Deep In the Heart of the Cains
 

I slipped behind the wheel of the ageing Jimmy, my heart took on a little extra load as I thought of the trip ahead.  Saint John to Upper Blackville, was an uneventful trip other than the big rigs humping on the back of the old dog trying to push me along. I pulled over where it was safe to do so, otherwise I was not going to bust my rear to keep those lads on the road.  I was heading for a week out in the wilderness, with my old friend Greg and a few lads from Riverview,  and Don from Moncton,a little bit of a relaxing trip to say the least,  we may even fish for awhile.

As I pulled into Bruce's Restaurant to fill up with some necessary supplies, I noticed the Moose on the Lawn was wearing a Fluorescent Orange Vest, which means Moose hunting season is about to begin. I filled the tank of the old gal and pulled eastward to the Cains river Bridge. I crossed her and pulled a left at the wye, through Arbeau settlement I dodged several of the local hound dogs, and  never even got shot at.. I waved as I passed by Luther's place to some sports sitting on the deck overlooking the Wolfe Pool.

The rumbling of the tires on the gravel gave my mind a huge lift, I was now heading deep into the heart of the Cains, nothing can replace this feeling of peacefulness,  soon I would be seeing the lads at the camp or even up on the river.

A light rain dropped on the windshield as I turned the corner across the little wooden bridge, I hung a left and started punching the Jimmy into the alders, watching out for the large rock in the puddle that could take out an oil pan.

Into the jack pines, and out in the clearing was the camp, a blue smoke coming out of the chimney meant the boys were here.  I honked the horn and jumped from the seat, stretched my legs and looked to the river. The sight of a river in near spate conditions met my eyes, which in the mind told me the fishing would be good for the week. A couple of days rain, gave the Cains a new look, from what it was when I left her three weeks past, which was a narrow stream, boulder strewn with almost no water or fish.

My eyes glanced to the big rock at home pool, the swirl of water around the rocks corner gave testament that fish would be holding in that hot spot, which gave enjoyment to many before me and will give enjoyment for as long as salar is on the Cains.

The wake of a jumping fish could be seen in the distant pool above the camp, this quickened my heart beat, my senses tingled with excitement. "Where are those lads?" I thought to myself, as I climbed the three steps to the verandah. I walked inside and could smell the aroma of cooking onions. On one of the sofas was a figure stretched out , eyes closed a slight smile on his lips, but sound asleep. I checked the bedrooms and no one else in sight. 

Returning to the living room, tiptoeing to the door, I heard the figure stir, Greg Shouted out," Hows she goin , you sure are in for some fun, the pool is full of fish and the mouth of the river is jammed with some alligators heading  up". He was referring to the mouth of the Cains below our camp, about 2 and one half miles.  He told me the others were out giving the Brittany some exercise, (Jess is her name)  a great dog for birds in this part of the country.

I went back to the Jimmy and unloaded my Duffel, a few items for the ice box for lunches and some single malt for those relaxing times. The boys would be back soon and we would hoist one to the river in anticipation of a good outing.

I put my 9 footer together, ran the seven weight line through the guides, with each pull the Hardy three screw Saint John (A special reel for a Special occasion) would give that familiar sound which one waits all year to hear, when a salmon goes on a little excursion with the hook attached to his lips. It also has a way of releasing civilizations hold on ones soul, and returning him to his roots of nature in its own way.

The sound of a bell gave testament that the lads were back from the bird cover, I looked out to see the bitch dog running on the lawn, her  tongue hanging from the corner of her mouth, the nose hard to the turf, still hunting, right to the foot of the steps leading to the verandah. Out of the path came the lads, smiles on their faces from their excitement watching the bitch work and the additional pleasure of seeing I had arrived safely at the camp.

Greetings were exchanged,  we hoisted one to the fish gods, the lads  then followed me up to the pool to watch as I fished for the first time of the trip. Neither one of them brought their rods, just the sight of having someone fish the pool was enough for their satisfaction.

This type of fishing is similar to that , which I have experienced on the Margaree in the recent fall safaris. The fish is not the most important part of the trip, it must be present in the river, but the camaraderie with a bunch of old curmudgeons mixed with a group of younger ones in training is most important.

Fishing the pool for a short spell, gave me satisfaction, after several changes of flies I was ready to return to the camp and get completely into the picture, the boys would want a feed of Spaghetti, and my favorite dish which they always ask for, fish cakes. Freeman and Greg especially, always ask for them on the Margaree or on the Cains or the Miramichi. It makes me feel special that they would want a Neuf to put on the real spread of cod cakes.

Back to the Camp, we settle down on the verandah with a shot of single malt, I unpack the fly tying gear and set it up on the table they have saved for me. No one else brings their fly tying gear on these trips, not because they cannot all tie flies, and good ones at that, but they just get a kick out of watching me sit down and tie flies.  

I hear Donnie rattling the pans in the sink, it sounds as if we are going to have something special from the MacFarlane larder this evening, the stove is blazing all four burners,  he is singing his tune which means we are in for a treat.

The hum of an engine in this solitude, is a violation of our privacy, we look in anticipation as a red dodge half ton clears the pines at the end of the interval. It is Paul, who has taken some time to come to visit us, hopefully he will be able to spend the week with us, for some rest from his river over on the Little Southwest and Renous.

To be Continued...........