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Atlantic Salmon Journal

The Countdown

by Jean Doucet

Winter, 2018

On a very cold, fall morning back in 2002, the fire alarm sounded in hydro-Québec offices in downtown Montreal. My division, which consisted of around 150 environmental specialists, used the staircases to evacuate quickly and quietly. As I left my office to join the ranks for the exit, out of routine, I glanced at the calendar. It was October 12.

 

At our unit’s assembly point, amid all the excitement, the crowds and the general hum of city traffic, I uttered to a co-worker: “Only 30 days before the countdown begins.” he smiled and nodded. He didn’t have to say a word. Like two convicts planning a prison break, we both knew exactly what I was talking about.

 

And I think, so do you.

 

When do you start your countdown for the opening of salmon fishing? With just over a month to go, late March might seem appropriate. Or, for serious addicts, perhaps the day the season ends—September 30 in Quebec, October 15 in New Brunswick, or maybe it’s best to wait until the last chance in Canada for a titanic fishing line tug from an Atlantic salmon, which can be had in Nova Scotia until October 31.

 

My countdown process began in the early 1990s and focused around the period that results of the November salmon lotteries in Quebec become available. As the wait began for a phone call from a favorite river, I would check for the best dates on the large wall calendar in my office cubicle at hydro. Precisely 200 days until a fly can be cast legally in a Gaspé river was another date of great importance in my life. November 12 was the day my mother was born, in 1900 in a house a stone’s throw from the Bonaventure River. And that is how the tradition of my calendar countdown began.

 

The red numbers penned on the black and white calendar pages quickly developed into a source of office gossip. Among my group were three or four avid salmon anglers, who quickly became fascinated by the dynamic calendar. These keen fishers would often peek in and have a look to see how many days remained.

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Over time, however, other colleagues and visitors were curious about the descending red numerals. as the word spread via discussions during coffee breaks in the kitchen, or at the water cooler and over lunch, word leaked out to hydro’s other divisions. Thus, more salmon anglers were added to the growing number of inquisitive workers who would ask how many days were left as they walked by in the hall. It got to the point where fellow employees would ask, interrupting me even if I was on the phone. I would try to accommodate by simply shouting back the number without losing the thread of the conversation. Often I had to explain the interruption to the caller at the other end, which inevitably added yet another curious countdown fan.

 

For some it seemed to help relieve stress. Occasionally a colleague rushing to a meeting would call out for the number and I’d have to respond as he or she hurried on without stop- ping to chat. Yet even in their disappearing silhouette, I could sense a smile that helped alleviate any tension.

 

The countdown was a great conversation starter. especially on the nastiest winter days, when the wind whips falling snow into a white maelstrom fit for neither man nor beast. It was at times like this that one or two of the more “serious” fly fishers would gather around my desk at lunch. After examining the calendar, talk would turn to salmon concerns, from conservation to fly patterns.

 

Group lunches in nearby restaurants, often involved non-fishing colleagues who would inquire about this special calendar when it was brought up. The explanation was met by both genuine interest and disbelief. So much anticipation over fishing? Oh, how I felt sympathy for the nonbelievers. Now and then a non-fisher would show up to have a peek to see for themselves if we were making it all up.

 

This was no small endeavor for us salmon anglers. As the red numbers got closer to zero, the less bearable the wait became. Whenever a benchmark was reached, it was heralded. For instance, the 150 days to salmon season point falls on New Years and was celebrated when we returned to work after the Christmas holiday, usually by going out to lunch.

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The important midway mark falls on February 19, another important date, as I lost my mother on that day. The 100-day benchmark was never forgotten, and we would always organize a group for yet another celebratory restaurant lunch. Over large bowls of steaming hot Vietnamese soup, we talked of leaping salmon, flies and rivers in faraway places as others with less to celebrate hurried on with their business outside, hunched against the February cold.

 

April fool’s day was no time for playing jokes. Only 60 days to go and for me it became the starting point for working with my fitness instructor at the gym who invented specific exercises to strengthen “casting muscles to improve fishing.” When the calendar entered the 40 to 30 days bracket, it was time to head for the fly shop to stock up on leaders, flies, and various gadgets.

 

****WARNING**** Others also follow their own countdown, so if you wait this late you will find fly store shelves already empty of the best and most necessary equipment.

 

In May, the calendar showed less than 30 days left. Trout season opens and it is time to get the gear out, less to catch Salvelinus fontinalis, than to test our casting along with old and new equipment.

 

Over my years in hydro, my countdown calendar became a great source of encouragement and motivation for myself and many of my co-workers. This was never more evident than during times of real and perceived natural catastrophes.

 

I will always remember how our celebration of the 150-day mark in early 1998 was delayed by circumstances beyond our control. Back then I worked in the transmission division, where I supervised a research program on wildlife issues associated with power lines and rights-of-way. It was fairly mild on January 4th, what we thought was a typical early winter thaw. Of course, on that day, discussions turned to how these thaws might affect powerlines, but also salmon eggs hidden in gravel beneath thick ice.

 

By the time I started for home, however, the rain had begun to freeze on everything it touched. I was lucky to slip and slide to the metro without falling. The next few days belong to history, as all of southern Quebec became paralyzed by freezing rain in what has become known as “the ice storm of the century.”

 

When I returned to work two days later, hydro-Québec was in crisis mode. hundreds of thousands of people were without electricity. My office was in the same building as what became known temporarily as “the bunker.” This was a room about 50 feet from my office, where our unit, and the team assembled to manage the rebuilding of the network, met.

 

During the ice storm crisis, it operated practically around the clock. The constant movement of engineers, ice specialists and military personnel was a constant reminder of the seriousness of the situation we were facing.

 

Amid the tensions of those dark days, co-workers would steal a glance at the countdown. Somehow the thought of fishing on a river, with nothing but the soft gurgle of a rapid or the soothing call of a songbird to disturb the silence, possibly helped some cope with the urgency at hand. In January 1998, we celebrated the 100-day mark later in the month, only after electrical power was restored to most Quebecers.

 

Another very tense period was in late 1999. When I left for Christmas holidays on December 23, everyone it seemed around the world, including many utilities, were completely preoccupied over what had become known as an almost certain catastrophe from something called the y2k or millennium computer bug. even President Bill Clinton addressed his nation on the subject, warning governments, businesses and citizens to be prepared for chaos. As i left, I glanced at my calendar, and wondered if 2000 would be a good year for salmon. The world had its priorities, I had mine. I felt pretty sure that neither the world or the calendar would implode and despite the predictions of doom, all would be as before except for the 10 new entries needed to update the countdown on my return in the new millennium. Not only was I correct, but 2000 also turned out to be a very good year for salmon fishing with successful trips to the Nouvelle, Sainte-Anne and Bonaventure. I spent many wonderful days canoeing on these breathtakingly beautiful rivers and my logbook confirms that catches ranked among the best in years.

 

These days, younger biologists are looking upon effects of powerlines on wildlife at hydro, but in retirement I still maintain the countdown, as well as my annual trips to the Gaspé. Among the Christmas cards I send out each year, around a dozen go to salmon angler friends, guides, and relatives in the Gaspé. I often remind them that we are closing on 150 days to opening day, as we enter the holiday season. When the February winds howl, and winter seems it will never end, I like to send an email to angling buddies to let them know that only 90 days remain until we will be back on our beloved rivers chasing the “king of fish.” I have heard from a few friends and family that these reminders prompt a smile. Perhaps it transports them momentarily to that instant where a large salmon, fresh from the sea, grabs their fly, bending the rod and sending a rush of adrenaline from head to toe. A memory that cannot help but alleviate a case of the “winter blues,” if only for a moment.

 

Or, it is likely the recipients of my reminders are simply amused at this “holdover” from the bygone days of paper and ink. After all, nowadays, you can program a phone or watch and the countdown would start and continue without assistance. Such “apps” could highlight the various benchmarks with a digitized voice, while a blue charm appears over a photograph of your favorite river.

 

Whatever the method, the countdown to the opening of the salmon angling season is about hope—hope that the salmon will return in great number, that our casts will be smooth and straight, that we’ll have tied on the right fly and that a fish will take. In the end, it’s not whether you use a wall calendar or a digitized equivalent to conjure up an image of a salmon pool filled with silver dreams. It’s about longing to return to that favorite river, perhaps to catch and release a fish, certainly to meet old friends. And hoping that the day never comes when Salmo salar is unable to attend this cherished reunion.

Jean Doucet has not missed a salmon angling season in the Gaspé in over 30 years. Through his mother he is related to the Bourdages clan, a family with a very long-standing relationship with the Bonaventure River.