Fishing with a Russian

I was heading into Burke's for a hot coffee just before sundown that day, when Pat pulled up alongside me, all in a rush as usual. Breathlessly, he said: "Grant, I finally found you, I phoned your place and you just have to take this guy fishing!" Pat is a long-time chum and I have trouble saying no to good friends, so I forced myself to stop thinking about the coffee I wanted to take the river's chill off my bones.

"Why, Pat? Who is it this time?"
Pat has friends from Japan, the States, relatives and friends from across Canada, and they all seem to love fish and fishing. Some are people he has met through Judo Canada, an organization with which he and his family are deeply involved.

"This guy just defected from the Russian Judo team, they were in Hamilton for the World Judo Championships. He's trying for refugee status and just loves fishing. He's a world-champion judo coach, he comes from Uzbekstan in the old USSR, he is an expert in several martial arts, he's staying at my house and training my kids, he loves fish, he doesn't speak much English...here meet Roman, Roman this is Grant, and Grant, you just gotta take him fishing!"

Oh, of course, that explains it, how simple. Why did I ask? The short, fit-looking gentleman grasped my hand with a paw that felt as hard and rough as a cow's horn.

"Are there any fish in the river? Can you take him tomorrow? Are they biting? Did you catch any?” Pat was wildly enthusiastic as always when fish are being discussed.

" OK Pat” I said: “Yes, there are plenty of fish in the river, yes they're biting, I caught a couple, do you want one?”

I opened the back of my smelly old fishing car and offered Pat a six pound silver steelhead. The look in Roman's eyes almost made me step back a pace. Now this guy was a fish lover! How could I refuse? I said I'd pick him up at eight in the morning and to make sure he had warm clothes. Pat, unfortunately, had to work.

The next morning when I arrived at his house Pat's wife had Roman all dressed and ready to go, with a lunch and a thermos of tea to keep him warm. She informed me he had eaten the trout I gave him the night before....raw.

Roman was just learning English, but was fluent in a bunch of other languages and seemed quick at getting the gist of any comment I made. A few minutes later we were at my favourite spot where Roman could cast from the bank and still have a chance at catching a fish.

The first chore was teaching Roman to use the spinning tackle I selected for him. Smart as a whip and super-coordinated as a former Russian Judo, Sambo and Tae Kwan Do champion, he had no trouble learning how to cast. I stuck with my own favourite, a 13 foot float rod and center-pin reel.

Wearing chest waders gave me a big advantage over Roman, since he was confined to the river bank, but it didn't seem to bother him. He was happy just to have a fishing rod in his hands. I kept looking back to see if he was O.K. and he would wave and beam his big smile at me.

Within a couple of minutes I hooked a rainbow and landed it on the shore by Roman. It was a bright fish about five pounds in weight but we had a whole day ahead of us and I didn't want to have to drag it around, so I released it. Bad idea. Roman almost jumped in the cold water after it. The look in his eyes told me we had a communication problem here. Where was Pat when I needed him? Somehow, Pat can break the language barrier and get a message of peace across.

As the sun warmed the water, the fish became more active. I was getting fish on regularly and Roman was really working hard to get his first ever trout. His casting wasn't quite graceful yet, but he was getting the bait out and his concentration was impressive.

Finally a fish hit for him, it broke water between us and headed for the lake. He yelled and started running downstream after it, reeling like mad and kicking willows out of the way, it was great fun to watch. The fish had got into the stronger currant though, and pulling a steelhead upstream is no easy task. It's far better to get below them and use the currant to help you, not the fish.

Soon Roman ran out of riverbank but the fish had lots of river left. I was attempting to catch up with him wading in the river but before I got there a tree branch hooked on his line, the fish gave a big head shake and it was free.

Sometimes losing a fish discourages a newcomer to rainbow fishing, but not Roman. With only a few glances over his shoulder to see if maybe the fish would drift ashore, he trudged back upstream to the pool to try to catch "that first fish's Papa". Determination like that deserves a reward and it was real relief I felt when I heard him shout as a fish splashed on the surface and tried to pull the same currant trick as the first one.

This time he was able to hold it away from the fast water and a few minutes later he slipped it up on the bank ... and immediately took it well back from the water so that it had no chance of flopping back and I wouldn’t dare release it. I got out my camera and took a picture. A picture of your first trout is priceless and Roman had no objection to posing for that shot!

When we left, Roman had some fresh fish that I had caught and one of his own on a stringer and they were going back to Pat’s house with him. He kept himself carefully between me and the fish as well. I could almost read his mind: "Watch this crazy Canadian, he already threw away a perfectly good meal, who knows what he'll try next?"

I delivered Roman to Pat's place that day with the fish all cleaned like they do them in Uzbekstan and with Roman wearing a smile from ear-to-ear. For myself, I had some pictures and some great memories of teaching a Russian to fish Rainbows.
When I said good-bye and apologized for having only one language to his half dozen, he said: "No, not one language, you speak two. English and Fishing!"

So long Roman, come back to Grey/Bruce anytime.

Note: Roman was granted refugee status and became a Canadian citizen. He still loves to fish our rivers!

Untangling the Mess: a little light on the fishing line hype

Monofilament, superline, spiderwire, copolymer, kevlar, flurorocarbon and dyneema! What is all this technical jargon and what does it mean to an angler?
Millions of dollars in television advertisements are ample proof that selling fishing line is big business. High-profile television anglers try and convince you that their sponsor’s lines are tougher, stronger, and limper, they will catch more fish than any other line. You absolutely have to use their latest product or there is no sense going fishing!

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