Sharphooks
Well-Known Member
I was talking to a friend of mine today who put alot of time in on the THompson with a guy he knew from the Lower Mainland. We agreed we should all sit down and have a drink some time and talk about those days, if for no other reason then to drill it into our heads that we should cherish what we have today and never forget to not take our good fortune for granted because we absolutely could lose it all tomorrow.
Skeena steelheaders: are you listening?
As it appears some guys who contribute to this Site also have some stories to tell about the days they spent fishing on the THompson, I thought I'd start a thread where people can chime in with a story or two of their own.
I'll go first.
Back in the mid 70's and early 80's I drove past the THompson many times on my way to Skeena country. I was a fly fisherman. I was having crazy good success up on the Skeena tributaries so that's where I went. I'd look down at the THompson from the highway and tell myself---nah, too big, too far across, no way could I get fish on a fly out of something that wide and fast. And all I ever saw were gear guys with huge rods making 40 meter casts to get their fish. So I drove past it for 9 or 10 years and didn't know (or care) what I was missing
Then one day in 1984 I stopped in Spences Bridge and figured I'd give it a go. Back in those days I fished a 14 foot bamboo double handed rod I'd picked up on a trip to London to visit my family. I paid 40 pounds for the rod. In today's dollars that was about $ 80. It was heavy but it sure was cool catching steelhead on it and it was a pretty cool conversation piece. This was way before the spey guys showed up or even had heard the word or knew what it meant
The gear guys I met on the THompson were some of the most generous helpful fishermen I ever met. They saw this wierd dude with the beret and the long rod and maybe thought I wasn't going to do too much damage so they decided to throw me a bone. Or two.
My first couple of years fishing the THompson they ended up throwing me lots of bones and holy mackerel, I immediaterly started hooking fish. And I was really lucky because the year I decided to start fishing the Thompson was a low-water year with a strong return
I never saw fly fishermen in those days. BUt I was full of confidence because all of a sudden the river didn't look so big and imposing any more. Gear guys would invite me to fish below them....no problem. I learned all the high % spots: Gospel Rock, the 11 o'clock hole, Jade Springs, Shaw, Gold Pan, Murray Creek, the Rockpile.
One guy put his hand over his mouth in a secretive manner and told me about a spot below Martel rapids that could be a producer. With zero hesitation I got my girlfiend into the truck and we headed up the highway and hiked down to the spot I thought he was referring to.
Long story short, the water was fast, like really fast, and I decided to put a sink tip on, a line choice that up until then I hadn't tried because the rocks could be so snaggy
Instantly I get a take-down. Like the rod is almost pulled out of my hands type take-down. I turn to my girlfriend and ask her to get the camera ready because it rolled and showed its shoulders and I knew I'd hooked into a high teen, maybe a low 20 buck.
The hook up was just below that rock in the picture. Not sure if you guys know where John's Rock is....basically opposite the mouth of the NIcola. That's where I finally put that fish on the beach. Easily a 2 kilometer chase. And during that chase I was forced to stick to the railroad tracks because there is zero beach in that part of the river, just huge chunks of rip rap that would kill you if you tried to go down to the water and hop from rock to rock while chasing a fish.
So that left me with a huge heavy fly rod that I had to pass around at least 20 or 30 wiring poles along the tracks, dodging trains that went by. It was an absolutely crazy experience, especially having an easy hundred yards of line out on that fish the entire fight. Once they get into the middle of the river, forget about putting the screws in....you have to chase or you lose what you got.
An hour later I got that fish. I'd never seen anything like that before in my steelhead experience and I'd caught a large pile of big Skeena fish over the years. But nothing like that Thompson fish. A fish taking that amount of line so fast and with such firmness of purpose. Unreal!
Yes, in those days you could keep your fish. I kept that buck. I'm not sure if I could have revived it....it fought that hard and that long. But admittedly, I didn't try. I wanted that fish. It was a religeous experience and I wanted the wafer soaking on my tongue
It was a long walk back upstream to my rig, I was drenched with sweat, totally spent, but I knew I had just formed an amazing relationship with the THompson and wasn't ever going to quit that river. I made friends with local Spences Bridge folks. I started spending Christmas there. I fished until March when you still still do that. I'd go up and back 4 or 5 times every season. My girlfriend and I would sleep in the back of my Toyota when it was -2 C. Both my daughters are named after rapids on that river. To this day it's the most amazing spot I've ever been to. The energy is overwhelming.
And meanwhile, every time I hear the mournful peal of a train whistle I get a wonderful feeling in the pit of my stomach. But then it's not so wonderful anymore when I remember that we pissed it all away.
God, we just lost so much. I did not think it would happen in my lifetime but here we are
Skeena steelheaders: are you listening?
As it appears some guys who contribute to this Site also have some stories to tell about the days they spent fishing on the THompson, I thought I'd start a thread where people can chime in with a story or two of their own.
I'll go first.
Back in the mid 70's and early 80's I drove past the THompson many times on my way to Skeena country. I was a fly fisherman. I was having crazy good success up on the Skeena tributaries so that's where I went. I'd look down at the THompson from the highway and tell myself---nah, too big, too far across, no way could I get fish on a fly out of something that wide and fast. And all I ever saw were gear guys with huge rods making 40 meter casts to get their fish. So I drove past it for 9 or 10 years and didn't know (or care) what I was missing
Then one day in 1984 I stopped in Spences Bridge and figured I'd give it a go. Back in those days I fished a 14 foot bamboo double handed rod I'd picked up on a trip to London to visit my family. I paid 40 pounds for the rod. In today's dollars that was about $ 80. It was heavy but it sure was cool catching steelhead on it and it was a pretty cool conversation piece. This was way before the spey guys showed up or even had heard the word or knew what it meant
The gear guys I met on the THompson were some of the most generous helpful fishermen I ever met. They saw this wierd dude with the beret and the long rod and maybe thought I wasn't going to do too much damage so they decided to throw me a bone. Or two.
My first couple of years fishing the THompson they ended up throwing me lots of bones and holy mackerel, I immediaterly started hooking fish. And I was really lucky because the year I decided to start fishing the Thompson was a low-water year with a strong return
I never saw fly fishermen in those days. BUt I was full of confidence because all of a sudden the river didn't look so big and imposing any more. Gear guys would invite me to fish below them....no problem. I learned all the high % spots: Gospel Rock, the 11 o'clock hole, Jade Springs, Shaw, Gold Pan, Murray Creek, the Rockpile.
One guy put his hand over his mouth in a secretive manner and told me about a spot below Martel rapids that could be a producer. With zero hesitation I got my girlfiend into the truck and we headed up the highway and hiked down to the spot I thought he was referring to.
Long story short, the water was fast, like really fast, and I decided to put a sink tip on, a line choice that up until then I hadn't tried because the rocks could be so snaggy
Instantly I get a take-down. Like the rod is almost pulled out of my hands type take-down. I turn to my girlfriend and ask her to get the camera ready because it rolled and showed its shoulders and I knew I'd hooked into a high teen, maybe a low 20 buck.
The hook up was just below that rock in the picture. Not sure if you guys know where John's Rock is....basically opposite the mouth of the NIcola. That's where I finally put that fish on the beach. Easily a 2 kilometer chase. And during that chase I was forced to stick to the railroad tracks because there is zero beach in that part of the river, just huge chunks of rip rap that would kill you if you tried to go down to the water and hop from rock to rock while chasing a fish.
So that left me with a huge heavy fly rod that I had to pass around at least 20 or 30 wiring poles along the tracks, dodging trains that went by. It was an absolutely crazy experience, especially having an easy hundred yards of line out on that fish the entire fight. Once they get into the middle of the river, forget about putting the screws in....you have to chase or you lose what you got.
An hour later I got that fish. I'd never seen anything like that before in my steelhead experience and I'd caught a large pile of big Skeena fish over the years. But nothing like that Thompson fish. A fish taking that amount of line so fast and with such firmness of purpose. Unreal!
Yes, in those days you could keep your fish. I kept that buck. I'm not sure if I could have revived it....it fought that hard and that long. But admittedly, I didn't try. I wanted that fish. It was a religeous experience and I wanted the wafer soaking on my tongue
It was a long walk back upstream to my rig, I was drenched with sweat, totally spent, but I knew I had just formed an amazing relationship with the THompson and wasn't ever going to quit that river. I made friends with local Spences Bridge folks. I started spending Christmas there. I fished until March when you still still do that. I'd go up and back 4 or 5 times every season. My girlfriend and I would sleep in the back of my Toyota when it was -2 C. Both my daughters are named after rapids on that river. To this day it's the most amazing spot I've ever been to. The energy is overwhelming.
And meanwhile, every time I hear the mournful peal of a train whistle I get a wonderful feeling in the pit of my stomach. But then it's not so wonderful anymore when I remember that we pissed it all away.
God, we just lost so much. I did not think it would happen in my lifetime but here we are
Last edited:
