A trip to British Columbia with Langara Fishing Adventures proves to be more than just another fish story.
I don’t know what it is. even though I grew up on the Gulf Coast of Florida where every kid seemed to get a tackle box before he got a bicycle, I’ve never been much of an angler. Yet, whenever I get some free time—and despite grand plans for motorcycle adventures through Patagonia or extended stays in faraway cities—it seems I always end up on a boat, rod in hand, attempting to pull some sort of thing out of the water.
So it was last August, when an opportunity arose to go salmon fishing in British Columbia. I was interested in the trip: I’d never been to the area, and the plane-to-helicopter-to-island thing sounded great, but the fishing itself didn’t necessarily hold any gold for me. That said, the trip coincided with my dad’s 74th birthday, and we’d never really gone fishing together. Not sure why; maybe it’s because I never expressed any real interest in fishing. I mean, we lived on a creek and threw a line out there together once in a while when I was a kid, and we had a catfish pond at our farm… But now that I think about it, the only guy I ever saw fish at the pond was a local farmhand who paid dad a few dollars for the privilege. Like throwing a ball or working on a car, it seems a fishing trip with your dad is something a guy should do once in his life, and so I said yes, I’ll take it.
Langara Fishing Adventures. That’s the company that ran the trip, and I can’t say enough good about them. Located on the southern end of Langara Island in the Queen Charlotte Islands off the west coast of British Columbia, their Langara Island Lodge is one of the most luxurious and well-run operations I’ve had the pleasure to visit. Getting there, as I mentioned, involves both a plane and a helicopter. Staying there is easier and even wonderful, but we’ll get to that later. The trip begins in Vancouver, and so that’s where I’ll start the story.
Dad, now retired with my mother in North Carolina, took a plane from Atlanta; I decided to take the train from Los Angeles. That trip that warranted its own bit of editorial, which you can find in the last issue of kingdom. Sufficeth to say the last leg of the journey, from Seattle to Vancouver, was the fast and comfortable part—and it was on a bus.
Dad’s plane landed several hours after I arrived. I’d checked in to the airport’s lovely hotel—Langara Fishing Adventures took care of the arrangements—but dad was nowhere to be found. More than an hour waiting at the gate led me to approach an unmentioned airline’s representative, who emphatically confirmed to me that dad had never boarded his connecting flight in Denver. This set off a frantic round of phone calls. But, in a predictable sort of way when it comes to stories, when I made my way back to the room to figure a course of action there dad was, already in his pajamas. We’d crossed paths near arrivals and missed each other. That small drama out of the way, we both slept well.
The next morning, after a quick breakfast, we grabbed our bags (soft-sided, near 30lbs as requested) and headed for Langara Fishing Adventures’ rather nice office in the airport’s South Terminal. A fairly quiet bunch was milling around, everyone in little groups sipping coffees out of paper cups and chatting. For some this was an annual trip. Others, like us, were here for the first time. A bit of conversation, then a quick safety video on how to escape a crashed helicopter, and we were on our way.
We boarded a small, chartered plane for a two-hour flight to the town of Massett, the largest community on the Queen Charlottes. Here, in a small building next to the runway, we waited for our turn to board a helicopter and complete the journey to Langara. Among three small rooms, there was a plastic tray of pastries, a small gift counter offering a selection of native Haida crafts and a glass case holding an ambitious assortment of dead flies and model planes and helicopters in various states of repair.
Killing time studying a wooden helicopter with two broken rotors, I mentioned that my girlfriend had never been on a helicopter. “Neither have I,” said dad. I couldn’t believe it. Here was an experienced pilot who’d owned a plane or two—even built his own once—and on his 74th birthday he was about to have a new air travel experience. I was floored. When I asked why he’d never gone vertical, dad—a bit loudly, perhaps—started calmly running down safety issues with helicopters, talking glide ratio and gravity, recalling dire statistics and stories he’d heard about people falling out of the sky like rocks, recalling one anecdote in particular about how he wouldn’t let his foster daughters ride on a helicopter at a Midwest fair decades ago only to learn the same aircraft had plummeted from the sky and smashed into the ground the next day, a crumpled heap of metal. “I saved their lives,” he said. I noticed other members of our group moving away from us, husbands patting their wives on the back reassuringly and at least one man looking nervously into the glass case at the model with the broken rotors. They called for us to board, and dad—smiling big as Christmas—picked up his bag, walked out and jumped in for the first helicopter ride of his life.
Twenty-five minutes later, after touching down gently (and safely) on the dock at Langara, he had this to offer: “It was ok. Bumpy. And loud, y’know.”
In the weeks before the trip, I hadn’t really had the time to consider it, to wonder what it would be like, what it would look like or even if I would enjoy it. Once I’d said “yes,” I put it on the calendar, put it out of my mind and got back to work. Standing on the dock one bus, a plane and a helicopter away from lunch the day before, I was overwhelmed with my location, immediately immersed and inexplicably optimistic.
Langara Island Lodge sits high on the southern end of Langara Island, accessible via a funicular platform that rises up the steep slope, similar to a diagonal elevator. A short ride through lush green forest and you’re there. Dad and I stepped off the platform, were handed glasses of wine and shown our rooms.
The lodge itself is beautiful, as many upscale mountain lodge properties are: blonde woods used throughout, a large fireplace, the ubiquitous and requisite fishing trophies mounted on the walls. But what makes it incredible is that it was built from materials hauled here, to the middle of nowhere. The same building would look right at home in Aspen. Miles from the nearest highway—the nearest road even—with its elegant dining area, billiards room, lovely furnishings, fully stocked open bar, small assortment of books, shop and impeccably attentive staff, Langara Island Lodge sets the bar for what is possible in backcountry hospitality.
Our room (no locks—no need) opened onto the deck, which held a Jacuzzi and an assortment of tables and chairs overlooking the protected cove below. Elegantly appointed with a private bath, nice amenities and a great bed, the room would prove to be comfortable to a fault—that is, it was tough to make those pre-dawn wake-up calls and get down to the boat.
We arrived mid-day, and being such everyone was anxious to get on the water. After being assigned boats and guides, we headed to the wet room to suit up. Everyone fishing at Langara Island Lodge is required to wear a dry suit. This not only ensures you stay warm, it makes sure you stay safe. Sizes were taken when we booked, and upon stepping into the wet room we found open lockers holding suits and boots with our names on them. In the floor of each locker, there’s a round air vent through which warm air is constantly blowing. When you get back from a day on the water, your spray- (or rain-) soaked suit is hung in the locker, boots placed on either side of the vent. When you return, your suit is dry and warm. It’s a fantastic attention to detail that makes all the difference in the pre-dawn chill.
I should pause to explain what we were chasing, because there are all kinds of salmon. There are Pinks, which are ok. I mean, they’re tasty. But they’re small, less than 10lbs maybe, and not much of a challenge. We throw them back. Not Coho, though; Coho are fine. They’ll fight, and we’ll eat them all day long. There are Chum, Sockeyes and a few others on the Pacific side of things. But the one you want—the one that gets big enough to be called King—well, that’s the Chinook. Now there’s a salmon, and I caught one just five minutes into my first day on the water. How, you might wonder? Well, that’s on Duncan. First afternoon there, the guy drives our boat—the Kermode—to a spot, sets a rig, drops it in, hands me the rod and I pull up a Chinook. A guide? As far as I’m concerned, Duncan is the greatest guide in the world. Prove me wrong: Find another guy who will get you a Chinook in your first five minutes on the water. It ain’t gonna happen.
Back at the lodge, before dinner, everyone enjoys cocktails and conversation. We hear it’s not the best year. We hear some guy caught a 48-pounder just a few days ago. A fantastically beautiful bunch of guys from Mexico break out bottles of fine tequila and rum, which they insist on sharing with everyone. A lively couple from Texas tells me they come here every year. A Canadian man and his son live on an island far to the east; both end up catching huge fish. Two hard-working and incredibly personable couples from B.C. are living it up, not minding the rain, the fishing or anything else. The crowd, it has to be said, is fantastic. Everyone seems to get along; conversation is easy. One guy tells me the company he works for bought out a real-estate trust in the late ’90s for $1.3 billion, “back when that was real money.” I consider that I may be in the wrong line of work.
Dinner is incredible. A multi-course affair perfectly attended by staff with food worthy of a top restaurant in any major city. Being dad’s birthday, the kitchen goes the extra mile and presents a surprisingly sophisticated cake for dessert, candles, beautiful girls and everything included. Dad’s thrilled, and my heart swells for him. I can’t believe we’re on a remote island off the coast of British Columbia.
A quick after-dinner shot (or two…) of tequila with the guys from Monterrey, and then it’s off to bed. Just a few hours later, I pry myself out of bed and try to catch up with dad, who’s bright, alert, dressed and ready to get on the water. A cup of coffee later, we’re down the funicular. Duncan steers us out, and after a few hours (with some luck and a few fish) I start to think I should have grabbed something off the loaded snack table in the lodge. Just then, I see a high-powered inflatable roaring across the waves toward us, and Duncan announces that breakfast is on its way. Next thing I know, the inflatable pulls up alongside loaded with hot chocolate, hot coffee and hot breakfast sandwiches—Canadian bacon and egg biscuits. Unbelievable. This service will continue throughout the day and throughout the week with on-demand delivery available for just about any food or snack the Lodge provides.
As stories go, my first Chinook was the only Chinook I caught over the four days at Langara, but that’s not to say I went home empty-handed. In fact, I’m writing this not 30 feet from a freezer packed to capacity with Coho salmon, halibut and rockfish—and dad’s freezer looks the same. Duncan steered us to the fish and taught us how to catch them, and catch them we did. But here I have to mention the one that got away…
On Day 3, we left off salmon fishing and headed for deep, deep water to try our hand at some serious halibut. We ran lines with massive lures to 200’ and deeper and began a tiring ritual of reeling, dropping, pulling; reeling, dropping, pulling; and so on. After an hour or so of not much luck, dad announced he’d hooked something. His rod tip was stuck to the water, and so Duncan backed off the motors and came over to help. At first, it appeared dad had hooked the bottom. “I don’t think so,” he insisted. After a few minutes of watching dad hold the rod with no progress, Duncan took it from his hands and jerked on it a few times, sure it was hung on a rock or something. It only took a second or so before his face changed. Kind of a quizzical look at first, head cocked to the side, Duncan suddenly registered something else: Excitement. “That’s a fish,” he said with determination. “That’s a big fish. A really big fish. Do you want to bring in a really big fish? Do you want to bring in a really, really big fish?” By now he was excited, and we were, too. “Let’s catch him!” said dad, and it was game on.
We tried. Oh man did we try. At one point I was in front of dad pushing the rod up with my shoulder and reeling down in reverse as he struggled to hold it steady. Duncan helped with maneuvering the boat, but in the end it was no use. I don’t know how much time passed: 20 minutes? Maybe more. However long it was, we set the resistance on the reel to maximum—more than 120 pounds—and when the fish on the end decided he was bored, he took off, diving and stripping out line like there was no resistance at all. All we could do was watch until it stopped and went slack. Fair enough. It’s not like we needed to sustain a village through winter. And anything big enough to have lived that long may as well keep going. Nevertheless it’s a good fish story, and we told it enthusiastically that night—and beyond.
I’ve never been much of a fisherman. I enjoy it well enough, but I suppose I’ve so many other interests I just never make time for the rod and reel. That said, a fishing lodge is responsible for meeting relatively few—albeit challenging—expectations: Provide a place for anglers to stay. Provide guides to find the fish. And provide the foundation for a memorable experience. Langara Fishing Adventures overachieved in all essentials. That they managed to add a top-drawer kitchen, a professional and charming staff, luxury accommodations, superb management and exceptional service to the mix seems to me to be an accomplishment of the highest order.
The lodge took care of shipping our catch home and months later, still enjoying grilled salmon and halibut, I’m glad I went to Langara. Glad because I met the greatest fishing guide in the world, glad because I was able to spend a few days in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, and glad because, like working on a car or throwing a ball, going fishing with your dad is something a guy should do at least once in his life. If that trip happens to take place in Langara, so much the better.
Langara Fishing Adventures runs several lodges, all of them offering the finest service and fishing in the area. Visit langara.com or call (800) 668-7544 for more information.
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