Photo by Paul Morrison
From the air, the rugged north coast of Graham Island in Haida Gwaii is everything you'd expect. Traced by a thin line of foaming white on an infinite indigo canvas, the land dishes up secrets like a promotional video. Forest. Bog. Inlet. Bears scavenging a rocky shore. The fractal geometry of kelp beds fluttering like golden sheaves in blue-green shallows.
After a two-hour charter from Vancouver to the village of Masset revealed little more than a scalloped sea of cloud, this 20-minute hop to the remote island of Langara serves up all the scenery we can digest. Better still, any fishing trip that begins in a helicopter is bound to deliver serious adventure.
It doesn't take long. After a five-star lunch in the airy wood and stone Langara Island Lodge, to which you ascend from water level in a unique, open funicular, we head out with guide Kyle - a tall, sandy-bearded, easygoing type who takes us to a favorite spot only 10 minutes away.
Chanal Reef is western gateway between Graham and Langara, which, given nothing between there and Japan, means the full force of the North Pacific gets its foot in the door. It's also incredibly scenic: rock formations resemble Thailand - towering humps with vegetated crowns, a keyhole through one in which you can catch a perfect sunset.
We have some heavy bites and lose a few fish while learning to set humane, barbless hooks (Coho grab fast, Chinook play a bit), then divert to populous Cohoe Point. Bobbing amidst a veritable fleet we wrestle in a few Coho up to nine pounds, when, quite suddenly, the real bite is on and big Chinooks are hitting everywhere. Not wanting to be greedy or exceed our limit too early, we catch and release several over 20lbs. Over the radio we hear that Chanal Reef is hitting, too.
That's the way it goes out here. The fish come in pulses; nothing for hours, 15 to 30 minutes of frenzy, then nothing again. The big fish follow the baitfish schools and so do we.
Fortunately, when the bite wanes, another phenomenon kicks in: Humpback Whales "bubble feeding." Beyond the spectacle of the act it's an amazing demonstration of animal communication. Whales work together setting a circular net of bubbles and sound that drives herring together in a panic; then three or four whales surface vertically through the corralled baitfish with mouths agape, baleen glistening, half a body length out of the water. This stunning sight happens again and again, less than 50 metres from our boat.
You don't have to worry about Humpbacks, but you do need to keep an eye on sea lions and seals. Sea lions, which can eat 300lbs of fish per day, rip hooked salmon from the line and getting a hook through the lip doesn't bother them. Orcas also occasionally poach salmon but are a lot smarter about it: they bite the body off and leave the head attached to the hook.
Besides whales, dolphins, sea lions, seals, bears and eagles doing their thing, needlefish schools are everywhere, grazed by all manner of fish and bird, and Black bass jump like popcorn in the kelp on the incoming tide. Truly nature in the raw. Plucking a salmon from the melee is like reaching your hand into the middle of the food chain - literally and figuratively.
There's nothing like the feel of 25lbs of "green" (fresh from the ocean) Chinook muscle trying to tear a rod from your hands. They sulk and sound and run and leap and shake their heads on a threadlike connection made even more tenuous by the barbless hook. Keeping one on is a balancing act of giving line while maintaining high tension. Which makes it a fair-ish fight, with almost as many salmon lost in a day as landed.
If fishing is all about legendary catches and legendary locations, Langara more than qualifies. In the 1970s and '80s, when Campbell River and Rivers Inlet were B.C.'s best-known salmon destinations, Haida Gwaii (the former Queen Charlotte Islands) was virtually unknown to even the most well-travelled angler. Though isolation kept it undiscovered, tales were told of a fishery more abundant than any on the coast.
Following those rumors, in 1985 a group of friends hatched a plan for a commercial venture, taking a chance on Langara at the northwest corner of the archipelago - the small island where a Mexican viceroy named Perez, surveying Spain's new-world land claims, made first contact with the Haida, who paddled out in war canoes and sprinkled eagle feathers on the water. Discouraged from landing more by weather than the energetic envoy, Perez notoriously departed, leaving Spain with no claims north of California.
The fishing friends had no such qualms, towing a renovated 120-foot paddle-wheeler up to Langara and anchoring in a protected cove.
Langara sits at the apex of the main southward migration route for all five species of Pacific salmon as they split east and west around Haida Gwaii, and the bounty quickly filled the floating lodge with anglers. Word spread about a pristine environment, spectacular diversity of wildlife and compelling native culture, luring adventure travelers to share the experience. Each season brought expansion - an upscale lodge on the island itself, a series of luxury cabins and an unparalleled gourmet food experience. Twenty-five years later and the hard-earned reputation of these Langara pioneers is shared each summer by a range of wide-eyed guests.
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Next day we start at Bruin Beach, known for its large fish. We hit several, fighting Chinook up to 34lbs in the rain before it dies off. Moving over to Friendly Cove with the sun poking through we find a crazy amount of fish, hooking three and four at a time on several occasions. It's too easy. At Chanal Reef, Rhinoceros Auklets surfaced with beaks full of telling needlefish, but here we can actually see the bait balls.
Back in the lodge over drinks, stories surface with the regularity of Cohos: someone hit a 45 pounder near the lodge on their way back in; big, but not as big as the 65 pounder a week earlier (both released as the lodge encourages tossing giants back to stoke the big-fish gene pool; smaller fish are also better eating). There's a tale of eagles swimming to shore with fish in their talons too big to lift into the air. Kyle recalls grabbing a guy who almost fell overboard after being yanked off his feet by a fish. But then, like any guide, Kyle has many stories. He was once on a fishing boat in the South Pacific's Cook Islands when an engine - the one running the electrical system - broke down, spoiling their food. He eventually limped into Fiji, 20 pounds lighter.
One afternoon we visit the Haida village across the reach. A Haida Watchman (a cultural guide who also monitors fish catches) dishes about the dozen longhouses that each held 30 to 60 people. Archaeologists believe the village was occupied continuously for 12,000 years, then abandoned a century ago due to the ravages of disease. Befitting this Eden, forest growth since is incredible-mortuary poles sprout full trees and moss is thick over foundations long since reclaimed by the earth.
After the tour we hike through a soggy Middle Earth-visage to haunting Lepas Bay. The trail follows a freshwater stream to its egress on a flat, sandy parabola necklaced in knee-high tangles of kelp. In and around these noisome coils lie the usual flotsam of the west coast - Japanese water bottles, harbor buoys, plastic mats, kitchen trays, light bulbs. The bay's islands are barely visible in the heavy mist, lending an even more mysterious feel. Kyle has worn his drysuit, hoping to body surf, but the low, mushy waves aren't conducive to surfing of any kind. We retreat.
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On departure day we head out an hour earlier than usual as we have to be back by 10 a.m. Winds and swell are calmer than they've been and Kyle figures we can circumnavigate Langara, which has, to this point, been impossible. It's still dicey as we round Lacy Island, but soon calms down along Lord Bight and Thrumb island. We pass famous Langara Lighthouse, rocky cliffs below it scoured clean up to 30 metres in testament to the size of the waves that regularly drive up here. Finally we approach the sea lion colony on Langara Rocks where enormous bull males sit atop the rocks, the young in the water with the females. Humpbacks surface around us and the unoccupied islands of southern Alaska lurk on the horizon. It's so invigorating we don't mind when a 15-minute fight with a 20lb Chinook ends in a big gulp by a sea lion. After all, we have our limit and this is their food; fair is fair.
Back at the lodge the highlight reel rewinds: pack bags, eat brunch, load fish, get in helicopter, fly back to Masset. Only once back on the charter to Vancouver does it really sink in: the Langara experience has been everything we'd wanted and more-a fishing trip both sensuous and surreal.
INFO: langara.com/our-lodges/langara-island-lodge
