Over the course of the next few hours, we’d hike for a few hundred yards, then fish for awhile, and then head downstream again. Everywhere we stopped, we caught fish — mostly small brook trout between 8 and 12 inches. At the final pool of the day, which formed at a 90-degree bend in the river — it seemed as though it was impossible to go three or four casts without catching a small brookie. They weren’t particularly choosy, either, striking streamers, nymphs, and dry flies with vigor.

When we headed back to the lodge that evening, Gilles pointed out some spots where he’d caught huge fish, including a 10-pound ouananiche. Although we hadn’t seen any big trout or salmon on our first day, I was impressed by the sheer number of fish. I’ve never had one of those mythical 100-fish days, but I bet it’s possible if you had a good day that river.

The Hunt Begins

We spent the next couple of days exploring all the various waters within striking distance of the lodge with Lisette’s son Maxime, who serves as a part-time guide whenever he’s out at the lodge. We took a boat trip to the far northern end of the lake, where impressive cliffs rise several hundred feet out of the water, and we landed a bunch more small brookies at the bottom of a gorgeous waterfall where a tributary empties into the lake. When we took a break from fishing, we simply absorbed the beauty of our surroundings and enjoyed the sense of isolation you feel when you’re many miles from the nearest road.

We spent another afternoon hiking to one of the many ponds in the area, where we cast to the forested shoreline from float tubes. Unfortunately, we had caught just a couple of trout when the wind came up so strong that it was impossible to keep from getting blown across the water — away from our launching spot, of course. It was all Max and I could do to make it back to shore without collapsing from exhaustion.

On our third day, we flew down to one of the remote cabins, and from there we took a boat to the outlet of Petit Lac Holt, a spot which turned out to be full of brook trout much larger than those we’d caught before. These fish were suckers for anything purple fished deep, and we enjoyed a few hours’ of good action before we had to head back. Maxime landed the largest fish of the day, a gorgeous 16-inch beauty with brilliant red spots ringed in blue along its sides.

In the first few days at Lac Holt, we caught many landlocks between 12 and 16 inches, but, try as we might, we couldn’t find one of the really big salmon for which the region is known. Maxime suggested that, because the weather was so unusually fair — we were suffering cloudless skies and temperatures in the 70s — the salmon were hunkering down in deep water. This was confirmed by Pierre Warren, a guest from Montréal, who had brought a fish finder to the lodge. He said that he had detected tons of fish in the lake, but that they were holding too deep to catch on a fly. Obviously all the big fish weren’t in deep water, however, for one of the other guests — Payson George, from Skowhegan, Maine — took the first trophy, a 25-inch salmon, on the second day.

On the Troll

The method that Payson employed to hook his big fish — trolling a streamer behind the boat — turned out to be the key to catching larger salmon during the time we were at Lac Holt. Because there is so much water to cover on Lac Watshishou, trolling is the best way to find fish when you’re not fishing to obvious structure or in a spot where there is a noticeable current. Although I grew up pulling flies behind a canoe on the ponds of New Hampshire, my home state, I had initially resisted trolling on this trip, simply because I enjoy the process of casting, mending, and retrieving a fly much more. Both Gilles and Maxime had told me that many large salmon are caught each year by casting anglers, but that most real hogs are taken by trolling anglers.

So Maxime, Sandy, and I set out on the evening of our fourth day with a single goal in mind: to see if we could troll a streamer to entice one of those big salmon at the outlet of Lake Watshishou, where we had started with Gilles on the first day. Maxime had given me a fly of his own design, the Holt Special, and he assured me that the salmon couldn’t resist it. We trolled back and forth across the top of the river, and, although we took several decent fish, none of them was the big boy we were looking for.

It was starting to get dark, so we decided to make one more pass and then head back to the lodge. Sure enough, our giving up was all it took for the fish to turn on. A jarring strike almost tore the rod out of my hands, and I could tell immediately that it was a good fish. I asked Maxime to beach the boat, and I quickly hopped out so I could fight the salmon from shore.

The fish made several strong runs, but it never jumped; this, said Maxime, was a sure sign of a real trophy. When I had finally played the fish close enough that I could see it, I was shocked by its dimensions: it was the largest landlocked salmon I’d ever seen, never mind caught. In all the times I’d fished for landlocks in Maine and New Hampshire, I’d never been able to break the 20-inch mark. When we put the tape to this fish, it measured more than 26 inches, and the girth was equally impressive. The coloration and markings of the salmon were remarkably beautiful, and I could feel its strength and wildness as I held it in my hands. We snapped a few shots in the fading light, and then I put the fish back in the water and watched it swim away.

That turned out to be the only monstrous fish that we caught in five days at Lac Holt, but we certainly landed dozens of trout and salmon in the 10- to 15-inch range. And during the time we were at the lodge, every guest took at least one fish over 24 inches. Given that we had unseasonably warm weather and bright sun, I think the fishery showed its quality.

But more than the fishing, it was the grandeur and the wildness of the place that stayed with me — the silence and the intensely dark nights that can only be found far from civilization. Aside from those of us staying at the lodge, we did not see a single soul, which made the place seem even more remote. Add all that up, and the fishing is just a bonus.