couple of trout but it was hard work and they did feel a bit flukey. I got a bit bored with not catching fish too. So I went back to the Whiskey and trolling. And eventually I just stopped fishing.

So here is the thing: on that day, in that place, the Whiskey Fly was far more effective than an imitation of the natural fly on the water. I cannot be sure the trout were feeding on those hatching duns but I am stone-bonk sure they were not feeding on any insect with a silver body and a hot orange wing. Worse: the better presentation was to troll the thing. I think I know why that might be: on the calm water that day, casting disturbed the fish more than a gentle moving float tube think of the trout that grabbed the dangling fly: it must have swum between my legs to get at the thing. There is something else: I was using a silk line. This floats when it is cast but can be made to sink gradually on the retrieve. Trolling on a long line allows the fly to fish a little deeper and with less wake. The right fly and the right presentation.

So why should I feel so iffy about the way I spent this day full of wild rainbows up to 21 inches?

I dunno. But I do.

Jon Beer contributes regularly to publications including Trout & Salmon and The Telegraph. If you have any comments, do not hesitate to get in touch or use the message board.