Rough Neighborhood
OP EN OC E AN FI SHI NG AND BE ACH CAMP I NG MA KE BROOKS PEN I NSU L A
AN EA SY PL ACE TO LOV E WORDS: ROB LYON
IMAGES: STEVE THOMSEN
A
s we bounced along in a flat-bottomed skiff with our kayaks stacked on one side and
Steve and I huddled on the other, Wayne, our driver, described how his last boat flipped and sank a few weeks earlier. It was rough enough already, and I could see white caps out past Union Island. Just before we reached the big water, Wayne hung a hard right and ducked into a maze of islets to escape the brunt of the wind and waves. We’d opted to hire a water taxi to take us deep
into the remote fishing waters on the north- western coast of Vancouver Island, British Columbia. The Brooks Peninsula Provincial Park encompasses thousands of acres of rug- ged, snow-capped mountains, deserted islands, open ocean, hidden coves and isolated beaches that host phenomenal freshwater and saltwater fishing for salmon, ling, black rock bass and several species of trout. We planned our trip for late September, just beyond the pale of the tourist season, so we were taking a gamble with the weather in hopes that we wouldn’t see another angler on the water. The beam sea lifted our flat-bottomed punt
to a pretty steep angle creating a corkscrew effect that had me green in the gills. Steve snugged the storm flap on his wetsuit. He’s a pro photographer with years of expedition experience, but I could tell that this ride wasn’t in his amusement park. I double checked to make sure the boats were not tied down. If Wayne flipped his second boat in as many months, I wanted our rides loose in the holster and ready to shoot. We were glad as hell to finally reach Gaye Passage and calmer waters. The skiff ride to our starting point was supposed to be the easy part of this adventure. A few hundred yards off the beach, we
commando launched the kayaks and paddled ashore to rough out a quick camp. Then Steve and I jumped back in the ‘yaks for our first fishing session. Even though we had weeks ahead of us, I was anxious to wet a line and enjoy fresh salmon for dinner. To start
the expedition, we picked a camp
near Battle River, where our only neighbor was a hungry black bear searching the beach for a salmon carcass and gnawing on bunches of sea weed. We worked the mouth of the river from our boats, catching cohos on Clousers that we double-hauled to tailing fish. No other fish can change direction as quickly
as a coho. After the initial take and run, they will often charge the boat so hard I can’t crank fast enough to keep up. Their favorite trick is to dart
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