Salmon Fishing In British Columbia 
It’s Work As Well As Play To Fight One Of These Fellows For An Hour Or More 
B ritish Columbia proffers big things to 
the angler, but its gifts are not always 
sought in the most scientific way. Hand 
lines take the place of fishing rods, and crude 
tackle does duty for up-to-date products of the 
gentle art. This is no reflection on the fish or 
on the rivers, but rather on the uncouthness of 
the sportsmen, who seem to be perfectly content 
if they manage to land a few of these noble 
game in any way by hook or by crook. 
When I passed up one of the rivers on a 
lovely autumn day, and saw the fish breaking the 
water in all directions, I could find nobody 
among the civilized community who had even 
heard of the river being fished with rod and line. 
When I landed and sought the initiated Wal- 
tonian on the banks of the beautiful stream I 
was equally unsuccessful in discovering that par¬ 
ticular product. Even in the Native Reserve, 
where the mighty hunter was supposed to be 
tabernacled, I met with little encouragement. 
If it was fish I wanted, why, there would be no 
difficulty in netting me a few salmon. But to 
catch them with a rod and line!—that device was 
dismissed with an expressive shrug of the shoul¬ 
ders. Yet this river was within a stone’s throw 
of the Canadian Pacific Railway, and every trav¬ 
eler to the Far West crosses it by this route. 
A little conceit is a useful thing, and I con¬ 
fess to possessing a sufficient amount of that 
commodity to gang my ain gait. I was fortunate 
enough to obtain the attendance of an Indian 
who aided and abetted me in my scheme, al¬ 
though a rank sceptic as to the methods I pro¬ 
posed. 
He had a broad, steady boat, eminently adapted 
to the river, and although a paddle would have 
been more in keeping with the traditions of his 
tribe, he handled the oars with ease and effi¬ 
ciency. 
The first essential to successful salmon fishing 
is to know your river, and I proposed to row 
downstream, with the object of picking up such 
information as I could on the subject, although 
necessarily in a superficial way. It was quite evi¬ 
dent from what I saw that the river was deep, 
and, if not sluggish, at least slow-moving. There 
were no rapids or swirling eddies that suggested 
the advisability of mounting a fly. My knowl¬ 
edge, too, of the spring salmon discouraged the 
application of the highest form of angling, as, 
so far as its history goes, that particular species 
does not patronize it. There was nothing for it, 
therefore, but trolling with spoon or minnow, 
and as I was well provided with most forms of 
By W. R. Gilbert. 
these lures, I straightway proceeded to mount 
both, selecting large sizes in keeping with the 
fish that I saw breaking the water. 
Another thing to ascertain was the particular 
line the fish were taking, as they passed up the 
river to the far-off spawning beds, which were 
their objective. It was soon evident that they 
traveled along a definite course. This, no doubt, 
was the main current of the river—a thing diffi¬ 
cult to discover in a breadth, in places, of half a 
mile. It was also important to know the deep 
parts, so as to avoid rocks and weeds and other 
menaces to successful trolling. The great thing, 
however, was to get the spoon well amongst the 
fish, and soon after we turned, and the Indian be¬ 
gan to pull upstream, we reaped the advantages 
of these preliminary observations. 
The river was closely wooded on one side, 
with shapely rocks bedecked with shrubs and 
berry bushes. Behind them was a fine range of 
mountains, some high enough to be snow-capped, 
which peeped out here and there through breaks 
in the forest, others so far distant as to fade off 
into a mystic blue. 
We soon found that we were not the only 
anglers. We passed a dug-out with three Indian 
squaws in it, who were busy “still” fishing with 
hand lines, for nothing larger than trout. I 
asked what baits they used, and was informed it 
was salmon roe. I judged from the depth of 
the water that fifty or sixty yards of line would 
not be too much for trolling, and, firmly fixing 
the rods athwart the stern of the boat, awaited, 
not the dawn, like Ulysses, but developments. 
The first of these declared itself by the snarl 
of the reel, the line shooting across stream. I 
seized the quivering rod, but on raising it there 
was not sufficient resistance to assure me that I 
had hold of anything tangible. What often hap¬ 
pens in salmon fishing happened on this occa¬ 
sion. The fish had effected its escape on the first 
run. 
Ten minutes afterward, as the big spoon was 
flashing its silver and gold in the bend of the 
river, the rod was again brought into play, and 
this time the hooks had got a firm hold. The 
fish continued to run for about fifty yards, and 
then stopped suddenly and tugged at the line in 
the fashion known as jiggering. I gave him a lit¬ 
tle slack, which he used in diving, gong straight 
down several feet. 
Although the river was very deep, it is ad¬ 
visable to keep a salmon as high up in the water 
as possible. I could not effect this at a distance, 
and the Indian backed the boat down until I got 
close to my quarry. I recovered all the line- 
possible and applied the butt vigorously, curving 
the rod into a half circle. The fish felt the 
strain, and began to move upstream, slowly at 
first, 'then quickened the pace at a rate that re¬ 
quired a sharp spurt at the oars to equal. This 
continued for ten minutes or so, during which 
time I never got a glimpse of the salmon, and 
had no means of judging his size, except by the 
weight on the rod and his power of dogged re¬ 
sistance. 
We had moved upstream about two hundred 
yards before any change took place in the fish's 
movements. Then he seemed to realize that 
there was something seriously amiss, and made 
a rush across, drawing line at a great rate. 
Like all fish, after a vigorous dash he came to 
the surface of the water, and broke it into a 
wide-spreading circle, but without making any 
attempt to spring into the air as Salmo salar 
is accustomed to do. I got a glimpse of a broad 
side and a wide tail, which left no doubt in my 
mind that I was with a good fish destined to play 
long and stubbornly. The boat followed him 
again, and I recovered the extra line. He turned 
and went downstream, seeking relief -from the 
heavy strain, which had begun to tell on his 
strength. A swift, rapid and downward move¬ 
ment is one which an angler welcomes, as it is a 
quicker way of exhausting a salmon’s powers of 
endurance. 
The action of the water on the open gills— 
strange as it seems in the case of a fish—pro¬ 
duces symptoms of drowning. This is, no doubt, 
why a fish takes upstream, or when he makes a 
rush downstream, takes a diagonal course. The 
current, however, was not rapid enough to affect 
the fish seriously. 
I got the boatman to row at a brisk pace, with 
a view to quickening the salmon’s movements. 
He felt the effect, and turned, after a short run 
upstream, then indulged in excursions from side 
to side. All this continued for a full hour from 
the time I had hooked him. Another ten minutes 
elapsed before he gave me the first chance, and 
I gaffed him. A very handsome fish he was, 
weighing just twenty-five pounds. 
The spring salmon is known as the Quinnat in 
California, the Tyee and King in Alaska, and the 
Chinook in Oregon. It is short and thick, well 
shaped, with a small head of metallic lustre. I 
had similar tussles with other members of the 
same species, all of which played long and vigor¬ 
ously, the largest of all taking an hour and forty- 
five minutes to land. 
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