Memories of Magical Waters. Gord Deval
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 Deval is made of different stuff than I. His senses seem more acute. On our fishing trips, he sees things long before I do. Little things: mushrooms, insects, the flora decorating the riverside, big brown trout sitting in muddy holes. He not only sees things before I do, he sees things I just plain don’t. Gordon points them out helpfully, but I don’t have his eyes. He sees the world in a special way. He sees both the details and the big picture. Gordon can spy the natural world that lies beneath our human artifice.
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
Most folks would find it well nigh impossible to name forty or fifty different bodies of water. When my publisher suggested that a work written by me, which delved into the charm and mystique of the many streams, rivers and lakes that I have been fortunate enough to have wet a line on or in during my more than sixty-five years of fishing, would appeal to anglers past and present, I sat down with a pencil, then slapped on my thinking cap. Amazingly, the list of waters that tested my angling skills over all those years totalled more than one hundred and seventy. If it had not been for this exercise, I would not have believed it.
Although a few of these waters provide me with only a faint and or mundane recollection, many others are indelibly etched in my memory bank. As often as not, big fish have little to do with it. Each and every brook, stream, river and lake that tested my mettle as an angler over all those years left its mark—several, pleasantly and a few not so pleasantly—while countless others provided magnificently vivid and detailed reminiscences. It is these wonderfully magical waters and the wonderful hours enjoyed fishing them that created all these magical memories.
Allow me to share a few of these moments with you.
Here are the “magical waters” listed alphabetically:
12 Mile Lake, 30 Island Lake, A/B Lake,* Allen Lake, Bald Lake, Balsam Lake, Baltimore Creek,† Bateaux River, Bay of Quinte, Beanpole Lake,* Beaver River,* Beaverkill River (NY), Benson Lake, Bighead River, Birchy Lake, Bitter Lake, Bivouac Lake, Black Lake, Blue Lake,* Bowmanville Creek, Boyne River, Broadback River,* Brooks Lake,† Brule Lake, Buckhorn Lake, Burdoch Lake, Butternut Lake, Cache Lake, Canoe Lake, Cavan Stream, Centreton Creek, Charleston Lake, Clear (Clean) Lake, Clement Lake, Coldwater Creek, Desert Lake, Devil Lake, Duck Lake, Duffins Creek, East Lake, East River, Echo Creek,* Fishtail Lake, Fleetwood Creek, Frenchman’s Bay, Georgian Bay,* Golden Lake, Grace Lake, Grand River, Grants Lake, Green Lake, Green Lake (2), Grenadier Pond, Gull Lake, Gull River, Hall’s Lake, Harburn Lake, Castleton Creek, Indian Brook, “Itsy Bitsy” Brook,* Janetville Stream, Jessops Creek, Jocko River, Kashagawigamog Lake, Kashawakamac (Long) Lake, Kawagama (Hollow) Lake, Kennesis Lake, Kiefers Creek, Kingscott Lake, Lady Evelyn Lake, Lake Huron, Lake Nippising, Lake