It pays to be prepared.
Accidents happen with no warning, quickly and unexpectedly, and there is no preparation typically possible once a traumatic sequence of events begins. I have always considered myself to be well prepared.
I go nowhere without a compass, means to start a fire, a knife or axe and first aid kit.
But too many times, even the best of us become complacent and let our guards down.
Communication is a very important asset sometimes overlooked.
Rod Hale, Chris Fowler and I have been fishing Labrador’s Pinware River two weeks annually for about 20 years.
Fifteen years ago, Matt Brazil joined our annual pilgrimage to the Big Land.
It is our pinnacle outdoor event each year.
But we missed last year due to a family illness.
The four of us went to our cabin on Crabbes River in Bay St. George, where communication is easier. We have cell coverage at our cabin and on the river.
There is no signal at or near our Labrador tent, or while fishing on the mighty Pinware.
Plus, in Labrador, the getting home if need arises is longer and more complex due to the ferry ride across the Straits.
We fished away 2019 as best we could but dreamed of hitting the Pinware hard in 2020.
Then came COVID-19.
Heaven on earth
As cases soared this spring, it looked like we would be again missing our two weeks of living in a tent and fishing to our heart’s content.
Think about this — spending two weeks with your buddies, sheltered under sweet smelling canvas, wood fire crackling each night and a few toddies poured, best of grub cooked up each evening, fish talk, a pot of black coffee in the morning, a hearty breakfast and eight hours of salmon fishing.
Repeat each day.
That’s about as good as life gets here on Planet Earth.
The worries of the real world drift away further as the days pass.
Here in Newfoundland and Labrador, we did the right stuff and flattened the curve.
Off to Labrador
On July 4, we pulled out of our driveways at 4 a.m. and headed to the Labrador Ferry in St. Barbe on the Great Northern Peninsula.
We boarded on time and crossed to Blanc Sablon in the province of Quebec.
After just a few minutes’ drive we were crossing the border into Labrador and on to our campsite on the Pinware River, The Green or Lundrigan Field they call it.
It’s an acre-sized open field at the top of a hill just before the downhill ride to the Pinware River Bridge.
It’s a grand place to set up camp, and within walking distance of great salmon fishing.
The area was cleared by Lundrigan’s Construction while building the bridge and road I believe. Correct me if I’m wrong on that.
It took us not much over an hour to set camp.
We use two 10-by-12-foot canvas outfitter tents set with metal poles fashioned from muffler and fence pipe.
One tent has a wood stove, chairs and kitchen setup. That’s where we do our eating and socializing, mostly talking about fishing.
The other is a bunkhouse and we keep our cots assembled and sleeping bags rolled out for the entire two weeks.
It all works like a well-oiled machine after two decades of evolving and practice. The day’s work done, we sat in our chairs at 11 p.m.
Rod pulled out a half bottle of fine single malt. He had saved it from his birthday for this special occasion. We were very happy. Cheers.
Our first day on the river was going fantastic.
Rod had hooked three nice fish and the rest of us were seeing lesser but some action.
We decided to have some tea around 5 p.m.
Peril on the Pinware
On his last cast before a boil-up, Rod hooked a large salmon on the Boulders Pool. Rod is quite agile on his feet and in his signature style he hopped from rock to rock as the salmon ran down river.
The plan as always was to pull him into the slower waters of July Pool for a safe and clean release.
We have all done this many times.
I was leaning on a rock with my back to Rod as he horsed the powerful fish towards him for the release.
“Boys, I got my leg broke,” he said.
“What?” I said, thinking first that he was joking.
I looked around and Rod was sort of stumbling around.
We all rushed over and Chris took the rod from him and quickly broke the fish off. We could see that Rod’s foot wasn’t right at all.
“Get me out of here before the pain sets in,” I think is roughly what he said.
Then Rod started going into shock.
This was serious. Were we prepared?
Yes and no. We didn’t panic, so we were prepared mentally.
We had means to keep Rod warm dry and comfortable and all that good stuff.
But, we certainly couldn’t fix a broken leg.
And with the terrain, it would be an enormous and hazardous task to carry him out.
We needed medical help and a boat to cross the river.
We yelled to some guys on the opposite shore across the roaring river and told them we needed paramedics.
They were much closer to the road and a cell signal.
However, we didn’t know them and weren’t sure they would take appropriate action.
We decided that Chris would stay with Rod and Matt and I would hike out for help.
It was the fastest time I ever walked and waded from July Pool to camp.
In search of cell service
We jumped aboard my truck and drove to a cell signal to call 911.
The paramedics were dispatched from Forteau and we were to meet them on the Pinware Bridge.
From there we would guide them to Rod.
Of course, we knew that the ambulance didn’t carry a boat around.
I waited on the bridge and Matt drove off to arrange a boat and rower to get Rod across to the Labrador Highway side of the river.
In the meantime, the yelling before we left did pay off.
There was a guy there that owned one of the boats and rowed across the river to see what was going on.
He hiked up to Chris and Rod and offered his help.
In this modern era, there is no need to be without communication. It’s not easy to imagine how this situation could have been worse.
They ended up lining the boat upriver to July Pool and then lined it back down with Rod in the boat.
Then, they rowed safely across the mighty Pinware in one of two places that a boat can cross the upper river.
By the time Matt and I got down to the water with the paramedics Rod was safely on the roadside with a canoe paddle splint on his leg.
The paramedics did great work cutting off Rod’s boot and waders and had his leg properly stabilized for a backboard ride to the road.
It wasn’t easy. It took eight of us to get Rod up over all sorts of hills, bog and rock to the waiting ambulance.
Those first responders certainly went above and beyond that day.
An X-ray at Forteau Medical Centre revealed that Rod had three breaks and would need surgery.
The doctor did a temporary cast and the next morning we brought Rod back to the ferry for an unanticipated return voyage.
His sister-in-law was meeting him in St. Barbe and driving him half way home to where Jennifer, Rod’s wife, would meet them.
A few days later, Rod had his surgery and all went very well.
He will be hopping around the rocks as good as new next season.
I’ll bring along a bottle of scotch to toast that.
So, what can we learn from all this?
You can be as prepared and self-reliant as humanly possible, but sometimes help is the only solution.
In this modern era, there is no need to be without communication.
It’s not easy to imagine how this situation could have been worse.
We have fished in even more remote areas than the Pinware.
Communication is key.
I’m getting myself one of those emergency satellite communication devices.
Stay tuned.
Paul Smith, a native of Spaniard’s Bay, fishes and wanders the outdoors at every opportunity. He can be contacted at [email protected] or follow him on twitter at @flyfishtherock