The Last Fly Fisher

This fish story, although based upon fact, isn’t entirely true. Rather, it tells what could have or should have transpired in a situation rather than what actually did happen. As the title suggests, it’s a sad story, but, one with a happy ending, and a moral too. The story was told to me, Stillwater Slim (SS), by an old river guide who we’ll call Old Trouter (OT), so we’ll have OT set the scene.

OT: Well, our story concerns a pristine little gem of a trout lake in Guysborough County, the type of lake that would be called a pond in Newfoundland. The lake teemed with fine, feisty speckled trout that could generally be counted on to take a fly, so it was a great favourite of fly fishers near and far, year after year. I have a little camp there and I often stay for a few days.

One lovely June evening, a slow evening of fishing for us regulars, some lads from the next county showed up. These visitors were armed with spinning rods and bobbers and they soon amazed us by hauling in several trophy-sized trout, the likes of which we had never seen. My curiosity piqued, I made my way closer to see what was happening. It soon became apparent that they were using some sort of bait. One of the strangers spotted me, smiled and waved, so I approached, returning the friendly greeting. Like many fishers, they were eager to show off their catch and I responded politely with the appropriate admiration. I didn’t have to ask about bait because there were several corn niblet cans open.

SS: Corn?

OT: Yes, Corn. They had thrown a few handfuls of corn out in front to attract those big trout, and then impaled a niblet or two on their hooks, throwing this bobber affair out in the lake. Anyhow, the regulars gathered at dark to learn the secret, and word of the spectacle spread like wildfire. Within a week, many more strangers showed up with one thing in common – corn. Some of us fly fishers gave in to the temptation as well. Others, sadly, stopped fishing the lake, finding more solitude and enjoyment elsewhere.

In the weeks that followed, the trout came to favour corn to all else, and my flies became largely ineffectual. I stubbornly continued to fly fish the little lake, refusing to resort to corn. I was the last purist, the last fly fisher. Others were debating the merits of various canned corn brands, whether fresh was better, or frozen niblets too tough. Generally, it was agreed that the cute little stir-fry cobs were best in the morning and that otherwise niblets from the valley of the oh, ho-ho-ho, Green Giant were the overwhelming favourite. This was not fishing as I knew fishing. I valued quality fishing much more than stringers of fish, so the situation bothered me immensely. I tossed and turned a good many nights before, in a moment of frustration and desperation, I said to a fishing companion “Alright, gimme some of that corn.”

SS:  Did the trout taste like corn?

OT: No, not really, but they were shaped like little footballs, stuffed with corn. See, what happens is that trout can survive on a steady diet of corn, but they have great difficulty digesting and passing it.  Their digestive systems extract a miniscule part of each kernel, convert it to ethanol, and return practically no waste, so they tend to retain kernels more or less intact. The customary way of preparing these trout for a camp meal became cooking the fish whole, then splitting it to release the corn, nice and steaming hot, ready for butter and salt. Healthy too, according to Canada’s Food Guide. The recipe worked on frozen trout also, kind of a trout TV dinner.

SS:  All this had to end somehow, didn’t it?

OT: Yes, of course. One of the regulars was a chap with a gastro-intestinal disorder. He generally fished alone, understandably. He also chewed tobacco and one evening that he spat his tobacco juice on the water, a trout that came in contact with it was infected with his ailment.

That was the beginning of the end, because the infection quickly spread throughout the lake’s entire trout population by the following evening. A biologist working nearby later told me that the scientific term for the phenomenon is a “pondemic”. Anyhow, it happened that I was fishing that evening and noticed unusual trout activity on the lake’s surface. Trout were churning the lake into a pale yellow froth, and I could hear a putt-putt-putt sound similar to that made by little toy motorboats we used to play with.

SS: The trout were popping corn?

OT: Were they ever. It went on well into the night. I spent the night in my camp so I could see what the morning would bring, but I could have never anticipated the outcome.

SS: What happened?

OT: Well, I was up at daybreak. It had been a very warm night and I watched the sun rise on the little lake. Soon the terrible reality set in ... overnight the lake had been transformed into monstrous thick and gooey corn chowder!

SS: Good grief! What then?

OT: Well, fall soon arrived, and with it the Canada geese migration. Thousands descended upon the lake. You’d never believe it, but these corn-loving geese ate all of the chowder and the lake was once again crystal clear by the following spring.   

SS: But no trout?

OT: No, but the lake was restocked by the good folks from our nearby Fraser’s Mills fish hatchery and it‘s once again become a favourite fly fishing destination.

SS: That’s quite a story! Does it have a moral?

OT: Well, yes. If you want chowder, use corn, but if you go fishing, use a fly.

SS: Let me guess, a yellow fly?

OT: What else?

The Mellow Yellow

Thread:          UTC G.S.P. 50 Denier yellow thread

Hook:             Mustad 9671, sizes 2-4

Tail:               Fluorescent yellow bucktail, short

Body:             Bright yellow chenille, tapered to cob shape

Hackle:          Green hen hackle, tied collar style

Head:            Yellow thread finished with 2 coats Angler’s Corner Clear Wet Head Cement

Enjoy your fishing and please stay on the line …