Originally published by the Salmon Preservation Association for the Waters of Newfoundland (SPAWN)

Our association with Little Barachois Brook spans more than a hundred years. My grandfather Johnathon Mercer was a fishery warden on Barachois in the early years of the 19^th century. He also owned a hay place along the river at First Long Point. I fished the lower part of the river from what is now the Trans Canada Highway down to the salt water from 1947 onward, but it wasn’t until 1953 before I had the opportunity to venture beyond there.

My father Jimmy had a friend Richard Bennett, aka Sikey, who was also the warden on Barachois. I would imagine it was my father who orchestrated the invitation for me to accompany him on one of his many trips up to the Barachois Ponds.

We left St. George’s early in the morning. Sikey had agreed to walk a horse up the second pond for a Mr. John Stride. At 12 years old I had no idea how far the walk would be. We went to Barachois Brook, then took the Tote Road all the way into where they had a survey line cut for Trans Canada Highway. We walked along the survey line for four or five miles and took a path down over a steep hill that brought us to Barachois. Oh what a beautiful sight!

The river came around a sharp curve into a steady. On the upper end of the steady was an old dam that was used to control the flow of the water to hold the pine logs back in the pond until there was enough high water to drive them. Across the river up to the left was a magnificent mountain locally named Sprucey Brow. Sikey had a warden’s camp at the dam. We had a rest and a lunch. I remember being warm, hungry and exhausted. But after eating and resting I felt refreshed. Sikey said that we had to go on with the horse up to Johnny’s camp, approximately another 4 miles. He also informed me that he had a Government issued canoe. We went down to the dam on the first pond and Sikey went into the woods and came out with a wooden canoe with a square stern. Then he went back to the camp and came down with a tiny outboard motor and gas tank. He put on the motor, hooked up the gas line, pulled out the choke, gave a few pulls on the cord and it came to life. He proceeded to give me a crash course on how to run the motor and steer – not bad for a 12-year-old. One minute I’m just an ordinary citizen and the next I’m captain of the canoe.

We loaded our gear into the canoe, no life jackets back then. Sikey shoved me off, and there I was, Skipper of the boat. Sikey walked the horse around the ponds up past where Barachois Pond Park is today along the second pond to Johnny’s Camp. Here I am struggling to control the speed, but thoroughly enjoying the ride and my newfound fame. Off in the distance I could see Johnny’s camp, so I headed in that direction. I guess there was an element of excitement for the Stride family whole lived in such a remote area to hear the noise of the engine. Mrs. Stride and all the children ran down to the beach. Well, in my inaugural course from Sikey on how to operate the boat, he neglected to tell me how to stop. I knew how to slow down, but docking the boat did not come up. As luck would have it, I had sense enough to cut back on the throttle, only I was a shade late. The next thing I knew, the welcoming committee were scurrying. There were a few loud thumps, the alders were flying past me and we stopped and kind of settled in a rocking motion. Thank heavens the motor tilted on its own and the Nouveau Captain didn’t do any damage to the canoe. Sikey arrived after a time with the horse. This caused a lot of excitement among the family. We had lunch, said our goodbyes and promised to drop in on the way down.

We continued up the pond, passing Carter’s Point and other landmarks. Then I could see the bottom of the pond with this lovely sandy beach and a river running into the pond. Glorious mountains on both sides and pristine grassland along the riverbank. Sikey informed me that we were near our destination and this area was known as Frankie’s Hay Place. We rounded a curve in the still water with a large stand of silver birch reflecting in the steady to our left. I could see a shoal, a beach, and a little rapid up ahead. We put the canoe in on the beach, tied it on and proceeded to offload it. We crossed and went a few hundred yards into the woods to an old log cabin, complete with an oil drum for a stove and homemade bunks. This would be our home for the next week, and as it turns out, for many other weeks to follow and during other salmon fishing seasons for years to come. That night I asked Sikey a million questions about where we would fish, about the salmon, the various pools and did he think we would get any. He assured me we would, and I drifted off into an exhausted coma.

We woke early the next morning. I was a little tired and stiff, but as soon as Sikey mentioned we were going to his favourite pool to fish, all the soreness left me. We had breakfast, cleaned up our mess, packed a lunch and proceeded to Louis’s. The walk took about forty minutes along an old corduroy road. We came to a place called French Island Brook. Sikey said the water level was good and there were fish in the pool. He also informed me that if we caught any salmon we would have to release them. Well to say the least I almost fell down, but he went on to explain that we would keep one for the pot and we could not retain any other salmon until the evening before we were to return home as the weather was too hot and the salmon would spoil. Common sense, but difficult for a boy of 12 to understand. The pool was deep with a nice little run or rapid at the head of it. There were plenty of fish, but we could not get them to take so Sikey suggested we move up to Louis’s. Well, Louis’s was just up around the corner. My first impression was that it was breathtaking. Nice water, with a run at the head of the pool, deep, dark with some large rocks at the bottom. The view was splendid. High embankment with mature trees. Large dry pine overhanging the pool on the left and just upriver and beyond a little turn was Upper Louis’s with a magnificent mountain rising in the background high into the sky. I asked Sikey about the mountain and he told me it was Bear Mountain. Well, that day started me with a love affair with Louis’s that has lasted me more than 50 years.

Times change. Now there is an old logging road that parallels the river and for the most part, access is easy. But some things never change. The pool, the rocks, the old overhanging pine trees and the mountain are the same. I had the good fortune this past summer to take my son Greg and my two grandsons, Timothy, 10, and Patrick, 8, to my favourite pool. It was only then that I realized my grandsons are the 5^th generation of Mercers to fish Louis’s. Hopefully the salmon will come back. There were more salmon in the pools this summer than has been for many years. I think with all of us accepting more responsibility for stewardship of the rivers we can make a difference and hopefully when Timothy and Patrick are men they will be able to show their children and grandchildren our pristine rivers with salmon in them.

Bob Mercer
Corner Brook, NL