Welcome to Week CLVII of ‘Fishing Parkland Shorelines’. Like most of us I am a novice fisherman, loving to fish, but far from an expert. In the following weeks I’ll attempt to give those anglers who love to fish but just don’t have access to a boat, a look at some of the options in the Yorkton area where you can fish from shore, and hopefully catch some fish.
Have you ever had the feeling a year of fishing might just be one of frustration?
Yes I do realize it is basically mid-May so very early in the season but so far the results of my fishing have been … well let’s say disappointing as this is a family publication.
This past Saturday my son and I decide it’s time to go after a carp or two. They are my favoured fish as they are the heavyweights of the species we can catch locally.
Last spring a bud and I had found the flats along the Assiniboine River by the old Togo Bridge was a great place, with lots of carp tailing, albeit a bit far away for a cast.
So that was our destination.
When we crested the hill to descend to the bridge I was frankly shocked. The water level was extremely low, at least in terms of recent springs.
The result was the shallow flats I had hoped would hold carp were gone.
In fact we sat on the flats to fish into the natural river bed. There was not even mud, just hard, dry dirt.
But we saw a couple of signs of carp, and there were some sticks in the ground which indicated others had used them to anchor fish stringers, so we settled in to fish.
I managed to find a spot where crayfish were teasing my minnows. I’ve learned to tell when it’s a bait-thriving crayfish, as it’s a line tickle, not a real bite, and then when you finally reel in the bait is partially gone, usually leaving a chunk behind.
That I take time to mention this should tell you how the fishing was going.
It was however warm, and sunny, and that I had taken a lawn chair was a bonus.
I will say slow days on a shore are a time to let the mind wander. As I sat there with only an occasional crayfish to bother me I ended up looking longingly at the cattle pasture just across the river. It extended along the river with clumps of trees interspersed on the grassland. It also extended up the valley wall nicely.
So what has that to do with fishing you may ask?
Actually nothing, but remember what my son and I were doing might more accurately have been called suntanning given no fish were biting, so I was daydreaming a bit.
The pasture area would be ideal for a disc golf course, another passion of mine. I had the nine baskets and Ts all figured out in my mind by the time we decided Canora Dam would be a better idea.
So we headed to the dam via Kamsack.
As we turned into the approach to the dam two hawks were circling, one finally landing on a massive scrag of branches they had built into a nest. Sadly, yours truly had not brought his long lens with him (I can hear Peter Baran laughing as that picture-taking bud always carries enough camera gear to fill a half-tonne truck). While there is no photographic evidence of the majestic birds or the nest, it was a highlight of the day.
Yes fisherfolk again I digress to a highlight not related to catching a fish.
But this tale now turns to one of irony and woe.
My son and I find spots and set to work.
I use a green rubber wiggle tail grub, almost always effective at the Dam. About half a dozen casts and I get a tease nibble, and that raises my spirits with hope.
It was alas false hope.
Now to be fair we did see some interesting things.
On my side a young fellow has a catch, reels in and finds the fish is not on his hook. Instead it is on a line that must have broken, and he snagged out and brought it in.
Then as he goes to release the smallish pike (small in the sense I could not see it ever have broken a line to escape), he finds it is not hooked, but was instead simply fouled in the line.
It left me wondering how often fish are doomed by running afoul of lines in the water? It is certainly evidence of why fisherfolfk who have to cut a bunch of line when in shore should take it home as garbage and not simply throw it in the water where it might kill a fish that gets tangled in it.
Down by Adam another angler hooks into a carp. The fight takes near an hour reported my son, and took the fisherman on a hard path downstream, his drag whining as the fish took line.
Fisherfolk near me laughed as I commented my envy as the lucky carp fisherman took pictures of the big brute, but no matter the species as a 60-minute battle in fast water is going to be a fish the angler long remembers.
But there were no big fish for Adam and I. There were no fish at all.
We pack up and head to Raymond’s Cafe in Canora for a hotplate lunch, which always helps lessen the pain of a fish-less day at the Dam.
But it gets worse.
When I get home I head to the computer and Facebook to see what late day plans might exist for a round of disc golf.
One of the first posts is from Aaron Kienle, another disc golfer in our city. He stated “caught 17 walleye this morning! Well over 30 between the three of us and a heck of fish fry.”
When you just get home from being skunked that sort of post is just a shaker full of salt into the wound.
So I ask where Aaron was fishing?
I should not have done that.
Yes folks you guess it. He and his buds had had their success at Canora Dam, arriving about the time Adam and I were hoping for a carp at the Togo Bridge.
Some days the fates are not on your side when fishing, but when they twist the knife like that, it’s just not fair, especially when you are a writer and have to share the sad details with readers every week.
Ah well, there is always next time when it comes to fishing.
