dear mother, Helen, although having few opportunities to wet a line herself, had a love of the outdoors and made the most of every chance she had to go fishing or take a stroll in the countryside. Bob Wilcox, my uncle, loved fishing, especially for trout. His ardent pursuit of trout and different places to go after them was possibly the greatest influence on my love of fishing during my early years.
I owe much appreciation to my children, Connie, Wendy, Randy and Ronnie, all of whom enjoyed fishing with me during their own early years, I have vivid recollections of my daughters’ times on the water with their old man, while my sons both became experts with rod and reel, learning how to read and appreciate whatever they discovered in the outdoors. Another huge influence in my fishing and casting pursuits was my first wife and the mother of my children, Joan, a fine fisherman in her own right.
I wish to thank Jim Gifford who suggested I write this book and Bill and Jamie Gairdner who sponsored me for years at the Fitness Institute and to the World Casting Champions, and Clive Caldwell and Steve Roest of the Fitness Institute who also assisted me in this respect. Most importantly, I owe my life to Dr. Khoa Le, who made it his personal goal to bring me back from the dead when I was critically struck down with a near-fatal case of pancreatitis.
Several of my earliest fishin’ buddies, who were kind and interested enough to join me on quite a few of my early forays into the angling wars, were Kenny Dorsey, Carl Wilkinson and, of course, Tom Wells. During my later teenage years, relationships with Art Walker and Ron Duncan developed to the point where we competed with each other in tournament casting, fished together all over the place and exchanged knowledge freely as long as health permitted. Unfortunately, in later years Ron became ill and Art, twice my best man, passed away.
Also, during those early years, I began reading every book and magazine I could get my hands on that dealt with angling—or competitive tournament casting. Earl Osten, a gentleman whom I never actually had the pleasure of meeting, wrote a book, Tournament Fly and Bait Casting, that was my early bible on the subject until the pages yellowed and wore thin. Perhaps the person who was the most influential in my life’s direction was that wonderful fisherman and outdoorsman Lee Wulff.
One of the finest tournament casters who ever graced the casting docks was Myron Gregory. His assistance and expertise, freely given was of tremendous help to me in that endeavour. Other tournament casters whom I would like to recognize here, all of whom also helped me in many ways with any casting prowess that I was able to develop over the years include: Jim Chapralis, Allan Ehrhardt, Dick Fujita, Rene Gillibert, Chris Korich, Steve Rajeff, John (Zero) Seroczynski, Jim Venable, Zack Willson and Stan Yonge.
This book, based on my memories of the incredible experiences gained in fishing, predominantly trout, would not have been feasible without the friendship of my “fishin’ buddies” and their influence on me, commencing in my youth. I wish to thank them for going along on the ride: Brad Allen, Don Allen, Paul Becker, Gary Benson, Don Burd, Roger Cannon, Ray Cockburn, Dave Collins, Paulo Conceicao, Len Connelly, Mike Dinner, Christopher Eckart, John Finnegan, Jimmy Folkes, Hans Guide, Oliver Johnston, Ashok Kalle, Paul Kennedy, Italo Labignan, Fred Leibl, Jim Lloyd, Ken Lusk, Rick Matusiak, Pete McGillen, Don Petican, Pete Pokulok, Scott Purcell, Paul Quarrington, Mike Roskopf, Doug Ryder, Steve Ryder, Leon Schwartz, Larry Sykes, Bill Taylor, Paul Voisin, King Whyte and Jack Wilkings.
I also wish to thank my publisher, Barry Penhale, for his belief in me and for having some fine fishing tales himself, and Jane Gibson, editor for Natural Heritage Books, whose patience was thoroughly tested in editing the text.
Gordon’s memory is different than mine, too. Mostly because he has one, I mean, a remarkable one. I think he can remember every fish he ever caught. Gordon can remember the excitement that accompanied each of them.
Gord Deval and Paul Quarrington on the Ganaraska River.
I may have to work harder than Gordon does, but I can summon many memories of the man I affectionately call “The Old Guy.” I can remember the first time I saw him, for example. It was in a school gymnasium, and Gordon was demonstrating a fly-casting technique known as the “double haul.” It’s a beautiful thing when executed properly, a way to shoot great lengths of line. It involves a combination of grace and strength, and I’m still working on it twenty-odd years later.
I can remember the first time we went fishing together. This is actually quite a vivid memory, because of the presence of a ferocious dog and a nasty-looking gentleman who felt we shouldn’t have been fishing a particular section of the Ganaraska River. But that gets back to what I was saying before, about Gordon seeing the world differently than I do. He often misses things like fences and “No Trespassing” signs.
One of my fondest memories—at least, the one that makes me chuckle the most—involves the two of us driving into the heart of the United States of America. Every time we passed a field, Gordon would say, “There’s a nice field.” There was frequently some other reason for praising the field—perhaps there were puffballs sprouting in its middle, perhaps a fox was running along its perimeter—which Gordon would note, although I never saw any of that stuff. I would simply nod, having managed to spot the field. One of the reasons fields are so beloved of Gordon is that they give him space to practise his distance casting; he reigned as Canadian champion for many years. He would also praise any river, rivulet or rill we passed by. “There’s a beautiful stream,” Gordon would grin, no doubt imagining all the beautiful fish that lived in the beautiful stream. So for hundreds of miles, these were his most frequent observations, a proclivity I finally pointed out with a slight tinge of irritation. Gordon was quiet for a long moment. “I like fields, and I like streams,” he acknowledged. “And by god, I love that magazine.”
It is that kind of good spirited liveliness—as well as his memory, and a quick, clean writing style—that make this book by Gordon Deval so delightful.
Enjoy it.
Paul Quarrington
Toronto, 2006
Although a few of these waters provide me with only a faint and or mundane recollection, many others
