Over the past month, since the formation of Finlador, I reached out to Mitch, a fly fishing and hunting guide from the Gander River region, about signing up on the platform. In exchange, I offered to create some footage for his guiding pages. Given how warm and dry the summer was in Newfoundland, many rivers had been shutting down or only opening briefly in the morning before closing by 10:00 AM. Fortunately, the Gander River escaped these restrictions, allowing Mitch to keep guiding. However, with increased demand, finding a free day to film became a challenge.

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With just two weeks left in the retention season, Mitch finally freed up a day in late August. As I packed my gear the night before, ready to leave by 4:00 AM, I felt the familiar excitement of embarking on a fishing adventure. The quiet early morning drive, with coffee in hand and the sun rising as I headed east, was a peaceful reminder of why I love this lifestyle.

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Navigating The Tricky Water Way

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I arrived at the designated boat launch, sent via a geo pin, only to realize there was no cell service and I had never actually met Mitch in person. After a few moments of anticipation, Mitch rolled up, and we quickly got acquainted. We loaded up the ATV and made our way to the lake where his boat was waiting. One of the unique things about the Gander River is its distinctive riverboats—long wooden canoes powered by a motor, designed to navigate the low water levels and tricky terrain of this long river system.

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The water was shockingly warm, warmer than I ever imagined for Newfoundland. As Mitch steered through rocks and narrow runs, I was struck by the size of the river—at times, it seemed to stretch endlessly, with scattered islands and channels veining off in every direction. It was a tricky journey, one that required the skill and patience of an experienced guide. Mitch maneuvered us through what felt like a labyrinth of rocks and shallow water, inching us toward the fishing spot.

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When we finally arrived, I didn’t fish much. Instead, I observed Mitch closely. He spoke about the river's ecosystem, the fish's behaviour in varying water levels, and the flies he used for specific conditions. There’s a deep knowledge that only comes from years of guiding, and Mitch carried that wisdom in every step. After a while, we took a break and moved to a small island to cook lunch. The simplicity of the meal—fish cakes, garlic bread, and salad—brought me back to my guiding days at Rifflin Hitch Lodge. A fishing lodge in Labrador where Mitch and I both guided. The care Mitch put into preparing the meal, even in the middle of the wilderness, was a reflection of his professionalism and passion.

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The Unsettling Future

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As Mitch poled his way back down the river, periodically stopping to fish certain pools, we talked about the summers both of us had experienced, with most of the conversation centering around the weather conditions and the poor salmon season. For the past two summers, both Newfoundland and the entire Atlantic coast that receives Atlantic salmon have seen poor fish returns. Last year in western Newfoundland, we had rain mid-season on the west coast and up the Northern Peninsula, causing the rivers to rise significantly, while central Newfoundland remained dry and hot. However, the early part of both seasons was marked by regionally low water conditions. The main factor this 2024 season was the mild winter, with very little snow. The lack of runoff in the spring and early summer caused the rivers to drain and warm much faster than usual. Mitch mentioned that the heat has been consistent over the past few summers. As for what’s happening out in the ocean—well, that’s a whole other topic of discussion.

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It was clear, at least to me, that this conversation was taking a toll. Here I was, being guided through a river system I had never been on before but had heard so much about, and with a guide who had built an excellent reputation for himself. My mind and spirit should have been lifted and grateful, but instead, they were clouded with the unsettling thought that we might be witnessing the end of recreational Atlantic salmon fishing.

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It’s disheartening because, for many of us who rely on nature—whether through fly fishing, backcountry skiing, or other outdoor activities—these experiences provide so much, whether it's mental clarity or financial support. We're not taking from the earth but rather utilizing what it offers, and for the most part, leaving it as we found it. It’s moments like this that remind us of the fragility of our natural world and how much we stand to lose. 

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By now, it was mid afternoon. We had seen a few fish move, but the sun was scorching down. Making it very unfavorable conditions. We decided to call it. While Mitch motored us back, I reflected on the day’s adventure. There was no better way to spend my last day fly fishing before heading off for seven weeks as a big game hunting guide, than with Mitch Head on the Gander River, fish or no fish!

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