It was June 25th, the day I always head to Sheridan Lake each year to see if there were any caddis flies emerging yet. I had gotten my boat in the water at the Thomas Point launch and had parked my truck up the road a bit to allow others access to the turnaround. As I was walking back to the boat, I noticed a kindly looking gentleman sporting a long beard checking out my boat.
I quickly glanced around and didn’t see any other vehicle, and didn’t recall seeing anyone walking down the road, so was just about to ask him where he had come from when he inquired if I was heading out on the lake to see if the sedges were active yet. I was impressed at his knowledge of caddis flies, so I nodded in the affirmative and he said he hadn’t seen a good sedge emergence in years and was wondering if he could join me.
His demeanour was such that I found I could not refuse such a request and agreed to have him join me. He had a ruddy complexion and a smile that lit up his face. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that only made him more charming. He was the kind of person one couldn’t help but like at the very first encounter.
I cruised around the lake checking out the usual locations where I had had good caddis action in the past. A couple of heavy splashes near one rocky shoal caught my attention and I anchored about 40 feet from where I had seen them. The obviously overweight fellow, although spry for the looks of him, nodded his approval at my choice and asked if it would be all right if he used one of my fly rods.
I agreed, but first asked him if he had purchased a fishing license. He assured me he had, so I said go ahead. I had two rods ready to go, one with a dry fly and the other with a sedge pupa. He chose the rod with the pupa, which would have been my first pick, and I wondered at his excellent choice. He must have sensed my vibes and smiled knowingly.
His cast was flawless, so I asked him how long it had been since he had chucked a fly. He replied, “Too long”. He explained that his hobby took up much of his leisure time, so I inquired what that was. He said that he and a number of volunteers had been building children’s toys for many years out of wood, donated by a local mill, and these were then hand painted and distributed around the world. I began to have a better appreciation of this gentleman and his co-workers. I then asked where the shop was located, and he grinned and winked and said north of Prince George.
I continued casting my dry fly with no response from the trout. I glanced over at Chris’ (he had introduced himself before he got into the boat) indicator and saw it had just gone under. Chris deftly tightened the line and was fast into a superb Pennask Strain fish that tested both the line and ability of the fisherman. Jumping numerous times, it took Chris into the backing and genuinely resisted any efforts to bring him to the net. After what seemed an eternity, I was finally able to slide the net under the fish. It appeared to be about 6 pounds.
I asked Chris if he wanted a photo of him and the fish before it was released, but he said no, the fish had earned his freedom and respect with the way it had fought. I quickly removed the barbless hook from its jaw, making sure it never left the water and gently rolled the net on its side so the fish could swim away to provide another fortunate angler with the opportunity to do battle.
The day passed quickly as we discussed all the changes we had seen in peoples’ beliefs and values in the past few decades, and the more time I spent with Chris, the greater my respect and admiration for this gentleman with an endless smile on his face and a jovial laugh. After putting the boat back on the trailer, Chris firmly shook my hand after thanking me and saying he really enjoyed the day on the water with me, explaining he was sure he had met me sometime in the past.
Just before leaving, he said he might see me on the water again, ice fishing in early January as he explained he was extremely busy until after Christmas. Again he laughed, holding his generous stomach in a familiar way, and I couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in his eye as he bade me farewell just after showing me a sketch he had of him and his guide releasing an Atlantic Salmon many years earlier.
I asked what his last name was, and again he laughed and said “Cringle, see you six months from now!”
