Something fishy in Fernie (CANADA)

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Fly fishing on the Elk River

The Elk River has the reputation as one of, if not the most pristine and prosperous natural fly fishing rivers in the world. The crystal clear water and the incredible diversity of river elements, from deep pools, ripples and shallow rapids, to submerged trees, reeds and shoreline overhangs, create both the perfect environment for the native cutthroat and bull trout to thrive, and the perfect challenge for an angler looking to snag one.

While I enjoy a casual fish with mates on the weekend, I'd never consider myself a good angler, not even a half decent one, and I'd never been fly fishing before in my life, so I figured what better place to learn than on a tinnie in the middle of the best fly fishing river in the world?

And there could be no better person to learn from than born-and-bred Fernie local Kim Sedrovic, who owns and operates outdoor adventure business Fernie Wilderness Adventures. He's been fishing the Elk River ever since he could walk, and there's no one in town who doesn't know his name. He's a legit mountain man — tough, hard-working, and humble.

A week before I met him he spent three hours being stalked by a mother grizzly bear, after unknowingly encroaching on her territory and cubs while fishing from the shoreline. He carried a 12-gauge shotgun but refused to use it, because he didn't want to hurt the beast if he didn't have to, deciding to stick out a difficult three hours with a top-tier predator constantly over his shoulder. His genuineness and love for the region is almost tangible.

The simple bear necessities in Fernie..

As we take the lone highway out of Fernie, Kim smiles and says he's not a traditional fishing guide. He says we're not going to waste time worrying about the technique, we're going to catch some fish — and I'm pumped.

We turn off the highway onto a dirt road that cuts across an open field to the shore of the Elk River. As Kim unloads the boat (I offer to help, but he politely declines) two Americans, up from Montana on a week-long fishing trip, start to tell us the river's been quiet this morning. They'd had no bites at all. Kim nods and entertains their advice, before turning to me and saying the river's never quiet.

Once we're on the water, Kim quickly talks me through the basics:

·        *Fly fishing is an angling method in which an artificial "fly" (resembling an invertebrate such as an insect) is used to bait and catch fish.

·        *An Elk River angler uses two main types of fly — the dry and the nymph. The dry fly floats, to mimic an adult insect landing on the water surface; whereas the nymph fly is designed to resemble an insect during its larval stage, and drifts below the surface attached to a visible float above.

·        *We cast upstream to catch currents and continually "mend" the line (flick the line behind the fly so as to reduce the drag) so that the fly drifts in a natural way.

·        *When we cast, we target specific elements in the river such as slower currents, riffles which suggest calmer currents below the surface, submerged logs, darker (therefore deeper) patches of water and shoreline overhangs, which are more likely to hold fish.

As we manouevre along the river Kim constantly shouts orders like a drill sergeant, telling me when to re-cast, when to mend the line, and what spots to aim for in the river. The orders are constant and I soon realise what Kim meant when he said I'd learn along the way. But it worked. Soon enough I was telling myself when to re-cast, when to mend the line, and what areas of the river I should target. My casting was getting accurate, and after an hour I was already starting to read the river as Kim had taught me. And this is when it gets real fun.

I cast upstream into a dark pool less than 10 metres away, mend the line and watch the float slowly drift to the right of the boat when it suddenly dives under the surface. A firm flick of my wrist bends the rod back over my shoulder. The line tenses and swerves. I've hooked something. Kim roars with excitement. He's more excited than I am. After a few adrenaline-filled seconds I manage to reel the fish in as Kim struggles to secure the oars and get the net ready. My first ever fly-fishing catch is a foot long cutthroat trout. I don't want a photo, all I want to do is throw it back in and cast again.

The cutthroat trout is the most populous fish in the Elk River, and this is one of only a few places that still naturally support the species. The Elk River is also home to the big Bull Trout. Kim says if I snag one of those guys I'll definitely know the difference.

This is nothing like the fishing I'm used to. It's not relaxing at all — it's insanely fun. You're not sitting there with bait waiting for a passing fish to maybe decide to bite your line, you're hanging over the bow of the boat, reading the river, choosing spots to specifically target your fly to, all while the boat crashes against rapids and shallow riverbeds, narrowly missing protruding boulders and half submerged logs.

An old pine tree has fallen into the river up ahead, so I cast toward it, hoping there's something big swimming amongst the submerged branches. Seconds after I cast, the fly is hit and the float is pulled beneath the surface. The hits are sudden. Reaction time is everything. This time I'm too slow, and yank the fly hard out of the water and into the boat, almost knocking the hat off Kim's head. I cast again toward the shore, where the bank of the river overhangs the water and creates an undercut. The fly calmly drifts along before suddenly shooting below the surface. This time my reaction is spot on. The rod bends hard on itself. It's another cutthroat, just over a foot long.

Soon I'm snagging cutthroat after cutthroat, and after reeling in nine fish (a feat which I was pretty chuffed with seeing as I'd never even held a fly fishing rod before) we arrive at the wharf where Kim's wife is due to pick us up. Kim suggests I have another cast while we wait. The water by the bank is dark and without any better option visible I cast towards it. I recast a few times, when suddenly the line chugs, hard. I whip the rod back. A sudden weight pulls it in the opposite direction as the rod bends on itself like it's about to snap. I can hear Kim telling me to carefully reel it in. It's something big.

Kim grabs the net and as I lift it out of the water its weight becomes apparent. With only its head just breaking the surface of the water, it comes off the line and swims away. We both start laughing and Kim says it had to have been a heavy bull trout — a beast in these waters.

As we drive back toward Fernie, Kim's wife is shocked at how many fish I netted on my first ever trip. I'm adamant I just got lucky. Perhaps a more appropriate apparition would be if the tribe chief and his daughter ditched the horse, and picked up a pair of fly fishing rods.

Damien Axiak