During a trip to fish the Thompson River in British Columbia last November, John, Jim, Rodney, Fred and I pondered over the question……… “Why would a group of semi intelligent, semi-sane people put ourselves through the challenge of fly fishing the Thompson River?” After all the river is huge by any standards, instilling a feeling of intimidation to anyone who fly fishes it. Add to this, weather that at times is very windy with temperatures approaching freezing (well below freezing actually), water temperatures that reside in the mid 30’2 to mid 40’s much of the time, and located in an area the is very rugged. Heck even the motel we stay in is “hard.”

So then, why do we endure all these hardships in the hope of hooking one or two fish per trip? We were not able to formulate one single answer. On the other hand, we felt out devotion to the Thompson was a combination of several separate, but related reasons:

1. Certainly, anyone who fishes for steelhead is a little “touched.” Not everyone (thank goodness) is willing to stand in a cold river for hours on end making thousands of cast in the hopes of hooking just one fish. We are however, drawn to the challenge of the hunt.” In a way, we may feel about steelheading in a manner not unlike those who choose to run marathons (which also did some 40lbs and 18 years ago.)
2. The camaraderie associated with sharing one’s failures and occasional successes is difficult to put into words. Suffice it to say that it is very special. Combine with this the characters one has the chance of meeting on a trip to the Thompson i.e. Harry Lemire who is one of the “gurus” of steelheading (as well as being a true gentleman of the sport), Joe Kambeitz, designer of the Squamish Poacher and who fishes with only one arm, Paul Beck who fishes the river exclusively with a dry line and small Lady Caroline fly averaging one fish a day, and Art Lingren who wrote and published a river journal o fishing the Thompson), and it is a small wonder that some of us are attracted to the place.
3. Last, but certainly not least are the mighty fish one has the chance of encountering on the river. True, the run is not nearly as large a it was not so many years ago (what used to be a normal run of 10,00 o is now reduced to only 1,000-2,000.) Never the less these fish are reputed to be the strongest and some of the largest steelhead that live. If one is interested in the chance of catching 20lb. fish, the Thompson is certainly worthy of consideration.

Perhaps an entry from my fishing journal would help explain my passion for this river.

John Cunningham and I went down to fish the slot. As I reached the middle of the run, where in previous trips I had encountered a fish or two, WHAM- and I mean WHAM!! The fish hit so hard I almost lost my rod, reel and all. The fish sprayed water below me, and then, almost simultaneously, about 50 feet to my left. I really didn’t see the fish, as most of my attention was devoted to removing myself from the river. It then started downstream just as John Arrived. What followed was, in John’s words, a TITANIC BATTLE.

The fish ran out of the slot and my backing was quickly diminishing. WE quickly followed the fish-staggering through the rocks, John holding my wading staff and helping me up when I fell, all the while giving me words of encouragement. My backing continued to disappear at an alarming rate. By the time we reached the next pool, the fish was already through it and into the next set of rapids. As we approached those rapids my backing was gone. In an effort to save my line and backing, I warpped it around my hand to hopefully break it at the tippet. John suggested we continue to follow the fish, which was now 3 pools and 2 set of rapids downriver from where it was hooked. I staggered along for 5-10 minutes, following the fish- without one inch og backing left—NONE. Fortunately, the fish was tiring—as was I.

Finally I was able to start reeling in a little of the lost backing. Then, to my chagrin, we noticed my backing was caught on top of a large rock at the corner. I kept walking and reeling and the backing held until we reached the rock and were able to free it. We then proceeded to reel—and reel—and reel. The fish was way downstream on the other side of the river, near a mice gravel bar. John said if I could continue reeling (slowly and steadily), keeping the rod bent, we might be successful in coaxing the fish to our side, where there was a little soft water just below us. A fish might be landed there. I reeled for, I’m guessing, 15-20 minutes. Still, the line was not in sight. The fish was starting to cooperate, however, as it was probably as tired as I was. When the fish reached the lower section of the soft water (100 yards downstream, but on our side of the river), it started swimming upstream.

It continued upstream and a noticeable bow was developing, as it was traveling faster than I could reel. I ran upstream in an attempt to maintain a taught line, but the slack in the line continued. Then it was gone as suddenly, as it arrived. I wanted to cry, but had not the strength. I was totally spent. John and I wanted to see that fish—to take a few pictures—to hold it in our hands and set it free. But, as is not uncommon for the Thompson River fish, we didn’t get our chance. What is left is a memory of an epic battle with a fish we never saw. It was a great fish—that I know. What I don’t know is how large it was (but I am sure it will grow in my mind as the years pass by). I really appreciate the opportunity to do battle with that fish, and without John’s help and encouragement, the battle would have ended long before it did.”

Irv Conner
Postscript: When I took my reel into the Blue Dun to get the backing replaced, I asked Jeremy to measure it and count the number of revolutions on the reel to retrieve the running line and backing. Jeremy said it had 345 yards of backing and it tok 2240 turns of the reel to retrieve it. No wonder I was bushed!