Remote yet still accessible, the Pitt River and Danny and Lee Gerak’s lodge of the same name bring a sense of unique opportunity to the sport fishing scene in British Columbia. There are lodges, rivers and lakes aplenty in this huge province of ours but the large majority, or at least those offering fishing that counts as out-of-the-ordinary in terms of the quality of the experience, are invariably located some distance away from the main population centres.

That, of course, is an essential part of their charm for there is nothing worse than the pressure that comes with over-fishing. Resident stocks suffer in terms of numbers and average size and, anyway, who really wants to fish shoulder to shoulder or even within hailing distance of complete strangers. It’s a fact of life in so many places now and, for the most part, we accept it as such with good grace as part of the compromises we must make if we are to continue to fish at all.

To come to the Pitt River Lodge, as I did in late October with Mark Hume, Nick Didlick, Glenn Baglo and Mike Smyth, journalists, writers, photographers, friends and colleagues from this website, was to take a step back in time. One minute we were snarled in Sunday afternoon, Vancouver highway traffic as incessant rain drenched the coast; an hour later we were well on our way by boat up Pitt Lake, eager in the anticipation of a return to an era when all rivers in this part of the world were in their prime, full of fish and located in places where the hand of humans had yet to leave its mark.

True, the rich forest resource of the Upper Pitt River valley has been and, to a degree, still is being exploited. But the logging operation that once supported the long-since-dismantled township of Alvin and its pioneering population of some 250 hardy souls is being scaled back and should be shut down altogether within a few years. Research by Lee tells us that Alvin was named after a Nova Scotian farmer and logger, Alvin Patterson, who was the first settler in the valley in 1901.

As it happens, the very nature of the wild and often braided river valley is such that the visual impact of the logging can be largely ignored. At the same time the network of gravel logging roads provides access, from the estuary upstream for some 43 kilometers almost to the very edge of Garibaldi Park where, for some reason, all fishing ceases.

Here in British Columbia we have every reason to take great pride in our superb parks and one wonders why such a total closure is deemed necessary. Surely a catch-and-release, fly only experience would help to attract discerning fishermen to an area of extraordinary natural beauty? As our resource industries - forestry, mining and fishing – continue in decline so tourism becomes an increasingly important source of revenue, and jobs, with fly fishing as a good a way as any to attract visitors from south of the Border and further afield for that matter.

Danny Gerak knows full well the challenges faced by a commercial fisherman but now his boat, the 32-foot Fraser River gill-netter, River Wind, is also an integral part of a Pitt River Lodge transportation system that includes a fine, old yellow school bus and a rugged, red 4 x 4 crew cab. The boat provides the key linkage between the lodge and the pick-up point at Grant Narrows, less than an hour’s drive from downtown Vancouver, where tidal Pitt Lake runs into the Lower Pitt River on its way to meet the mighty Fraser.

In calm conditions - and it can be really rough at times - the trip up or down the lake takes about an hour and a quarter. Had the rain eased, we would have been able to enjoy to the full our first sight of this wilderness on the very edge of civilization. There are some holiday and weekend homes at the lake’s edge but they are dwarfed as steep, forested slopes climb into the clouds. On a fine summer’s day the boat ride would be an experience in itself; for our crew the warmth of the cabin’s oil stove was good reason to stay below.

Just as the River Wind carries guests, equipment and supplies on the first leg of the journey so the yellow school bus is used between dock and lodge where, over the years our hosts, Danny and Lee, have created a remarkable home from home. It’s one where guests are immediately welcomed as family, where visitors are encouraged to make the most of a still maturing enterprise, one that owes everything to the relaxed and informal way the owners go about their business.

First came the cabins in the early 1990s, two of them relocated from elsewhere in the valley. Then the lodge itself, completed just a year ago, built from locally cut cedar and fir and notable for the noble proportions of its massive, open plan, main floor area. The lodge provides every comfort with full board and lodging for up to eight guests in four double rooms. The four cabins – Bugtussel, Rocky’s Longhouse, Loft Cabin and Boise Bunkhouse – stand close at hand each accommodating between four and seven guests who look after themselves while enjoying evening access to the main building.

The silent, dripping forest is all around, ancient, moss-hung trees with stories to tell, with the green-roofed, two-storey lodge standing proudly in the middle of a substantial clearing. For those with the urge to wet an immediate line, a one minute walk brings you to the river.

Not that we were in any great rush to go fishing. After all, four full days lay ahead, dinner was cooking and we knew we would have the river to ourselves for most of the time. Expectations were high, the bar was open and there were flies to be tied by those with prior experience of the Upper Pitt, in particular a fresh quota of Kelsey’s Hope which spun effortlessly off Didlick’s nimble fingers.

A night of continuing rain did nothing to disturb the sleep of the big city quintet. Danny’s pre-breakfast check confirmed the river was still on the rise, not surprising in view of the volume of water still pouring down from on high. Nevertheless, there was a spirit of optimism in the air, inevitable when dedicated fly fishermen get set to go about their business.

In passing, Danny mentioned he was having problems with the heater in the crew cab truck he uses to bring visiting fishermen to the river. Soon we knew what it was to ride loggers’ roads in a mobile damp space, a condition exaggerated on the way back with six sodden, wader-clad bodies generating a level of interior moisture that would have been of fully tropical proportions had the day been any warmer. Liberal use of a wad of toilet paper just about kept the windscreen clear for the undaunted driver while his passengers relaxed, confident that he at least could see where he was going.

So the time passed. On the water for most of the daylight hours, eat and drink, talk fishing, play pool, glance at the latest satellite television war news from Afghanistan, incongruous as it seemed in the circumstances, and then to dreamless sleep. Two wood stoves make for comfortable, cozy living in the lodge with mounted, antlered deer heads perfect for hanging the chest waders, hats and jackets that were always bone dry come morning.

With no other guests on hand, Lee had lots of help in the kitchen with the dinner duties evenly spread between those with culinary talents, mostly Baglo, who had also provisioned the expedition in some style, and those of us who accepted our lot as humble dishwashers with not one breakage to mar the effort.

And how was the fishing? The answer has to be ‘met all expectations’ and this despite an unexpected dearth of coho at that particular time. There were certainly coho in and just above the canyon pools but not too many takers to the fly. Didlick’s fish was an exception to that rule but, perhaps responding to undue pressure, it promptly turned a fine three-piece fly rod into a five-piecer in less time than it takes to spin the yarn.

Over the four days we all caught and released our share, the majority of them delicately pink-spotted bull trout close to five pounds, in greater or lesser numbers depending on a variety of factors, prime among them being location and effort. There would be abundance of trout in one stretch of water and few or none in another but the sense of expectation, of something good about to happen, was ever present. With radiophones to hand, we were quick to hear who was doing well and who was struggling – a useful innovation with obvious safety implications when a group is spread out over three or four kilometers of wilderness water.

Keeping count with suitable recognition, and retribution, for the ‘top rod’ at the conclusion of each day enhanced the occasion, as did the recounting of various mishaps that befell the party. My bear encounter (see the December issue) was an early talking point while Danny made his mark not once but twice with headlong dives into the chilled water – unusual behavior for an esteemed guide, one who has known and cherished the Upper Pitt since boyhood. But for a leak in the casing, Didlick’s underwater camera would surely have been called into service to capture the moment.

It was my first experience of bull trout, resident fish according to Danny and not to be confused with the sea-run Dolly Varden that appear at certain times of the year, big char that frequently weigh well into double figures. The bulls were just that, bullish, strong and eager takers of a wet fly cast square on a sink tip.

Often the best of the fishing came at the very tail of the run, just where the water breaks with the larger fish eager to turn and make for the rapids as backing followed line in quick order. One such was my best, in prime condition and a full 25 inches despite the loss of any eye at some earlier stage of its life. "Ah", said the wag on the radio, "that has to be one-eyed Oscar. We know him well!"

By mid-week, as the water level dropped and clearing skies revealed fresh snow on high ground all around, talk around the bar turned to dry flies and rainbows. And this, remember, was in the third week of October.

The others had their first surface-feeding rainbows on the Wednesday but they were working a stretch of water well above me and, for whatever reason, met up with rising fish while I saw no surface activity. On the final day it was a very different story. It was mid-afternoon when Baglo and I found ourselves on the opposite side of a perfect, broad stream, an even flow of clear water carrying with it a hatch of at least two species of Mayfly, one large and one small, riding the currents in significant numbers.

Just before the hatch was on in earnest the rainbows started to snatch at the sunk fly. Soon they were taking duns on the surface with a series of eager, splashy rises close to both banks, in mid-stream and towards the tail-out as well. The fishing was totally absorbing with my trout coming strongly to a #10 gray Wulff, five out of five hooked and played with all but one brought to the hand for release.

If ever an artist is looking for the picture perfect river rainbow then he should spend time on the Upper Pitt for these were classic examples of the species, hard-bodied, beautifully marked and in superb condition. Life can never be easy in a river as wild and boisterous as the Upper Pitt so its resident fish, whether they be bulls or rainbows, have to be of the best possible stock if they are to survive and prosper.

Mine were all in the 13-16 inch class while Baglo finally lost one he estimated around 18 inches. Further upstream, where the hatch was on a good hour before our fish started to move, Hume, Didlick, Smyth and Gerak met up with even larger rainbows to emphasize, if any emphasis is needed, just how good the dry fly fishing can be on this wonderful river.

For some years catch and release has been the accepted order for all Upper Pitt River species and so it should be. Its many boulder-strewn pools and shaded back channels, some constant, some changing from season to season, and even from one big flood to the next, offer the active fisherman a wonderful variety of water, deep glides, runs and streams, pockets of all sizes and always the prospect of a solid take and the accompanying sight and sounds of a big fish on the move. The fly fishermen, and those who use gear as well, appreciate the rare quality of the overall fishery and treat it with respect, even reverence. That approach makes for a healthy and stable stock.

The majestic valley setting with its surrounding mountains, rushing tributaries and abundant wildlife is an absolute visual feast. Bear, deer, cougar, bobcat, eagle, hawk and osprey all have their place in the Pitt River ecosystem along with the fish, the trout (rainbows, bulls and cutthroat), the Dolly Varden, the steelhead and the five species of Pacific salmon. We visit, admire, enjoy and take our leave.

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(Author’s postscript: On behalf of your ariverneversleeps.com October guests and friends, thanks so much, Danny and Lee. It couldn’t have been any better. And on a more personal note, Lee, your special ‘tatie farts’ at breakfast provide strong competition for the potato bread so dear to the hearts of we folk with Northern Irish roots.)