I’ll never forget the first time I saw an Atlantic Salmon in the wild. The true grace of the Atlantic Salmon, I believe, is in its leap.
It was an overcast day in June; I was on a fishing trip with my Grandfather Lee. We were in a place called Cooee Coffree; for most people the words mean nothing, an unknown place with a funny name, but to us it spelled Heaven.
Cooee Coffre is a place in Guysbourough County, off the 316 Highway on the route to Whitehead. The lake where the club cabin is located is called the "Third Lake." The club is the Eastern Angling Club, an establishment of anglers and gentlemen dating back to the late 1800’s. The club itself was established in 1891, but I believe people were there before this time.
(The EAC camp- note old wooden dory parked on the beach; circa, early 1900’s)
Third Lake is a collector lake for several other bodies of water. The point where Third Lake empties out is referred to as “The Falls.” They wind their way over a series of rapids and into a still water connecting to yet another lake, finally flowing through Cole Harbor Run and emptying into the mighty, unforgiving Atlantic Ocean.
This transference of water once provided a gateway to the rich spawning grounds in the third lake for a great fish, the king of all freshwater game fish - the majestic Atlantic Salmon. Yes, I said "once" provided. No longer can one see the mighty Atlantic Salmon in this body of water, a genetically unique strain of Atlantic Salmon like no other on earth. No longer can one find a trace of the once plentiful runs of fresh silver Sea Trout that once leapt the falls in their journey upstream. Perhaps this is another reason I hold this memory so dear to me. That, and the fact that it’s been six years since my grandfather passed away and more than ten years since our trip together - it wasn’t our last together, but one of the most memorable, indeed.
(Photograph from early 1900’s; unknown fisherman of the EAC fishing the “Salmon Hole” located at the bottom of “The Falls")
It was an overcast day in Cooee Coffre sometime in late June, the water was good and the spirits high as we prepared for a morning of fishing.
One of our favorite spots to fish in Cooee Coffre was The Falls. We made our tea and bottled it, and along with a few snacks we loaded our gear and launched from the camp. The boat ride to the falls seemed to take longer than usual, no doubt due to the anticipation of what lay ahead of us when we arrived.
(The Falls- two fishermen long pole the “Honey Hole” in Cooee Coffre Falls)
We beached the boat and secured it at the head of the falls, grabbed our gear and headed down a mossy path to the first stop. The picture above shows two anglers in the middle of the falls; this was our destination close to a hundred years later; here, we were standing in the same spot our forefathers once stood.
The day couldn’t have been more perfect; no flies, slightly overcast and mild; today we would catch a fish. We positioned ourselves on the rocks above the hole in the middle of the falls, my grandfather to my left. We dropped our baited lines into the water in hopes of hooking a bright sea trout for our dinner that night.
We stood there together, in a moment looking toward each other and as we did a huge, beautiful bright Atlantic Salmon rocketed through the air directly between us, lightly spraying us with water that sparkled in the early morning sunshine just breaking through the clouds. In one giant leap this fresh fish flew to the other side of the rocks we were standing on, into the water above and continued its journey to the main lake. Our mouths still open in awe, we attempted to collect our thoughts and interpret what had just happened. "That was an Atlantic Salmon" said Gramps; all I could get out was “WOW!”
At the time I was totally amazed at what had just happened. We both stood there together for several moments, silent, reveling in wonderment at what we had just witnessed.
The sounds of the crashing water, and the breezes that carried those sounds along with the sweet smells of nature past us as we fished that day still echo in my mind. Now, as I stand there alone, I feel those same breezes, breathe in those same sweet smells flowing up the same falls we fished together that day, and l bring back instant memories of that day with my grandfather.
I didn’t realize that this would become one of my most treasured memories of our fishing together; but, these many years later, it’s still as vivid as the day it happened.
“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. I am haunted by waters.”
Norman MacLean
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