Like most bits of earth still offering ambrosial qualities, Newfoundland's Great Northern Peninsula lacks people. Just a few hundred souls sprinkled up and down 25,000 square kms of mountain, river, forest and surf-pounded shore.
Heading north along the coast up Route 430 (the "Viking Trail") one sees off to the right, in contrast to the ever-near ocean below the highway, a plateau of peat bog interspersed with flowered meadow. In the near distance, the abrupt rise of the snow-patched Long Range Mountains form a dramatic backdrop as a seemingly endless number of salmon-bearing rivers flow under each highway bridge which breaks the gun-metal tarmac at regular intervals. Their mountain-born and marsh-fed waters join the waiting Atlantic below the ribbon of road as the prevailing westerlies, born across the Gulf of St. Lawrence, fling themselves against this remote headland; a vista which can rival any other in God's salmon-fishing world.
And it is salmon one feels and smells as the road heads northward toward the River of Ponds, a perennially-productive stream immortalized by angling legend Lee Wulff.

 

In the Summer of 1999, as on the mainland, almost every river on Newfoundland's western side was showing its bones. Sun-bleached boulders and long-submerged tidemarks lay naked in the sun; only a pitiful trickle remaining near the centre of each river's wide channel. But as one motored up the peninsula, north of Gros Morne, a progressive increase in each river's flow was very evident; doubtless a result of mountain snow-melt and largely untouched watersheds. There were more than a few bridges straddling tidewater pools where vehicle occupants could stop, look down and actually see salmon stacked below in such numbers that to hear a local angler state, "Y' c'n walk across on their backs b'y!", was not so far-fetched. There is always a sense of adventure, optimism and excitement when one discovers decent water and salmon in abundance during the heat of an abnormally dry Summer. The sheer volume of water in the River of Ponds still seemed an anomaly in comparison to the more southerly streams. In defiance of the rainless weeks of sun and relentless heat, it thundered and cascaded over the ledges below the highway bridge causing more than a few travellers, salmon angler and tourist alike, to slam on the brakes, pull over and gaze down at its surging flow below. Without a doubt, most water-starved river watchers on the Atlantic mainland would vote for any government which would back the establishment of managed flows in these increasing times of summer drought. The constant and almost unwavering flows of this river are unquestionably a direct result of lake-rich headwaters and forested banks; a testament to what a salmon river can be when the twin princes (evils?) of commerce and "progress" do not dictate the damming and diversion of nature's slow-release storage cisterns or the hewing down of the essential trees along her upstream catchment areas.
The River of Ponds trips off the heights of the Long Range Mountains, its two upper branches skirting each side of Blue Mountain as it cascades then glides through a series of large and medium lakes (or Ponds as they are fondly called by Newfoundlanders). The twin expanses of Big Western Bluie Pond and its Big Eastern counterpart lay on either side of the aforementioned mountain. After coming out of the Big Bluie ponds, these upper branches have a modest width and flow but, after meandering through a series of wide valleys, its western branch disappears mysteriously down through a whirpool (or "boiling hole" as the local folk call it) into a series of subterranean caverns. About a kilometre downstream, emerging from a cliff face, she joins with adjacent tributaries, becoming a full-fledged river once more. A strange sight is the sturdy bridge which stands, orphan-like, on an old logging road near the mid-point of this underground stretch. Its spans straddle a bouldered, cobble-strewn and dry riverbed. Only during Springtime freshets do waters flow beneath the bridge. During the other seasons the river opts for its unique underground "detour". A lovely, picturesque stream, the River of Ponds has a definitive Newfoundland personality; sometimes sleek and groomed, at other times wild and rugged. Her upper streams are chameleon-like; tumbling white water alternating with copper sliding over rock slabs. Her midstream gradient is gradual and the river rarely emerges from her wooded and rocky banks. Having an astonishingly constant water flow, the River of Ponds is rarely either in spate or very low. Changeable weather with howling winds can, at times, make it unfishable for all but the most fanatical souls, but that happens on all rivers.
In the mid-fifties Lee Wulff decided to build a fishing camp at the confluence of the Eastern and Western Bluie branches. A venerable old fishing cabin owned by Dr. and Mrs L.Crane had previously stood on the same spot since the early twenties. Old fishing camps excude a type of nostalgia which seems to emanate from their boards and furniture. The old wicker and well-worn rugs have an odour which can transport one back in time in the blink of an eye. In the amber light of evening, when the sun's last rays leave an ethereal glow upon the river and its pools, it seems very real. This kindred feeling for those who went before and left a part of their souls among the timbers was surely felt quite strongly by Mr Wulff when he decided to keep the doors from the previous lodge hung in the sun porch of the new building. These doors still tell an accurate story of the river and its bounty. On their surfaces were etched the outlines of two huge salmon caught, and recorded for posterity, by the previous owners; a 31lb fish taken by the good doctor and a 34 lb specimen landed by his wife. Fish of this size are now rare in the river of ponds (and in the majority of island streams) but increasing numbers are being recorded each year.
River guide Austin Patey recalls that the construction of this rather remote lodge was no easy feat. Now in his sixties, Mr. Patey still records long hours guiding on the river each summer. He fondly recalls those years through the late fifties when, acting as guide, companion and chief handyman to Lee Wulff, he employed some unique and resourceful methods to build the retreat as Lee envisioned it. Because the cabin was to be located at the forks of two river branches where few, if any, roads existed, a portable sawmill had to be transported upstream by boat from River of Ponds village. As good timber was available from the hillside above the Island Pool, a kilometre or two downstream from the camp site, the timbers for the cabin walls and beams were cut and milled here. Then, depending upon water conditions, they were motored or poled upstream to the site. In an outbuilding adjacent to the main cabin, a diesel engine was mounted. It is still in use to this day. Austin recounts how he and a couple of other river men brought the engine up by boat, portage and "gallons of sweat". If the pool at the foot of the Lodge steps looks more than ideal, there is good reason. Lee and his river men utilized the well-rounded riverbed strata to construct a weir across the river's channel. They manhandled the cobble and boulders into place, leaving a flow-through slot in the centre. The backed-up water formed a pool of medium depth and optimum water velocity which consistently enticed large salmon to pause, some for weeks, on their way upstream. Many were taken each Summer in this pool which seemed to be perfectly manufactured for the dry fly. Mr. Wulff had created his salmon Valhalla. What more could a man want?
In the days before release of large salmon was in vogue or mandated by fishery regulations, Lee Wulff initiated an inventive retention and selection method for the fish he caught in the steadies and pools below his camp. As Mr. Patey recollects, they would keep up to 60 fish in a live pen at the river's edge. Large boulders up to two feet in diameter were rolled in to form its walls and, although chicken wire was placed around the inside to keep the salmon contained, many would leap over to freedom. While large spawners were always released and only a few of the remaining fish kept for the freezer, the unforeseen damage inflicted by the resident eels during this enterprise was considerable. As Austin recalls in his unique Newfoundland way, "They wuz heels by da tousands, b'y; some o' dem two hinches tick. They wuz vicious, b'y."
Many personalities from the world of entertainment and sports have cast a fly or two on the River of Ponds. Local guides and residents recall former Chicago Black Hawk Eric Nesterenko as one of the more colourful characters. His ready smile and quick humour made him an easy fit with the local folk on his frequent visits. But her ponds and steadies have played havoc with the landing efforts of more than a few pilots who brought the visiting luminaries in to the remote upper reaches of this stream. Sometimes appearing deeper than they really are, these stretches of water can hide many a pontoon-dessicating rock just under their surface. On one occasion,as the story goes, 1950's TV personality Arthur Godfrey flew in for a salmon fishing visit . His experienced but unlucky pilot fell victim to one of these submerged hazards while attempting to land on Island Pool not far below Lee Wulff's lodge. As a rock rent one pontoon along most of its length, the pilot bravely taxiied quickly toward shore wherepon the aircraft flipped unceremoniously on its side, the water-filled pontoon behaving like a featherweight with a leg cast. The passengers, making the best of a bad situation, knew a good casting spot when they saw it. Up and out they extruded themselves from the now skyward-pointing side door. "Let's fish!" said the non-plussed Godfrey to the other sports and his ashen-faced guide.

Every river has an atmosphere of its own which all salmon-seekers learn intimately. There are legendary, much-visited rivers which yield plenty of fish but lack that certain appeal while less productive but consistently fishable waters have an intimacy and a special character which lure back those that love them again and again. No doubt the venerable Mr. Wulff fell in love with this River of Ponds for just those reasons. He would likely smile today if he heard the local anglers remark, as they often do, that it is the most under-rated river on the peninsula, if not the island.

Lee Wulff has passed into angling history now. The Bluies whose waters welcomed his aircraft in days gone by still protect their silver treasure as they pause on their spawning journey. Lee's salmon Valhalla still stands at the forks, little changed and lovingly cared for by the present owner's caretaker. The occasional giant still rises to an evening dry fly in the Home Pool.

And the River of Ponds flows on, still safe for now from the engines of industry.

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