No, no, wait; the salmon fishing just upriver from camp, where even though we missed the main run of fish by two weeks, Dwight Blackwood and I still managed to hook eight mighty Atlantics apiece over two days.

Then again, the fishing at Char Lake was nothing to thumb your nose about because it was difficult to cast a line and NOT hook an aggressive Arctic char.

Or maybe... oh well, guess I still haven't decided.

One thing is certain, though - it was the most sensational fishing trip that Sportsman publisher Dwight Blackwood and I have ever experienced. Mere words cannot begin to describe the thrill this excursion provided.

Upon our arrival at Goose Bay Airport from St. John's via Provincial Airlines on the morning of Friday, Sept. 6, our host greeted us with a handshake and drove us to the nearby company headquarters at Otter Creek Float Plane Base.

It's not looking good for flying to Flower's River in the Beaver today, Jim said, looking towards the northern mountains in the distance. I'll check the forecast and see if this is supposed to lift today.

He emerged a few minutes later with the news: Sorry; not today, boys. But the forecast is good for tomorrow.

We would later learn that besides having a reputation in the industry as an outstanding pilot, Jim is also extremely safety-conscious and will not take any chances flying in unsuitable weather. His 13,000 hours of flying experience includes 5,000 as an air ambulance operator.

A successful real estate agent and operator of a Sutton Group franchise in St. John's, with a lifetime of experience in the outdoors, 43-year-old Jim Burton is a professional in the truest sense of the word. He took over the Flowers River Lodge operation from his father - legendary outfitter Vince Burton - four years ago. While Vince and his wife Dorothy run the family-operated brook trout mecca at Igloo Lake in Labrador, they still maintain a hand in their son's operation. And it's a good thing, because with Jim's busy schedule (the man never stops) he'd be hard-pressed to run the Flower's River operation without his parents' 30 years of expertise.

At Otter Creek we were introduced to Dorothy and Vince, who informed us that one of the Flower's River guests, St. John's lawyer Toby McDonald, had hooked and released a 25-pound Atlantic salmon the previous day. If we weren't bursting with anticipation already...

After touring the town with Jim and dropping in to meet some of his friends/business associates at Birches Gallery and Uncle Sam's Butcher Shop, we spent the night at Labrador Inn as the guest of proprietor Larry Fahey. As it happened, Larry was also waiting to fly to Flower's River Lodge along with friend Mike Power of St. John's, both of whom helped make our trip that much more enjoyable.

The 166-mile flight into moderate headwinds the following afternoon took two hours in Jim's deHavilland Beaver, an aircraft in which he takes a tremendous amount of pride and attention.

From the air on this clear, sunny day it quickly becomes obvious why Labrador is often referred to as The Big Land. With its countless lakes, rivers and mountains, Labrador is a captivating 300,000 square kilometre expanse of land, almost three times the size of the island portion of the province.

On approach to Flower's, the most northern scheduled salmon river in the province, Jim begins an eastern turn, giving us a panoramic view of The Saddle on the southern side and a nameless mountain to the north, before he swings southwest and gently touches down on the river, then taxis to the lodge wharf where staff members are on hand to assist and greet us.

Our cook Max is preparing a light meal while we tour the facility, get situated in our rooms and unpack our fishing gear for the much-anticipated jaunt to Char Lake, a 10-minute plane ride to the east towards Davis Inlet. Toby McDonald would also join us for this part of the trip.

From the air we noticed a 100X50-foot dark patch in the otherwise crystal-clear water about 100 feet from shore.

That's char, our pilot reported.

Spinning rods and reels were to be our tools of choice for the next couple of hours, before switching to fly fishing only for the remainder of the trip, as the Burtons are strong advocates of this conservational practice, not to mention the fact that Flower's is a schedule river where just barbless flies are permitted.

Because we've never fished for char before - and I hadn't even tasted one - Jim said it would be okay to keep a fish apiece.

Fair enough, I said, if any of them are bleeders - no matter what the size - those are the ones we'll keep.

We had no idea what to expect from these fish, fight-wise, until Dwight's second cast.

Whoa, baby! he shouted, Just look at the bend in the rod. I can't move him. What a fight in these fish!

Look at this, I said seconds later after hooking a three-pounder, he's taking out line on a spinning rod - and I have the drag set almost to max!

This fish put so much strain on the 12-pound test line I thought it was going to snap, particularly when the char starting splashing wildly at the surface as I held my Emery Quick Stix rod in one hand in an attempt to release it.

The fish managed to take off with more line while Dwight was trying to bring his in, and our lines became entangled with two extremely powerful fish heading in opposite directions.

With the help of our guide, Gary Osmond, both fish were eventually tailed and released unharmed.

Four of Dwight's next five casts and three of mine hooked fish between two and four pounds; each one taking a few minutes to bring to shore. In fact, we experienced numerous double-headers that afternoon. My fifth or sixth fish - another
magnificently-coloured three-pounder - had taken the Syclops lure deep, so that one would be cleaned, frozen and taken back to St. John's, as would one of Dwight's final fish of the day.

Toby, meanwhile, was experiencing limited success with the fly rod because most of the char were just out of range, so he borrowed my spare spinning rod and reel, then proceeded to hook and release a number of fish between two and four pounds.

You wanna give it a go for a while, Jim? I offered.

No thanks, he said with a chuckle, I'm having enough fun watching and taking pictures of you guys.

We continued to cast and hook fish with regularity I'd never experienced before, and every fish - without exception - would bend the rods to the brink of destruction. The only way I could manage a relaxing smoke break was to reel in and lay the rod against my tackle box on the sandy beach.

Max will have dinner ready soon, Jim said, so maybe we should head back shortly and you guys can have a sociable while we're waiting; we'll try some brook trout fishing tomorrow.

From my cockpit window as we touched back down on the river I noticed Barbara McDougall, wife of 70-year-old Dan McDougal of Alpena, Michigan, on shore playing a spunky Arctic char just 100 metres from the lodge. Both Dan - a friendly and amusing retired judge - and Barb hooked numerous char in that very spot over the next few days.

High winds prevented us from landing near Jimmy's Brook the next day, but we did manage a few hours of salmon fishing a short boat ride from the lodge.

Even though we each carried a large fishÓ tag in our vests, which entitled us to retain a salmon over 65 cm had we so desired, we had no problem honouring - and in fact completely agreeing with - the Flower's River company policy of letting the big ones go to continue producing more and larger fish.

First stop was Max's Pool, named after our amicable cook. Gary suggested Dwight start in the middle and work his way towards the bottom of the 150-metre long run, while I was to start at the top and gradually cast my way to where Dwight started.

My #8 dark Blue Charm was swinging across the mild current 20 minutes later when the sudden tightening of the line was followed by a series of leaps and runs.

Hey, Mr. Follett's got one on already! my partner shouted before reeling in and grabbing the camera. Smile, b'y, you're playing the best fighting fish in the world. What are you trying to do, look calm and cool?

So much for that idea: Yeehaww! I shouted as the five-pound female jumped two feet out of the water before slicing the line towards the far shore.

Fifteen minutes after that salmon was released, Dwight was into his first of the trip, compliments of a white-winged Blue Charm. And he made no effort to conceal his excitement as the silvery missile headed back downriver. Dwight's ADG Titanium rod lived up to its billing as a powerful, sensitive piece of angling equipment while the salmon continued to apply pressure. Our guide later jumped at the offer to try the Titanium, and after a few casts said he was impressed big time.

Within a couple of minutes Dwight had his fish brought in close enough for Gary to tail and, after a quick photo with the angler, release.

I hooked and released another fish at Max's before we tried a couple of spots upriver, including Top Pool, where I made my way to a large rock in relatively flat water while Dwight remained 40 metres below and to my right, working the fast-flowing current.

It wasn't long before I heard a splash and a shout as he was into his second of the day - a high-flying, dark-coloured fish of approximately five pounds which, after an impressive five-minute battle, our guide quickly set free.

When I noticed Dwight moving a few steps towards the bottom of Top Pool searching for another lie, I climbed off the rock and began casting some 10-15 metres above where he first started fishing. I was trying to keep an eye on my Blue Charm to make sure it didn't drift too close to my partner's line when another grilse of close to 60 cm snatched the fly. Gary moved to my right side and, after watching me play the fish for several minutes, expertly grabbed it by the tail once again, gently removed the fly, held the fish facing the current until it was recuperated, then watched it swim away.

See that? I heard Dwight ask Gary 10-15 minutes later as a large fish came up for a look at a large bug he had presented on the far side of the run.

The fish showed a similar, casual interest a few casts later, though he didn't come up vicious, as Dwight put it, so he switched to a Black Silver Tip and tossed in the same general area. He watched as the line began to straighten into the fast current.

Bang! He had her, and an awesome display of aerobics she did indeed provide, shooting out of the water on three or four occasions and crashing down with a mighty splash. Partially submerged, relatively sharp rocks nearby were a concern for the angler, but he managed to keep the fish away from them, even through a series of short runs and twists. Following a 10-minute fight, he quickly twisted the fly from the lip of the fish and presented a grin of satisfaction that could be seen a mile away.

We each hooked and briefly played another fish before they got free and sent us on our way.

A humorous evening with our new friends at the lodge, which included a review of the 60 digital photos we had taken over the previous two days, ended with cigars and liqueurs on the deck under a millions stars.

Back aboard the Beaver we climbed early Monday afternoon for the short flight to Jimmy's Brook. We actually landed on a nearby lake, pulled the aircraft upon a sandy beach and walked five minutes or so to the edge of a 40-foot bank which overlooked a tiny brook. There was a small steady at one particular turn in the brook which offered enough room to throw out a line.
Is this it? I asked our host.

This is it, Jim responded with his familiar smile. Let's move down and give it a try. I'll grab your camera and take a few snaps.

Exactly what he was planning on taking pictures of, I had no idea, despite his confident grin. Surely he's not expecting us to hook any brook trout here larger than seven or eight inches.

After hooking half a dozen 10-12-inch brookies between us on our first few casts, which we would have been more than satisfied with back on the island, Dwight began tossing a small mouse towards the far end of the steady and a dandy 2-1/2-pounder grabbed it on the second cast.

While he was fighting that one, I cast a small orange bug over a submerged log and hooked one of almost identical colours and proportions.

We were somewhat vocal with our enthusiasm as Gary moved from one angler to another, unhooking and releasing the fish.

With the sun now beating down on us, I decided to lay down my rod and remove my coat and vest, leaving just the 10-foot leader and less than two feet of line floating across eight inches of moving water close by. I hadn't taken two steps towards shore when Dwight informed me a nice oneÓ had just gone after my fly. As I turned and grabbed the rod, a trout of close to three pounds seized the bug and headed for the steady. On a few occasions when I got the fish close to my feet and dropped on one knee to grab him, he'd take off into the faster water. On the fourth attempt I managed a two-handed flick that pushed the trout among the rocks close to shore. This would be the lone brookie I'd take home to share with my family.

Dwight changed flies several times, proving there was nothing in which these fish weren't interested.

If constant action can disturb a trout hole as it does a salmon pool, there was no indication of it here as cast after cast we hooked and released two and three-pound brook trout. Double-headers were quite common during this portion of the trip.

Jim also played cook that evening and treated us to a meal of spaghetti that would impress an Italian chef.

It was back to salmon fishing the next day, much to the delight of my co-worker. Greatest sport in the world, I've heard him say 100 times.

Jim and Vince stopped at Top Pool for a few casts while Gary took us a little further upriver to Ben Pride's.

Sticking with my regular routine, I waded to the upper end of the pool to begin fishing while Dwight made his way to the side of a large rock where short casts over fast water were the order of the day.

Both he and Gary could see salmon on the far side of the 15-foot run, but despite numerous casts with a variety of flies, the fish showed no interest.

What are you trying now, I asked as he closed his fly box and placed it back in his vest pocket.

That white-winged Blue Charm, he responded while pulling the knot tight.

His very first cast brought the line solid as a chunky, fresh female was tricked into a hookup and brought to Gary's waiting hands in record time - 40-50 seconds. It was 60 centimetres in length and, judging by the colour, not in the river very long.

I think I'll tag this one, he said.

Back at Max's Pool, after Dwight caught and released another grilse in Calvin's Rock, I hooked a dark, 70-plus centimetre jack salmon that took me into the backing and provided quite a show. Three-foot leaps, tail dances and long runs captivated all three of us for almost 20 minutes. On five separate occasions I managed to bring him close enough to my feet for release, but each time he bolted with the same speed and vigour he used when initially hooked.

Eventually, after a few minutes of recuperating in the delicate hands of our guide, the big jack was off to continue his upstream migration.

Our final few hours of salmon angling the next day rewarded us with two more fish apiece; both of mine relatively dark while Dwight managed a pair of silver beauties, including one close to 70 centimetres.

Most of the other guests were flown back to Goose Bay the following day, just before a wind storm moved into the area, which grounded the rest of us for another 1-1/2 days.

I could think of worse places to be stuck, that's for sure, Dwight said as he grabbed his fly rod and headed to the nearby char hole.

Would you like to have fresh char for dinner tonight? Max asked, glancing at me and then the guides.
Everybody nodded in the affirmative.

Okay, Dwight, he said, we're depending on you to catch dinner. A confident smile shot across Dwight's face. Now that's the kind of pressure I can handle.

The last time I spoke with Jim was just before Christmas, when he called to see if we wanted to do lunch soon and discuss a tentative date for our return trip this coming July or August.

I don't know if I can handle much more of this arm twisting.