The first year of the Chantry Chinook Classic, 1983 it was, we were living in Kincardine. I canvassed the town for derby sponsors that year and can honestly say that not one business turned me down. It was also the first year I worked a shift at a weigh station and it was a real eye-opener with a lesson to be learned. 

The weigh station that year was in the old lighthouse on the north side of the harbour. Successful anglers had to tie up to the harbour wall alongside the lighthouse and struggle up the lighthouse steps, dragging their big fish across the polished floor. During mid-day it was mostly quiet with hardly any fishing action at all. Most of the salmon caught in those years were thanks to our American cousins, as few hatcheries had been built on our side. There were a couple of charter boats operating and a small number of experienced salmon anglers as well, but nothing like today. Fishing magazines had many of us convinced that salmon always stuck to their preferred temperatures, whatever depth that might be. 

I remember working the weigh-station one afternoon, day-dreaming about getting out that evening and trying my luck. My partner Bob had a good paper graph and a portable radio in his boat; others had taken the temperature and passed us the word where all the big fish just had to be. The deep water beckoned and we were confident of having a good chance at winning a prize. 

About mid-afternoon a scruffy angler in a beat-up boat showed up to check on derby results. I chatted with him awhile and shared what I thought were good locations and fishing tackle tips. Walking with him to his boat, I noticed he had an elderly lady with him, holding onto a broken-tipped fishing rod. Dangling down from the rod was a lure most often used for catching pike.

He chugged out of the harbour but not before telling me he intended to stick close to shore as his mother didn’t like deep water and he was nervous about the big lake.
I felt sorry for him but figured there was nothing I could do to help him reach the good fishing depths. 

That evening when we returned fishless, I saw that boat again. It was tied up at the weigh station and both the scruffy angler and his mother were struggling up those lighthouse stairs with a couple of enormous fish. I could hardly believe my eyes. When we checked the list, their largest salmon easily won big fish of the day and was sure to win a good prize at derby’s end in the top ten awards. I figured it was just a fluke of luck and that night spent extra time sharpening the hooks on all my regular salmon lures. Tomorrow would be a different day. 

It was a different day all right, but not much was different with the luck of Mr. Scruff and his mom. Big fish of the day again! As well, they had a cooler full of big silver Chinook that were not quite heavy enough to win a prize. I remember being glad that derby was over as we never won a thing and entered few fish at all. We pounded all the right depths with all the right lures but the salmon hadn’t read the same books I guess. I thought about that lesson a lot over the winter and sometimes remind myself of what I learned:

Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to be a little different in your fishing locations and presentations, especially when lots of fishing pressure is taking place... get away from the crowds. Oh yeah, and the fish don’t care how you’re dressed.