Revive - A Quarterly Fly Fishing Journal - Page 110

If you are expecting trophy size fish in this photo essay you might be a little dissapointed. TheJacques­Cartier river, where I spent my childhood does not have a whole lot of Mr. Lunkersons.

My dad claims you catch a trout bigger than eighteen inches every 3­4 years.

But what you get around the rolling hills of Quebec city is something priceless. Solitude. Solitude and beautiful scenery! Here I was, for five days straight, fly fishing for native brook trout with my

dad without seen any other anglers! Try to find that in Southern Ontario where I am right now. Near Impossible.

This is the photo story of this trip. The angler in the photographs is my dad. And I dedicate this essay to him. He's a trememdous fly caster, even if he does not go out fly fishing as much as he use

to when I was a kid. ­And on top of that, his fly line is about ten years old! (while most of us change every year or two) I look up to him.

Tricky wading, small brook trout on big flies and hiking up and down cliffs, this is the Canadian Shield.