I was looking for another trout stream on the Manitoba Escarpment and came across a few helpful anecdotes about a river close to Mafeking, Manitoba. We decided to go out on a whim on Labour Day weekend and see if the stories were true.
We had never been to the Manitoba-side of the Porcupine Hills and imagined it was similar to Duck Mountain, being part of the same escarpment. The satellite imagery suggested deep, sprawling valleys that only made it more alluring.
Wanting to see the more exciting topography, but not knowing how to best access the river, we drove unnecessarily far up a logging road and followed a tributary to reach the main river, which required a by-all-means horrible dead walk through steep terrain and thick deciduous bush with overweight backpacks on. I learned later that we had driven right past an access point that would have been about fifty metres from the road and hiking the river was much easier than the bush.
From the forks of the terrible tributary, we hiked further upstream in search of a suitable place to set up camp. It was close to nightfall by the time we settled down.
We found an old river channel to camp in that was clear, sheltered and provided easy access to the river. Recharged the next day, we were ready to hike upstream and fish.
The first brook trout came as a surprise in a particularly rough and turbulent section of river. Doubly surprising was the size, which was unlike anything I expected from a stream.
We considered this a reward for having taken the longest way possible to get to the river. Sean and I both beat our personal record-size brook trout and all five of us got our share with a few rainbows for good measure.
Beyond fishing, the atmosphere was different from the Pine River, a stream I was more familiar with and felt well-manicured and elegant by comparison. Steeprock had a rugged, untamed quality that took some getting-used-to. The river flats and old floodplains next to towering riverbanks gave it a near-constant change of character. The forest was ultra-dense with wiry bush worthy of a machete. We conferred it had a “Halloween-ey vibe,” conjuring images of a chainsaw-wielding maniac barrelling out of the woods at any moment.
The feeling of not being alone may have been because the river was, in fact, very lively. We had come across a live wolf, a moose and a mink, and an abundance of animals tracks dappled in the sand everywhere along the river.
Most of the group was able to catch fish and no one smashed their skull on a rock—it was a proper introduction to a river that would eventually become one we measure others against. All the other streams we had ever seen suddenly brimmed with potential. It was just a matter of choosing where to go next.
The hike back to the car was bittersweet, scratched up, sweat-drenched, grinning like idiots.