Beginnings
Like many young anglers, my first fishing experiences were on small stream I got hooked between the age of 11 and 13. My uncle would take me fishing to upper New York State and, at that time, nothing on this earth was more enjoyable than plunking worms for trout. Around each river bend was a new adventure. Boulders, submerged branches, undercut banks… All could yield a big brown trout. In the fast riffles and rapids, there were acrobatic rainbows… But occasionally we caught something even more alluring—a fish which always brought a hint of a whisper to my uncle’s voice. We rarely used the prosaic name “brook trout”, but its Latin name fontinalis, which means “of the pure springs”. For it was only in the pure, cool, headwater springs that that it could live. It’s bright colours, which complemented the bright waters where it lived, enhanced its mythical allure. I listened with awe as my Uncle spoke of the wild, cold waters way up north where fontinalis grew huge.I was caught under its spell. The elusive giant brook trout became my fresh-water unicorn and capturing it one of my recurring dreams.

As I grew older, I developed intricate, nocturnal worm-collecting routes that would lead me to explore, by flashlight, some of the most beautiful gardens in Montreal’s rich upper Westmount. The police stopped me several times, but I developed alternate routes and insisted worm collecting was the ideal first date to bring a lady on. My uncle became concerned with this development and decided it was time to teach me to fly fish.

Touching The Unicorn
Labrador! The thunderclouds gathered along the horizon as our floatplane desperately tried to land on Lake Minipi before being engulfed by the heart of darkness. This is a primordial land: deep forests, pristine lakes and miles of wild river pulsing through it. From the air, I could already feel the heartbeat of adventure. For, though I had caught many brook trout over the years, I was finally embarking on the quest for my unicorn—to catch a giant majestic, bejeweled fontinalis that would satisfy my boyhood dream.

Minipi is renowned for its brook trout. Throughout summer, fly fisherman search the narrows and shorelines of the lake for the swirls made by fish feeding on the surface. The boat stealthily approaches, and the angler casts in the anticipated direction the feeding trout might take. The fall, however, is the best time, for then the majority of the fish head towards the rivers. Here, they feed on lemmings and mice, which frequently cross the river (often at night) when they are very vulnerable. The opportunistic giant brook trout is very familiar with the silhouette of a small rodent struggling across the surface and they strike with reckless abandon. The hit is often savage—frequently not just one hit, but a series! I’ve had some leap up from the side and slam the fly on the way down. Sometimes it feels like fishing for pike.