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No 250-horsepower motors. No shark-like bass boats, bristling with rods. No starting gun. Just a single competitor—that would be me—carving through the waves, through the pre-dawn gloaming, in a khaki-green kayak. It sure doesn’t feel like a fishing tournament.
But then, perhaps there’s never been a tournament quite like the Ottawa Riverkeeper 2008 Casting for Clean Water Fishing Tournament, held Tuesday evening and all day yesterday at Westboro Beach.
The brainchild of Trailhead owner Wally Schaber, it’s a 100-per-cent human-powered (no motors allowed), eco-friendly derby in support of the Ottawa Riverkeeper, all proceeds going toward the care and protection of the Ottawa River.
You can’t argue with a cause like that, and it’s hard to argue against a morning of fishing anyway, so I entered. The only problem was I had neither canoe nor kayak at my disposal. So I phoned Mr. Schaber, and he hooked me up with Ocean Kayak rep Jamie Pistilli, and Mr. Pistilli hooked me up with an open-seat Prowler, a purpose-built angling kayak kitted out with rod holders, paddle leashes and sundry other accoutrements of the sport. Now all I had to do was learn to cast a fly rod from a kayak, catch a tournament-winning muskie, accept my $200 prize for Top Rod at the closing ceremony/barbecue, and generally bask in the Usain Bolt-like glory that would, surely, be mine.
Dang, though, it’s hard to cast an eight-inch fly when you’re seated in a tippy boat about an inch above the waterline. And the shoreline off Westboro Beach is maddeningly unpredictable. One minute you’re in clear, deep water, the next the weeds are brushing the bottom of the kayak and fouling your hook.
In time, though, I settled into a rhythm, casting smooth 50-foot loops and stripping my perch-patterned fly over the tops of the weeds.
I knew the fish were there because a 28-inch pike was caught in the evening session; that, so far, was the mark to beat.
But I also knew that 40 other competitors would be arriving throughout the day, fishing four-hour sessions from 6 a.m. (my session) to 7 p.m., when the scores were to be tallied and the prizes handed out for Top Rod, Top Fly Rod, Top Ladies Rod, Top Senior Rod, Top Junior Rod and Top Youth Rod.
That’s one of the beauties of the Riverkeeper tournament: It’s designed for all ages, both sexes and all skill levels, from the most adept of pros to the rankest of amateurs. In other words, it’s meant to be fun.
It’s also meant to be eco-friendly, which means no killing of fish. Anglers take pictures of their catches against a measuring tape, then immediately release the fish, ensuring minimal stress and damage.
At the end of the day, though, it’s still a tournament, and you have to keep your eye on the prize. A 28-inch pike is a big fish, but maybe not big enough to win. What I really wanted to catch, what was sure to garner Top Rod, was a 50-inch muskie.
Those are here in the river, too; they’re just hard to find. And if you do find one, they’re hard to land—let alone measure and photograph from a kayak.
n hour passed. Drifting with the current, lulled by the waves and the repetition of casting, my mind began to wander and I found myself watching the cyclists as they zipped past on the Ottawa River pathway.
A little further downriver, I encountered a man seated on a rocky bluff overlooking the river, meditating in the lotus position. Because I was fishing from a whisper-quiet kayak, he didn’t even know I was there. We passed like one hand clapping, like ships in the night, and I felt good that I was not disturbing his New-Agery.
But then, angling from a kayak is kind of New-Agey too. The sport took off a few years ago in California (where else?) and quickly caught on throughout North America, to the extent that purpose-built angling boats are now the fastest growing segment of the kayak market.
“That’s one of the reasons I decided to start the Riverkeeper Tournament,” said Mr. Schaber. “I want to try to grow the sport here in Ottawa, to introduce people to kayak angling.”
Judging from my experience, it shouldn’t be a hard sell. Once you get the hang of it, kayak fishing is really quite effortless. Moving is effortless, too: A couple of strokes with the double-bladed paddle sends you knifing through the water. Best of all, if your fly gets stuck on a rock or log you don’t even have to pick up the paddle: Just start reeling and the kayak backs itself up until you’re over the snag and can free the hook. Serenity now, in other words.
Except where were the fish? I’d been out there three hours, my session was rapidly coming to a close, and I hadn’t had a bite. I decided to turn back upriver and troll, moving just fast enough to keep the fly off the bottom. An hour later—I was upstream from Westboro by then—the line finally came tight and I was into a fish. It felt big. Heck, it felt winningly big. For 20 seconds or so we were locked in furious battle, and then, just like that, it was gone.
Do you know the feeling, the sick, sinking feeling when your rod, formerly electric with piscatorial energy, goes dead in your hand? I had that feeling then, but it didn’t last. How could it, when the sun and the moon were sharing the morning sky, the far bank was ablaze in early autumn colour, and I was afloat in a boat on the mighty Ottawa?
And if I returned to the check-in point sans $200 fish, sans Usain Bolt-like glory, so what? There’s always next year.
Mark Anderson is a Citizen columnist and avid fisherman.
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