13 minute read
Yokanga: The River of Dreams
The line draws up smartly through my fingers and a colossal salmon bursts up through the glassy surface, climbing into the late golden light of the afternoon.
By MATT HARRIS
All year I dream about this moment. Through the long dreary meetings, the rain and the traffic jams. All year. Now it’s here...
I’ve been fishing the Yokanga River on Russia’s Kola Peninsula for twenty years, and it has given me some of the most memorable fishing of my life. For 51 long weeks, I dream about being back on its hallowed banks. However, not since 2001 has it given me a fish bigger than the 35 pounder that I wrestled out of Golden Reach with my old friend Vova after an unforgettable battle on a bleak, snowy afternoon in early June of that year.
I’ve caught plenty of special fish to 34 pounds on the Kola since then, but the real “biggie” - the monster - has eluded me. Every so often, a chance comes along to top that 35 pound fish, but, like so many other Yokanga veterans, all I have to show for those epic encounters is a succession of bent hooks, bruised knuckles and bittersweet memories. Now, once again it’s here. Another chance. But only a chance.
Bent Hooks at Boulder Alley
Boulder Alley is one of my favourite beats on the Yokanga River. It is tough work. This isn’t cast and step fishing. This is hard core Yokanga stuff.
Boulder Alley involves repeatedly wading carefully out across strong currents and big, slippery rocks to fish a succession of small, almost insignificant pockets that can often be covered in between one and three casts. It involves discipline and watercraft. The innumerable pockets can change from day to day, as the river rises and falls. A perfect holding spot today can be a shallow, barren little gulley tomorrow, so judicious reading of the water is imperative.
However, if in doubt, give it a try: It is easy to dismiss those little, table sized mirrors and persuade yourself that it’s not worth the effort involved in getting way out into the river to access them, but this is a double-edged sword.
If you DO make the effort, you may just find a big Yokanga trophy that is rested up, and that hasn’t seen a fly due to the oversight or, dare I say, laziness of the anglers that have preceded you down the beat over the last few days. Because of this, I always fish these pockets with exaggerated care, and always advise my fishing partner to do the same.
Heartbreak
Now, my patience had been rewarded, and I’m once again attached to one of the Yokanga’s true leviathans. However, as any experienced Yokanga fisherman will tell you, hooking the fabulous salmon of this savage river is the easy part.
Make no mistake, Yokanga is a heartbreaker. And nowhere is it more treacherous than in the minefield of Boulder Alley, where the myriad rocks can break your leader - and your heart - in one wretched second. As a result, when fishing Boulder Alley, I employ bullet-proof gear.
If I haven’t already done so, I scale up to 35lb Seaguar Fluorocarbon, and check the leader frequently. I use ultra-strong Partridge Patriots for my dressed doubles and Ken Sawada doubles for my tubes. I also employ an enormous Mako 9700 reel, and endure any amount of catcalls and ridicule from my compatriots, who often advise with a grin that there are no sailfish on the Kola Peninsula.
However, the 9700 holds a million miles of backing, and its huge spool retrieves line at a remarkable rate, which can be a life-saver. As it is right now. The fish comes rocketing upstream and the Mako does its job - picking up the line at lightning speed in a way that a regular salmon reel cannot hope to do. As a result, I stay tight to my prize.
Playing It Right
Concentrate, I tell myself. If you pull overly hard, the fish will panic and take off downstream. On the boulder-strewn Yokanga, where following in a boat is often impossible, that normally spells disaster. Arni Baldursson – one of the best salmon anglers I know - has taught me to play the fish gently at first, so that your adversary remains relatively calm and stays in the pool. Then, slowly, as the fish tires, and is less capable of charging downstream, Arni councils to gradually build up the pressure until the battle is won. It has proved an excellent tactic over recent years.
Another great friend, Alan Coad, has also been a great mentor in my development as a salmon angler. Alan is a brilliant angler, with salmon fishing in his blood. Alan grew up fishing for salmon in his native Ireland while I was winkling humble perch and gudgeon out of the Grand Union Canal. He is way further down the track than I am in understanding the alchemy of salmon fishing.
Alan has taught me a number of lessons about catching salmon. One is to always get out of the river the moment you hook a fish, and to do your level best to get downstream of the fish as quickly as possible, to cancel out the big advantage that the current offers your adversary. Alan has coached me to do so on a number of occasions - including an unforgettable evening when we landed two fabulous Yokanga salmon - a 31-pound fish for Alan, and a 29 pounder for me. I remember Alan’s words now, and I’m scrambling out of the river as quick as I can, and dashing downstream.
I recall another of Alan’s lessons, and pull hard downriver. The plan works: the salmon obligingly charges upstream against the resistance, losing its advantage and using up its precious reserves with a succession of bulldozing runs against the heavy current and another unforgettable cartwheel that confirms what I already know.
Much at Stake
This is the one: The fish I’ve waited for nineteen long years to catch. My guide Edvard has run down to join me. He sees the fish jump and whistles through his teeth. “Bolshoi Sayumga, Matushka!” he whispers. I glance at my friend “Bolshoi” I concur with a grin.
“The plan works: the salmon obligingly charges upstream against the resistance.”
I’m very fond of Edvard. I’ve caught some fabulous fish to 33 pounds with his father Sasha, one of the old guard of Yokanga’s veteran guides. When Edvard started working on Yokanga in 2011, we hit it off straight away, but a wrestle with the bottle meant that Edvard was unable to hold down his job, and he disappeared from the banks of the Yokanga the following year. Now he’s back, and on this, our first day of the week, he has been an exemplary guide, handling the boat with sober and expert care and advising on how to tackle each spot with real passion.
The fish powers upstream again and the reel spins furiously. We go at it for long minutes, but the fish is fighting the current as well as the deep bend in the steely 15’ 10 weight rod. I dare to believe that, slowly, I am gaining a semblance of control. And then we are in trouble.
The big salmon takes off, and this time its not upstream - its down. And fast. “Poyekhali” cries Edvard. “Poyekhali” means ”Let’s go!!” It is a legendary exclamation that all Russians know.
Yuri Gagarin famously uttered the words as he first went rocketing skyward, marking perhaps the zenith of the Soviet Empire as they claimed their proud victory in the space race. It’s one of our favourites, and we’re off now, stumbling and spluttering and laughing in spite of ourselves as endless yards of line cascade from the big Mako.
The fish goes tearing off downstream, rampaging between the boulders, and clambering skywards again before greyhounding for the sea. This is a proper Yokanga fish, make no mistake…
The Sun Disappears
Far below, I glimpse the big cliff at the bottom end of Boulder Alley. There’s no way past the cliff, and if the fish gets to the boiling rapid that passes under its shadow, I know it will be curtains and I’ll be just another Harry Hard-Luck story in the lodge tonight. The big salmon thrashes up into the late afternoon sunshine once again, and it looks impossibly big - I’m shaking now, I can’t deny it - I want this fish so badly. I curse as the fish gets a second wind and sets off downstream yet again, and Edvard catches up with me and cautions me to relax. I try to heed his words, but the cliff is getting nearer and nearer, and the fish seems to have found a new lease of life, and is ploughing on downriver, despite the heavy drag.
“It is a titanic fish – a classic Yokanga brute: muscular, broad-shouldered and remarkably deep-bodied”
The sun disappears behind a cloud, and an icy shower sets in. I’d foolishly convinced myself that the fish was exhausted, but this is Yokanga. These fish are different. My prize stops momentarily and then it is away once more. We are off after it yet again, slithering recklessly downstream across the rain-slick boulders. This time there is no laughter.
“Drowning” Salmon
Then I see it - just above the cliff is a small bay. I remember more of Alan Coad’s sage advice. Back in 2011, Alan had shown me how to “drown” a salmon, an old trick that many experienced salmon anglers know.
Drowning a salmon involves pulling a hooked fish into slack, de-oxygenated water. The lack of oxygen flowing through the salmon’s gills means that the fish tires much more quickly, and it is an ideal tactic to employ on a big fish, especially one of the Yokanga’s seemingly indomitable behemoths. I shout to Edvard and gesture my intentions. He understands instantly. As the fish approaches the water adjacent to the bay, I tighten the Mako drag still further, and the fish stops, as I had prayed it might. If it goes downstream from here, it is over.
Now I am sprinting breathlessly, winding in the long yards of line with the outsize reel, and closing the distance to the fish. The fish is sulking behind a rock, close to the bank, and as I draw near, I start to gently coax it into the bay. At first it resists, and the violent headshakes have my heart thumping hard in my chest.
Then, slowly, it yields, and as I ease it into the dark, tannin-stained waters of the bay, I see it close up for the first time. It is a titanic fish – a classic Yokanga brute: muscular, broad-shouldered and remarkably deep-bodied.
Impossibly Happy!
I want that fish so badly. My throat is dry as the fish wallows drunkenly in the slack water, but it is not done yet. The fish finds one last ounce of strength and rages wildly on the short line. I am terrified that it will tear out the hook. Then, mercifully, it rolls over, and the white of its belly shows through the golden water. Its great tail carves up through the surface, and I know that it is finally beaten.
Edvard edges out into the deep dark bay, and waits patiently, as I gingerly draw the fish towards him. Gently does it… the last few feet are unbearably tense, and then, magically, the great fish is up and over the rim, and swallowed up by the vast net. Edvard is cheering and laughing and showing me perhaps the fish of my life: “Matushka!!” He splutters wildly “Bolshoi!! BOLSHOI!!!”
There are larger salmon out there for sure, but I don’t care. This one is as big as a whale and as wild as the wind. I feel impossibly happy. My friend Phil Trask, who has been
fishing upstream, comes running down to meet us, and he punches my arm with a grin. As Phil fumbles the camera out of my rucksack, we quickly weigh the fish. The scales thump down to way over forty pounds, but once we subtract the weight of the net, we calculate the fish’s weight at between 37 and 38 pounds. I am utterly elated. Phil composes a quick photograph, and I insist that Edvard is in the picture. My arms are shaking as I struggle to lift the mighty fish for the camera. It’s not the icy rain or the lactic acid. Edvard is as thrilled as I am, and I catch his eye as he declines the stupid, reflexively offered nip from my hipflask. Good on you, Edvard!
Releasing a Majestic Giant I ease the fish back into the water, and, gently holding the wrist of its mighty tail, I take a few moments to admire this majestic creature as it recovers in the shallows. It is simply magnificent. Then, with an abrupt flourish of its immense tail, the salmon kicks back into the powerful current of this singular river and is gone.
“Poyekhali!” laughs Edvard again, breaking the spell, and we start our climb back up the hill to the Lodge. That night I know I will celebrate with maybe just a drink or two with my great friends, Billy Drury, Henry Mountain, Jack Meredith, Martin Vainer, Roberto Trabucco, Phil Trask and all my brothers in arms who fish this formidable and mighty river. Later that week, I sit on the porch, sipping a glass of single malt that Phil has left for me on the bench outside our room. I am too tired to kick off my waders after another epic evening session with my good friend Jack Meredith that has yielded me another spectacular Yokanga brute of 32 pounds. I think of all the adventures this wild river has afforded me, and all the great friends I’ve made, especially the guides, Vova, André, Anatoli, Sasha, and dear Vassily and Sergei, now sadly departed.
I look upstream to the wild maelstrom of Boulder Alley, gleaming in the perpetual golden light of the arctic midsummer. Steam is rising off of
the water. It’s a quarter past midnight. The Macallan lights a little fire in my veins and I feel the goosebumps crawl up my arm. Nowhere gets to me quite like this river. Yokanga really is a river of dreams. Long may it stay that way.
Contact: Matt Harris has been fishing the Yokanga River for 20 years, and having fished many of the most celebrated salmon rivers of Northern Europe and North America, he believes it to be the most exciting Atlantic salmon fishery in the world. The Yokanga is under a new management structure for 2020. Passionate Russian fly-fisherman Alexey Strulistov is investing heavily in the operation, with a comprehensive conservation regime and an effective anti-poaching team that will sustain and nurture this special fishery. Alexey has appointed Matt Harris as General Manager for the operation. If you are interested in discussing the fishing on Yokanga, contact Matt at:
