‘My first fish of the day on my first cast was taking line off the reel at a terrific rate as it fought for freedom. The combination of well-balanced tackle and finger control on the reel tipped the fight in my favour. Soon I was able to gain line inch by inch, then foot by foot, first the backing, then the fly line’
I have learned numerous lessons from fishing around the world over the past 60 odd years. I have become a naturalist, a fighter against pollution, not only of water but also of land and air. I have even helped the Indians of the Amazon rain forest to feed themselves, showing them how to catch big fish by rod and line. When I mention rod, it’s something cut from the jungle. I have been involved in helping school-children with the help of Tam Miller from the British Army and of Mark Hyde from the Lancashire police force, to enjoy the countryside through lessons of fishing. But most of all I believe I have become a more caring person. Angling makes you think more about your surroundings and other people. It also makes you realise that fish do not know the man-made rules, only the natural ones, as the following story shows.
I have always wanted to fish the wilds of northern Canada for the pike that inhabit those cold waters, not with plug or a spinner, but with a fly! “It can’t be done!” said many Canadian, American and British anglers, or “August is a bad time.” Following a chat with Maggi Smit of Go Fishing Canada, I there and then booked a trip for the following August to Wollaston Lake in northernSaskatchewan, a province just west of Manitoba. Saskatoon is one of its two cities (the other is Regina, the provincial capital) and a lovely place with a fine university, white pelicans on the river and Wanuskewin Heritage Park. At this park one can see how the Indians live and meet wonderful characters like Wes Fine Day, a Cree Indian chief who kept me interested all day long with his great stories. The province is also the home of Cree Indians, fur trappers, white water rafting, grizzly bears, caribou, beavers, bald eagles, loons and so much more. It has hundreds of miles of rivers and over 100,000 lakes. Wollaston Lake alone covers more than 800 square miles.
Minor Bay on Wollaston Lake is a thirty-minute drive from the dusty air strip of Points North. Accommodation is in simple log-cabins and all the meals are served in the main cookhouse. The food there is excellent, as it equally is at the shore lunches cooked by your guide. No one goes hungry in the Canadian wildernessunless, of course, they fail to catch a fish. To the best of my knowledge, this has not happened yet.
I had come to north-eastern Saskatchewan, up near the border with the North-West Territories, to fish for pike with a fly rod and floating line to prove that the big ones could be taken on the fly at this time of the year. The sun climbed slowly over the pine trees on the opposite shore of Minor Bay, just a small part of the lake that is more like an inland sea, it is so huge. And so are the fish!The deep lake was carved by glaciers long ago and some of the oldest rocks in the world surround its shores. Fifty-year old pike swim beneath the glistening surface of these waters and compete to seize any fly that invades their territory. These fish put up a ferocious fight, head shaking, tail walking and taking off on fast runs of twenty or thirty yards or more on occasions. The reel screams like a demented demon and the rod-tip often plunges beneath the surface. Sometimes, for twenty minutes your heart is in your mouth for these are hard-fighting fish. All the fishing is done from boats, a sturdy eighteen-foot aluminium craft equipped with thirty horse-power Evinrude motors, padded seats and a built-wooden floor.
It was on an ordinary August day when I had a record-breaking catch. As I made my way to the main lodge for breakfast I was greeted by the smell and sound of sizzling bacon and sausages. I looked forward to pancakes and maple syrup with my crispy bacon. A mist was rolling off the water, two bald eagles were working for their breakfast, a beaver was just making its way home from nocturnal wanderings and whisky jays were looking for an easy feed. Whisky jays are as plentiful here as starlings are in Britain and they will even come down and take food from the hand. We reached the dock just before eight in the morning when the sun had burnt off the early morning mist and a few whitefish were swirling in the bay. The water was as smooth as glass. It was great to be alive and little did I know what was in store for me during the next few hours.
My guide, Corrie Howard, led the way to the boat, where I had stowed my gear before breakfast. Putting on my life-jacket, I settled in the padded seat. Corrie then asked “Where is your gear?” I pointed to my fly rods and he said “We don’t fly fish, but use lures.” I just said “Don’t worry. I will catch!” I could see he wasn’t convinced. One pull of the starter-cord and we were away, skimming the glassy surface, passing a small group of loons and a lone Cree Indian who was fishing to feed his family and to sell at the market. The Cree are entertaining people, knowledgeable about fishing also the wildlife. However, we would return our catch, keeping only one for lunch ashore. After half an hour, Corrie throttled back the motor as we made a right hand turn into a four-acre bay, merely one pin-head area of the vast Wollaston Lake. At the edge of the bay, the water plunged away to a depth of 60 feet. In the bay were large weed-beds, so hopefully the pike would be at home. Corrie paddled the boat into position so we could drift down the bay and this allowed me to cast in front of the boat for any patrolling pike. Tackle was chosen with great care because I was expecting to catch fish of twenty pounds and more. I used travel rods to cast 10 and 11 lines. Meanwhile Corrie shook his head in disbelief at the idea of a pike on the fly. I was going to be casting big flies dressed on size 4/0 hooks. Attached to the fly line was six feet of twenty-pound nylon, then eighteen inches of twenty-pound wire trace. I had a large selection of large flies but I chose a polar fly tied up for me by Stu Thompson of Winnipeg as my first choice, for it looked so lifelike in the water. The polar fly would be an excellent pattern to perfectly imitate the bait-fish.
I cast a long line to a gap in the weeds and retrieved about six feet of line. There was a huge swirl, the rod tip was slammed down to the water, line shot through my fingers and the fight was on. My first fish of the day on my first cast was taking line off the reel at a terrific rate as it fought for freedom. The combination of well-balanced tackle and finger control on the reel tipped the fight in my favour. Soon I was able to gain line inch by inch, then foot by foot, first the backing, then the fly line. At this point the fight seemed to be going my way but the pike was not finished yet, it had other ideas. It dived for the bottom, the reel screamed. I eased off the pressure and let the fish burn up the energy. For a moment, all was quiet and then once again I was taking in line. This time the fish was beaten. Corrie said “Well done!” and I had my first look at the fish. It was about fifteen pounds and what a fighter; far better than the Atlantic salmon in New Brunswick the previous year. The pike was gently unhooked and released to hopefully grow into a thirty-pounder.
I cast the polar fly again and as it hit the water there was a swirl. I lifted the rod tip and set the hook into my second fish of the day. This one was different; it reared up out of the water like a Polaris missile and crashed back in a shower of spray. With the sun glinting on the droplets of water they looked like diamonds. The fight was underway, the fish back on the surface, head shaking and tail-walking, then making a fast, spectacular runs. With the sun beating down we could be excused for thinking we were on the Florida flats taking bonefish but this was no bonefish, it was my second pike in two casts. Pound for pound, these are some of the hardest fighting fish I have caught in fresh or salt water. I wanted more of this action and during the ten-hour session I had seventy casts and seventy pike, the best at twenty-four pounds according to Corrie who was keeping a list.
About two hours into the session, Corrie called his parents, saying “You must jump in a boat and come up to the ‘Bay’. Martin’s catching a fish every cast. I want a fly-fishing outfit!” According to Corrie the total weight was between 350 and 400 pounds. I was too busy casting, playing and unhooking fish to keep count. It was my best day’s fishing in sixty-five years of angling. I even stopped for a lunch of filleted pike, chipped potatoes and beans, followed by apple pie and tea. That day, lessons were learned from the fish. They told us they would take a fly and in August, too. I had shattered the myth that pike cannot be caught on a fly at this time. If that is the case, I wondered, what it is like in the best months, which I reckon would be the first month after ice out. There were five boats still out, all using spinning gear, but the total number of fish caught was only seven, though most spent the day watching the action. Today this camp is highly recommended as a place for an exciting fly-fishing experience with pike.
Writing & Images – Martin James MBE, February 2026
You must be logged in to post a comment.