here that I am not the only victim to have fallen prey to the entrapments of this section of the Ganny. It seems a little bizarre, but even with my doing the backflip into the river on opening day of the trout fishing season that April day, we did manage to fish it with several different fellows over the summer. There was very little difficulty until closing day when fishing there with another buddy, Jim Lloyd.
Jim Lloyd of the mighty leap, still living dangerously.
Not far from where I performed my graceless backflip into the icy spring flow in April, Jim was attempting to negotiate a similar high bank around an awkwardly placed tree stump on its edge. He, too, while leaning over the river, used another large log for his support and balance. Fortunately, although that is seldom the case in these situations, his feet were firmly planted. The log broke the instant he leaned on it and he was faced with an instantaneous decision. He could either fall straight down into the river as he protected his face with one hand and his nether region with the other, or he could attempt to leap across to the other side of the stream over whatever perils lay below. There, he knew, the water was shallow and the landing if he was successful, would be comparatively gentle—on a muddy bank.
Standing a few feet away from him, surrounded by six feet of grassy cover, I witnessed a feat of athletic endeavour that I doubt had ever before been achieved. When the log gave way, Jim, without a pause didn’t simply jump, he launched himself powerfully across the water and landed on all fours on the opposite stream bank with nothing bruised but his ego. Still clenching his rod like a baton throughout the episode, he looked like he had been shot from one of those ridiculous circus cannons. I swear that as he passed over the middle of the stream, the apogee of his flight was at a higher plane than when he pushed off. With that kind of athletic and acrobatic ability, I suggested afterwards that he hire himself and his act out to the Cirque de Soleil. This Hepburn stretch of the Ganny has produced countless and unforgettable memories for us over many years.
Another favourite section of the Ganny for my fishing buddies and me is the “Picnic Grounds” stretch, a three- or four-mile section of magical waters that has also produced innumerable memories. But the first thing to come to mind would be why—and when—this section was first labelled the Picnic Grounds. Perhaps the easiest stretch of the Ganaraska River to fish and negotiate, this is where I have taken dozens of neophyte fishermen on their initial wand-waving pursuits to help them learn the intricacies of the beautiful sport of fly fishing. It is also the place where I introduced my two sons to trout fishing.
My sons, Randy and Ronnie, were eleven and twelve years old respectively when I first surrendered to their pleas to take them stream fishing. Although they had already fished with their old man for several years and become proficient casters with their spinning tackle in the process, they had not experienced the trials and tribulations—and yes—the pleasures, of stream fishing for trout. The lads’ previous angling experiences had been restricted to fishing on lakes, either in our car-top boat or from a variety of piers and docks where it was easier for the youngsters to learn how to use their light-weight fishing tackle than on the tight quarters to be found on the streams that their father fished.
Prior to their initial exposure to stream fishing with their own equipment, they had accompanied me on numerous sorties to more easily negotiated streams such as the headwaters of Duffins Creek, a few miles east of Toronto. Duffins is in an area with well-defined stream-side trails due its proximity to Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources conservation area at Claremont.
Their patience was sorely tested that summer as they tagged along with me on those occasions, not to fish, but simply to observe and learn. If they were going to be able to enjoy their fishing on streams, decidedly more difficult than fishing out of a boat on lakes, then reading the current, determining the holding spots and how to fish them and simply getting through the bush, were lessons that I deemed necessary.
Although they were eager to prove that the lessons had been absorbed, they both patiently awaited the word from the teacher and consoled themselves with cleaning some of the brookies that I flipped over my shoulder towards them. By the end of that summer they were allowed to bring their rods with them and fish some of the more accessible pools on successive trips. It soon became obvious that I would have to begin cleaning my own fish again as both boys proved that they had become excellent students and were ready for a more exciting and difficult test of their recently acquired skills—fishing the magical waters of the Ganaraska River.
The season was almost over, but after managing to fish the Ganny on a couple of short, problem-free outings and their having caught a few small trout in the process, I was being bombarded on the one-hour trip home with pleas to go again and be allowed to stay over and camp on the riverside. There is a little copse where I normally parked the car and where we had taken luncheon breaks on these trips to devour the goodies their mother had packed in the picnic baskets for us. That was the spot they had in mind.
I can remember every detail of the conversation and what followed on the way home after our second visit to the Ganny. Although it was more than forty years ago, it is such a startlingly vivid recollection that it must be considered my number one truly magical memory of fishing the waters of the Ganaraska River.
As we drove back to Scarborough, Ronnie asked, “Dad, why don’t we ever fish until dark, or early in the morning like you do when you go with the other guys? You’re always telling us that that’s the best time to catch the big ones.”
Before I could answer his question, Randy fired one of his own at me as well, “Yeah, Dad, can we bring our tent the next time we come? We could set it up in that clearing right beside the spot where you park the car. You know, the “Picnic Grounds.”
Still contemplating their surprising requests, I had yet to respond when Ronnie suggested, “You could help us set up the tent before you leave then Randy and I would be able to fish until dark before we got into our sleeping bags. Then we would get to fish early in the morning, too, before you come back to pick us up. What do you think, Dad? Could we, please? Please?”
“I don’t know about that, guys. What about food? And there are animals there, too, you know. I doubt if Mom would ever give you permission to stay overnight in the bush and right beside a river—all by yourselves.”
“Ah, Dad! Please. You can tell Mom that we’ll be okay, won’t you, please? We’re not little kids now, you know!”
They moaned in unison. I told them I would think about it for while. By the time we arrived home I had pretty well made up my mind to consent to their wishes, but only if their mother could be convinced that they were capable of surviving the mini-adventure.
The final weekend of the trout season was approaching and Ron and Randy had both been on their best behaviour since our last outing. Their exemplary conduct, along with my assurance that I believed they would be able to stay out of trouble eventually led to their mother’s acquiescence. We agreed that providing they packed their gear and Mom made lunches for them the night before, that I would pick them up from school and they could change their clothes in the car. In that way we could reach the Picnic Grounds with time to set up their tent and still get in an hour or two of fishing before dark.
Arriving at the edge of the stream, they chattered with exhilaration as their sleeping bags, picnic basket, tackle and tent were unloaded. They refused to let me assist them in setting up and could hardly wait to say goodbye to their old man. My final words to them before departing were that there was to be no campfire and that they had to be in their sleeping bags before dark. The boys had a couple of reliable flashlights with them to ease any fears
