Relevant Fishing Articles

The following articles have incredibly relevant information to Tuckamore Lodge, Fly Fishing & the area.  Click each article below to open and learn more.

Barb’s Tuckamore Lodge is a magnificent first-class wilderness accommodation that almost entirely is engineered in Scandinavian style. The lodge was built on the banks of Little Pond and fits beautifully in the landscape. After a huge renovation which started in 2004, Tuckamore lodge has turned into one of the best looking lodges I ever have seen. And because the lodge is accessible by road, it allows for outdoor activities year round. It is no wonder that Outside Magazine has recognized Tuckamore Lodge as one of the six best lodges for encountering Canada’s great outdoor activities. The lodge is situated in the north-eastern tip of the pristine wilderness of the great Northern Peninsula.’

The exact location is about 2.5 kilometres from the small village of Main Brook, and just a twenty-five minute drive away from St. Anthony airport. The area is renowned for its abundant populations of moose, caribou, and black bear. Black bears and the elusive even lynx are more difficult to spot and you will need some wildlife experience or help from a professional guide to find them. But rest assured at early morning and late evening you should always succeed in locating moose with your camera or binoculars. The Caribou we discovered either from a far distance in small herds on the barren, or the occasional lone individual encountered on a long wilderness hike to fish remote pools. With Caribou we learned they seem to always show up at places and times when you least expected them.

The ability to stay at Barb’s and sight sees by car or boat around the tip of Newfoundland’s great Northern Peninsula has been one of our most favourite none-fishing activities. The shoreline is hypnotic, even mystical at times, and by just following the coastal network of roads freely you will pass the many historic fishing villages and breathtaking landscapes. The photographic possibilities are simply unlimited and unbelievable. I found that many of these roads dead-end at the coastline and most tourists generally bypass them. I can assure you that they are absolutely worth the time and effort to discover and explore. We have driven our favourite roads on more than one occasion and each time we ran into a new experience or adventure. It can easily happen as you pass the nest of an osprey four or five times before you really notice it. You find that you have been busy watching too many other things.  

The good news about access is you do not require a four by four and when driving carefully you can navigate most of these roads with your normal car as well. I vividly recall how we might first observe whales and icebergs before getting near the end of a road. There are other times when you will spot an iceberg from a distance and try to find a road which will get you closer. Occasionally they may be hidden by the landscape and your first glimpse of them will be just around a turn in the road. In summertime the coastal waters are home to many species of whales and sometimes in large numbers. Personally we have spotted most whales in the month of July very close to the shore and have not experienced this later in the season.

The entire coastal region is the summer residence to millions of seabirds and many are building their nests on small islands and rock croppings offshore so their eggs and chicks are protected from the predators that inhabit the main island. 

From the east coast of Labrador to Newfoundland’s southern most eastern shore, you find yourself in Iceberg Alley, and the tip of the Great Northern Peninsula is in the centre of it all. Most of the icebergs that you will see in this area have been calved from glaciers along the Greenland coast the previous year.

Scientists estimate that between 35,000 up to 40,000 reasonably sized icebergs calve annually in Greenland, but less then a thousand of them will make it as far south as St. John’s. It is interesting to know the glacial ice that icebergs are made of may be more than 15,000 years old.

The numbers of Icebergs varies enormously year by year and most experts say that the highest numbers and the biggest ones are usual seen in spring and early summer. We have been very fortunate to observe this and take some very spectacular photographs of icebergs on our sightseeing trips. 

A short distance from Tuckamore Lodge you also will find special attractions such as L’anse aux Meadows – a 1,000 year old Viking settlement, and the Burnt Cape Ecological Reserve – one of the most important botanical sites on the Island of Newfoundland. These are just a few of the many outdoor possibilities that exist at Tuckamore Lodge.

A Very Nice Size Fish for Beaver BrookThe answer is quite simple. I wanted to study and discover the crucial similarities of an Atlantic salmon taking (dry) flies in Norway as opposed to Atlantic Canada. My ultimate goal was to find out why a salmon takes a dry fly aggressively in certain rivers and yet refuses to come to the surface in other streams. In addition, I wanted to test twenty years of knowledge of water quality, water levels, water flows, bottom structures and weather conditions which I had gained in Norway. The only study material I had available was some very detailed information on what I had written in several of my fishing diaries over the years. Since the early seventies, I had caught several grilse and even a few real salmon on a dry fly. However, very few people believed me. This forced me to continue my exploration on my own. By the end of the eighties, I was successfully able to catch grilse in the northern part of Norway using dry flies quite easily. However, my success was limited to only seventeen river systems in central and southwest Norway. 

Another important observation I made was my success in catching salmon with dry flies was limited to warm or even extremely warm weather conditions. A similar striking observation was that nine of the 17 rivers were either tidal, or still in estuary regions with nice tidal current. The salmon or sea trout I caught in these rivers were some of the largest I have ever landed.

In the late eighties my interest in dry fly fishing for salmon and sea trout had become so intense that I began to look for any article and story about Atlantic salmon caught by dry flies. My search quickly lead me to fly fishermen and fly tiers who were familiar with fly fishing in Atlantic Canada, New Brunswick, Quebec and even in parts of the State of Maine, USA. 

My Klinkhåmer Special was garnering more international recognition and as a result, I was able to make many new contacts. With help from great friends like the late Alan Bramley from the Uk, and the late master fly tier Hans P.C de Groot from Holland, I was put in touch with other well known fly tiers and fly fishermen, such as Warren Duncan from New Brunswick and Al Worthington from New Hope Pa. Beginning in 1981, Alan Bramley was the owner of the famous hook company Partridge of Redditch and a big sponsor of my workshops and seminars. In 1989, he produced the special Klinkhåmer hook after my own design. It was Alan who put me in touch with his very good friend Warren Duncan. Hans de Groot introduced me to Al Worthington. Slowly, utilizing old fashion snail mail and handwritten letters, I started to build up an intense correspondence with Al and Warren. It didn’t take long before we were swapping flies, discussing our fishing techniques, and of course sharing our many experiences in catching Atlantic salmon by dry flies on both sides from the Atlantic. Al and I have developed a deep personal relationship although we never had the opportunity to meet one another in person. He imported quality capes and saddles and was the owner of the Hackle Hut. I still have many letters from him, all written on his Hackle Hut note paper and some envelopes postmarked to me from his fishing residence in Nova Scotia. All are filled with his latest fly fishing information, catching reports and fishing techniques. Sadly, I lost all the letters from Warren during a house renovation several years ago. But I consider myself very fortunate that I still have some of the flies that he specially tied for me to try on my trips to Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Newfoundland & Labrador. I confess I have never tried them; they simply were too beautiful to fish with, so I copied them and have used the copies instead. Warren was a great teacher and mentor to me, especially in perfecting my own hairwings. I still marvel at his ability to create these tiny little heads and have always been impressed at some bulky hairwing patterns as well. Unfortunately, I only able to meet Warren once and, for me, he died much too soon. Even today, it remains impossible for me to adequately express my thanks and deepest gratitude for what Warren and Al taught me and the information they shared freely with me. It is also with regret that after several years of communication and friendship we slowly lost touch with each other. I allowed my free time to become more limited due to more conscientious and time-consuming job responsibilities. 

Tied by Warren Duncan In my eagerness to learn as much as possible about dry fly fishing for salmon, I am most pleased with the personal correspondence I shared with Lee Wulff. We began with very technical correspondence in which we mostly discussed his dry fly experiences and successes in Newfoundland and mine in Norway. Later, Lee was touched by my story and the fact that few people in Europe believed me about my catches of sea trout and salmon by dry flies. I think this alone, must have motivated Lee to help me. He sent me a few of his books and video tapes in return for some of my Klinkhåmer flies. I had included a handful of them in my first letter to him. I, for some reason, doubted that he would reply to me. But he did, and he even was willing to share with me some of his fly fishing secrets which only widened my respect for him. I had the pleasure of meeting him once and the last time we corresponded by letter was in early 1990. Thanks to reading his books and watching several of his videos, my excitement to visit Atlantic Canada had grown to a fever pitch! A few years after Lee’s tragic death I was able to make one of the most exciting fly fishing journey imaginable. 

A fly fishing trip in which I actively fished in the footsteps of Lee and visited several of his favourite fly fishing spots in Newfoundland. I needed four trips and much support from friends to realize what I call ” the great fly fisherman’s dream”.

Tuckamore Lodge 2008During our very first visits to Tuckamore Lodge, Barb was already offering her fishing guests a real fly fishing paradise. The nearby Salmon River and Northwest River were perfectly suited for my research in identifying any connections between my fishing successes in Norway and those salmon that took the dry fly so well in Newfoundland. The travel time from the lodge to the nearby rivers is short, and the watercourse, current and bottom structures were very similar to the rivers I had fished in Norway. The similarity of the river systems was very important to test and evaluate my Norwegian fly fishing techniques in an objective manner. Some of my conclusions I will relate to you in the more specific fishing sections within this story.. 

In the past, I always found a good run of grilse in the Southwest brook and Salmon River. The salmon fishing season begins in late June and continues to the early days of September. The Atlantic salmon in this area weighs, on average, between six and ten pounds. Real salmon (salmon over 3 kg and longer than one year at sea) I caught only in the Salmon River. In addition to the Salmon, for serious fly fishermen there is also the challenge of Brook Trout, Arctic Char, and Sea run Brook Trout. 

playing a salmon at Man of War landing pool (Salmon River)While fishing the Salmon River and Southwest brook quite extensively in those days, I was also lucky to deal with some exceptional weather as well. I ran into very cold temperatures and experienced very high water levels, but also had to fight a serious heat wave in which the water had dropped to dramatic levels. 

Air temperatures around 10 degrees Celsius and lots of rain during our 1997 trip were responsible for us not doing so well with our dry flies, but we finally succeed while using wet flies in much bigger sizes than most local people used. My Bondal series of flies, for example, were absolutely great under those circumstances. We also caught a lot of Brook trout in some inland lakes where guide Junior took us.

The most difficult fly fishing for Atlantic salmon that I ever experienced happened to me in the Newfie drought of 1999. It was a terrible year for a fly fishing tourist to be in Newfoundland because DFO (The Department of Fisheries & Oceans) had closed most rivers in the south and southwest already. It was a really bad year for most of the fishing lodges as well. The fishing in Mainbrook also had become very poor, even with plenty of fish in the river. Using small dry or wet flies was useless, which we had already discovered by experience in the south, and I wracked my brain to find a solution. It is not that I can’t stand it when catches are poor or nothing; it is more the kick to catch one when everybody fails. It was always a personal challenge when people would tell me that fishing will be useless. Realize well that we were fishing with air temperatures far over 30 degrees Celsius, with no rain for several weeks. There were no other fishermen as crazy as we were, but therefore we had the rivers to ourselves and that is an unbelievable feeling. I think a lot of people can’t understand us, but if you are fishing wild places and salmon are leaping everywhere, it is still very enjoyable just to be there. While I studied the Salmon river well, I discovered that at several places the current was rather slow, almost dead. When most fish rolled at the edge of each current, it came to my mind to try to tempt some fish by using some small unweighted nymphs. I never tried it before in Atlantic Canada, so the challenge was born. I could use the dead water to let the nymph sink well under the surface, and when I could move it with a very slow retrieval, it maybe could work. It’s a technique that is extremely popular for catching whitefish by fly, and if you know that I use several of my grayling techniques to hook salmon by dry fly, why this couldn’t work as well? I prepared a new leader and tied on a 4 lb. almost 2 meter long tippet, instead of the normal 6 lb. I believed any trick to present the nymph as deep as possible under the surface could improve my chances.

A freshly caught wild Atlantic salmon, a fish that can be eaten only by reeling it in yourself.The question “Would you like iceberg ice in “your water glass tonight?” is the kind typically reserved for destinations of rarefied pomposity. A boutique Japanese cruise liner, say, or a nightclub in Moscow that only the oligarchs know about. But not in the interior of a Dodge Caliber doing the speed limit on Grenfell Drive, a highway lined by fir trees, the odd birch and an almost ridiculous number of moose.

You find Grenfell Drive on the Northern Peninsula, a tip of land that shoots northward off the shore of Newfoundland, Canada. I was not here to see, or taste, icebergs. My quarry, also of the ocean and also having to do with dinner, was far more rare. I was on my way to a fishing lodge to eat an Atlantic salmon.

Consuming such a fish isn’t generally considered much of an accomplishment. Atlantic salmon is in almost every supermarket and on most menus, including those at the Olive Garden (herb-grilled salmon) and Red Lobster (Maui Luau shrimp and salmon). Its pink flesh is a member in good standing of sushi and sashimi platters across the continent. Hardly surprising, when you consider that Americans eat more than 300,000 tons of salmon every year.


Not all Atlantic salmon, however, are created equal. The stuff at supermarkets, chain restaurants and even high-end sushi places all comes from fish that spend their lives in pens eating pellets. Its flesh may be gorgeously laced with ivory-colored fat, but when you place a piece of it in your mouth, the flavor tells the story of its Beckettian life: epic boredom. And that’s to say nothing of the issue of freshness. Unless you live in a fishing village, salmon can take days to get to your plate. The problem with cold-water fish is the omega-3 fatty acids, which are prone to “oxidation,” a scientific way of saying the longer you wait between killing a salmon and eating it, the fishier it will taste.

Atlantic salmon was not always a commodity fish. It was once considered among the greatest eating fish in the world. But deliciousness was its undoing: thanks to overfishing, wild Atlantic salmon hasn’t appeared on menus since the late 1980s. You can’t order it anywhere — not at Nobu, not even on the Northern Peninsula — no matter how much you’re willing to pay. Attempting to buy or sell a wild Atlantic salmon in Canada could land you a fine of up to $100,000. The only way a person can acquire one is the old-fashioned way: with a rod and fly.


A remote fishing village on Canada’s Newfoundland Island.Which is how I found myself in a Dodge Caliber pulling into a wood-paneled cabin called Tuckamore Lodge. In my bag were a fishing vest, bug repellent and a sashimi knife of near-sword dimension made by the company MAC in Sakai, Japan. The sea up here is still cold and unpolluted. The land is freckled with lakes that drain into long tongues that flow green and occasionally white and that empty into the salty ocean. Some of the rivers here aren’t much bigger than creeks, but they receive yearly salmon runs into the tens of thousands. I just wanted to eat one. And the man who was going to help me get it was Dennis Pilgrim, a gray-bearded local who has wiped untold gallons of fish slime off his hands over the decades. Back when “abundance” was a word we associated with oceans, Pilgrim worked as a commercial fisherman. Now he makes his living taking outsiders like me to the salmon.

Finding them isn’t the issue. If you drive long enough — which is to say five minutes in any direction — you will cross a river and there will be salmon in it. What comes next is more difficult: getting one to bite.

Salmon are voracious eaters in the ocean, but as soon as they enter fresh water, they become nature’s greatest dieters. Coaxing them to eat is tricky. While trout eagerly snap at lures resembling mayflies or little fishes, salmon aren’t in the mood. For some mysterious reason, however, certain flies arouse their interest. Pilgrim doesn’t know why. No one does. But Pilgrim does know which flies the salmon might like. And there, on the shore of the Salmon River, he tied on something called a pink bug, a stretch of pink fuzz with a hook coming out of it.

The salmon were, as advertised, not hungry. They would emerge from the black and follow the fly as it drifted on the current, then disappear back into the inky depths. Every minute or two, a salmon would arc fantastically into the air and slap — somewhat flagrantly, I thought — back into the water. Most of the time, you just heard a splash and whipped your head around to see a circle of ripples. Eventually, I forgot about the salmon and became lulled by the rhythm of casting.

When, for whatever reason, a salmon decides to bite, the event is so dramatic it is referred to as a “strike.” And if you are staring at rocks and trees and such, as I was, it will catch you completely off guard. There was an all too sudden yank on the line. I jolted the rod back and up high, and found the line was now as taut as a guitar string. A salmon was undeniably, thrillingly and awesomely on. It leapt, shooting out of the water in slow motion, swishing its tail back and forth. When it plunged back in, I pulled on the rod again and almost fell over. The line was as limp as 30 feet of overcooked spaghetti. There was no salmon on the end. During its leap — which now felt like it took place hours ago, in a dream — the hook became dislodged. The salmon was back at the bottom of the pool, and now it definitely wasn’t hungry.

Back at the lodge, they served fresh lobster dipped in melted butter alongside a glass of spring water with iceberg ice. It was as fine a meal as a human can eat, no question, but, like that salmon, I wasn’t hungry.

Fly fishing in Salmon River, where the namesake fish may, or may not, biteBy noon the next day, I was on the receiving end of four strikes. Three times, the salmon freed itself. But one time it did not. There followed a fight that made the story of David and Goliath seem like a minor tussle. By its end, the salmon was swimming in tired circles by the bank and I was able to lift it out of the water. It sat there twitching its tail and scanning its eyes over the alien landscape. A whack on the head with a rock stunned it, a second killed it, and the salmon passed from shimmering life into the still-life pose of death. Now it was as unanimated as the rock that dispatched it. Now it was dinner.

For the afternoon, Pilgrim proposed a change of medium, so we drove into the town of Main Brook, where he lives, launched his fiber glass fishing boat and roared out to a place called Shoal Arm, where the water was perhaps four feet deep and so clear that if an open book were lying on the bottom, you could drop anchor and read it.

Pilgrim took a garden shovel, dug down into the muddy bottom and began bringing shovel loads of blue mussels into the boat. When we had enough mussels, we motored back a ways toward Main Brook. At some point of ideal depth known only to Pilgrim, he throttled down, threw a net over the back of the boat and dragged it over the sea floor. Every few hundred yards, he would pull it to find seaweed, rocks, scallops and a peculiar sea snail known locally as a cuckoo. He took out a jackknife and pried open some scallops right there in the boat, and we ate them raw. They were creamy, unimaginably sweet and pleasantly crunchy. I took Pilgrim’s knife, cut a sea urchin in two and scooped out dollops of astonishingly good uni, which Pilgrim was sure would kill me.

When we got back to the lodge, it was time for salmon at last. Days earlier, a sushi chef I vaguely know had taught me how to slice a salmon into perfect rectangular pieces. Now I sat down at a table on the porch and pulled my sashimi blade through vibrant pink flesh.

I laid a morsel on my tongue. It tasted of the ocean the way a seashell sounds of it. A gentle briny note gave way to a sweet and floral aftertaste.

Flavour is an oddly relative phenomenon. There is no instrument or smart phone app that can take an objective reading. It is always of the moment. Did I like the salmon because I’d caught it myself, because as I ate it I could stare out at a blue lake where salmon like to linger on their journey upstream? To get a point of comparison, I pulled a piece of farmed salmon out of the fridge. My plan was to cook them together, farmed and wild. I followed a local recipe, dusting each piece in flour, then sautéing them in rendered salt-pork fat. (I cooked it to medium rare, however, which is something locals only do by accident.)

The farmed salmon wasn’t terrible. The skin was crispy, and there was a hint of salmon, however fleeting. But it also tasted fishy and greasy. And oddly like chicken. That might be because a lot of farmed salmon is more like chicken than you’d care to know. Like chicken, farmed salmon are fed processed soybeans and grain. They’re also fed a fair amount of . . . chicken. Their pellets often contain chicken fat as well as an industrial feed called chicken by product. It sounds appalling, but the truth is that there aren’t enough herring, krill, shrimp and sand eels to feed farmed salmon anything close to a natural diet.

I put a piece of wild salmon in my mouth, and it was like my tongue had just undergone cataract surgery. Compared with the farmed salmon, it tasted bright and vivid. As with the scallops, the sweetness floored me. There wasn’t even a suggestion of fishiness, not in the skin and not in that seam of dark, fatty meat inside the skin that is almost always inedible. It was the food equivalent of standing in a summer meadow in full bloom and inhaling a fresh ocean breeze.

Fly fishing in Salmon River a trip of a lifetimeThe next morning, I packed the remaining fillet in ice and stowed it in my bag, then boarded a Saab 340 to St. John’s followed by a much larger plane to Toronto.

I was home by afternoon, surrounded now by buildings instead of trees, back in the stifling midsummer heat. I reached into my bag and found that the salmon, to my relief, was still cold. By dinner, white wine had been poured and an identically flour-dusted, sautéed filet sat on my wife’s plate. She took a bite and, as expected, entered a state of fish-induced awe. She blurted out words like “amazing” and started sentences with “I can’t believe. . . .”

I took a bite. The sweetness and intensity repeated itself, and for an instant, I was back on the porch at Tuckamore Lodge. But then a mild but all too detectable fishy tinge announced itself, and just as suddenly I wasn’t.

It was winter, 1969. I was 10 years old and out with my dad and a half dozen of his friends, ice fishing at Chin Lake, Alta. The only other kid in the crowd was Peter Zubersky, a year or two older than me. Miffed to be out with a girl, Peter was quite convinced that he’d be able to teach me a thing or two about the manly sport of fishing. I took to ice fishing immediately.

At one point, Peter complained enough about my “good luck” and his jinxed fishing spot that my dad convinced me to swap holes with Peter. By the end of the day, it was Girl: 11, Pete: 0. We’ve come a long way, baby. According to Beth Mairs, director of Wild Women Expeditions, women are taking to the sport like…well, like a fish takes to water. Women-only travel is mostly a North American phenomenon, says Mairs, and the number of women pursuing fishing vacations is on the rise. Canada is probably best known for salmon fishing, but with an abundance of freshwater lakes and streams, and the three-way border of oceans around us, great fishing experiences are a snap to find.

Below, find a few fishing hotspots to get you in the mood.

1. Newfoundland/Southwest Pond  — Located along the northern tip of Newfoundland is Tuckamore Lodge. Renowned for its Atlantic salmon from Southwest Pond, it’s not unusual to hook a four-pound salmon here, and fisherfolk frequently find brook trout and Arctic char dangling from their line.
TIP: Ask about the Outdoor Woman package — geared to women who want to learn outdoor skills.

For Newfoundland’s fishing guidelines, visit: www.labrador-fishing.com

2. Quebec/Outoaouis Region — The Outoaouis Region of Quebec boasts 20,000 lakes with an ample supple of pike, walleye and bass. There are many fishing hot spots to choose from, but let’s focus on a spectacular one! Halfway between Ottawa and Montreal, the Fairmont Kenauk at Le Chateau Montebello sits on a 100 square mile, 65,000 acre protected wilderness area. One of North America’s oldest and largest private fish reserves, the property includes more than 70 lakes. The preservation of these resources is protected by Fairmont Kenauk at Le Chateau Montello’s own biologists and naturalists — who are available to guests of the property.
TIP: Successful fishing day? The chef at the Fairmont Le Chateau will prepare your catch for you. For Quebec guides to fishing regulations, visit: www.fapaq.gouv.qc.ca/

3. Manitoba/Knee Lake — Four hundred miles north of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Knee Lake stretches for 50 miles, as wide as five miles in some areas. Bays, reefs, islands and weedbeds help create an idyllic fishing atmosphere. Northern pike, whitefish, lake trout, perch and walleye are plentiful here. 

4. British Columbia/Oak Bay Marine Group — The Oak Bay Marine Group operates two resorts on Campbell River, April Point (on Quadra Island) and Painter’s Lodge, with the ripple benefit that visitors can play in both. April Point Resort and Spa is built on the original settlement of fishermen’s cabins; a 10-minute water taxi ride takes you across to Painter’s Lodge. Sheltered by the mainland, these resorts offer spectacular salmon fishing in calm waters. In June every year, Painter’s Lodge plays host to a women’s-only fishing derby. More than 100 women flock in from all over North America for the four-day derby. For British Columbia’s fishingregulations, visit: www.bcfishing.com.

5. Alberta/Bow River – Alberta boasts 600 lakes, bursting with pike, perch, walleye, lake trout and Arctic grayling. But Calgarians know they can find a quick escape along the Bow River which threads its way through the bustling city of Calgary. The Bow River begins at Bow Glacier in Jasper National Park and continues through Banff and Canmore, into Calgary.

For Alberta’s Guide to Sport Fishing Regulations, visit: www.albertaoutdoorsmen.org.

BONUS — The Best Place in Canada to Fish Where is the very best fishing hole in the country? Calgarians have it right. The best fishing hole is the one most conveniently located near you, says Terri MacKinnon of Fishergirl.com. In a difficult phase of her life, MacKinnon recalls thinking that if she had one day left to live, she would spend it fishing with her family. What would she want to catch? That’s not relevant, she says. Fishing serves as a kind of meditation. The Henry David Thoreau quotation of MacKinnon’s website sums up her fishing philosophy: “Many men go fishing their entire lives without knowing it is not fish they are after.” The bottom line? Regardless of where you live, fishing doesn’t have to be about landing the big one. It can be all about relaxing and connecting with yourself.

Check out your city website and the local travel and tourism office to find fishing spots in your province.

Cyber fishing for links:

Wild Women Expeditions
www.wildwomenexp.com

Fishergirl.com
www.fishergirl.com

Note: 10 per cent of all Fishergirl.com sales are donated to breast cancer research. Check out the Special Edition Breast Cancer Survival Rod & Starter Fishing Kit or Survival Rod; 50 per cent of the profit from these rods goes to breast cancer research.

Outoaouis Region 
www.outdooroutaouais.com

Oak Bay Marine Group 
www.obmg.com

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