Labrador trip a must for brook trout aficionados

For most trout fishermen, it's the last great place -- the way brook trout fishing should be.

For Carroll Ware of Skowhegan, who outfits trips to the region's wayward brook trout lakes and ponds for Fins and Furs Adventures, it's a yearly tradition.

"If you're a dyed-in-the-wool trout fisherman, and you could take just one trip in your life, go to Labrador," he told me last week, after returning from a weeklong trip to Osprey Lake Lodge, in Labrador, Canada.

That much I already knew. The rest of it -- the details -- were almost too much for this local Maine brook trout fisherman to comprehend.

To understand the sheer immensity of Labrador, imagine the population of Augusta and Waterville swimming around in a province the size of Arizona. It's enormous country -- with too many lakes, ponds and waterways to count.

When explorer Jacques Cartier visited Labrador in 1534, he called it "the land God gave to Cain...fit only for wild beasts." While I doubt he was referring to the native brook trout that thrived in Labrador's nearly countless lakes, he may as well have been.

According to Ware, the average weight of the fish he and his group caught was around five pounds, eight ounces. That's an average -- a pretty remarkable one when you consider that trout over five pounds caught in Maine last year could probably be counted one hand.

Most Labrador lodges, including Osprey, enforce a strict catch and release policy on brook trout, ensuring that the biggest fish survive, year after year, for anglers' enjoyment. Instead of brook trout, fishermen eat other, more abundant fish species.

That policy, combined with the sheer remoteness of the country, has resulted in a brook trout fishery that remains every bit as strong as it was 50 years ago.

"They're a big, deep, healthy hump-backed kind of fish. Just marvelously healthy," Ware said.

The prevailing theory is that brook trout start their lives as insect feeders. Once they reach a certain size, they turn largely to baitfish.

Most fly fishermen prefer to catch their trout on dry flies, where the action is on the surface, and more visual. But Ware, an avid Maine pond fisherman who isn't afraid to brandish a sinking line and woolly bugger, also did a fair amount of "dredging" for big fish, which he caught up to eight pounds or so. He said on windy days, or those without hatches, a willingness, and ability, to use sinking lines is important.

Overall, though, he said the fishing is remarkably user-friendly -- aside from the occasional black fly or mosquito.

"If somebody can cast the length of my driveway, they can catch a big brook trout in Labrador," he said.

Pike also inhabit the waters in Labrador. Unlike in Maine, these toothy gamefish are native to Labrador's lakes and ponds. Over centuries, they seem to have evolved to co-exist with the brook trout. Ware and his group caught a few, including one memorable fish that coughed up a mouthful of scuds -- a small freshwater shrimp that can also be found in Maine.

"I never knew pike ate scuds. It tipped me off. This winter I'm going to tie some scud patterns. I'm sure next year there won't be a trout within 40 miles of a scud pattern, but if they are, I'll be ready," Ware said.

As in Alaska, Labrador's trout grow fat during the brief abundance of summer. Ice out happens at the end of May. By August, beavers are already making winter preparations, and shorebirds and waterfowl begin their migration south.

Long days, hot sun and fertile waters during these intense months combine to provide brook trout with a protein-rich diet. According to Labrador's Department of Fish and Game, brook trout grow as much as a pound per year in some regions of the province.

Many believe the next world record -- which currently stands at 141/2 pounds, from the Nipigon River in Ontario -- will emerge from Labrador. Imagine a 15-pound brook trout on the end of your line.

Today, there are more than 30 lodges in Labrador, most of them accessible only by helicopter or plane. Roads are few and far between in a wilderness that makes northern Maine look like the outskirts of New York City.

Ware recalls hooking a large brook trout around sunset one evening. It looked close to five pounds -- not huge by Labrador standards, but respectable. He played it almost to the net. As the guide prepared to land the fish, he looked down and the two of them watched as another fish that resembled a small torpedo swam by the boat, almost completely unaware.

Ware said it was easily twice as big as the 43/4-pound fish he had on the end of his line.

"Of course, I beat the water to a froth for an hour after that and never caught that fish. But it's just unbelievable what you see up there," Ware said.

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