In my search for the next trout stream, I came across a few helpful anecdotes about the Steeprock River near Mafeking, Manitoba, and decided to go out on a whim one Labour Day weekend to see if there were in fact some brook trout swimming in its upper reaches.
We had never been to the Manitoba-side of the Porcupine Hills and the satellite imagery suggested deep, sprawling valleys that only motivated us further.
I was completely unsure of the fishing prospects other than what I’d read in old online forum posts, so finding an interesting camp location was a priority.
Unfortunately, not knowing how to best access the river, we unnecessarily dead-walked through thick deciduous bush and deep ravines to reach a tributary that eventually led us to the main river. Only later did I learn we had driven right past a spot that would have been within 100m of the access road.
From the forks of the tributary at the Steeprock River, 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, but by the next morning, we were ready to do some fishing.
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 we had pulled out of other streams.
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. Thank you, old forum posts.
Beyond fishing, the atmosphere surrounding Steeprock felt distinct, rugged and at times malicious. The forest was ultra-dense with wiry deciduous trees worthy of a machete. The group also seemed to confer that the woods had a “Halloween-ey” vibe that conjured images of being chased down by an axe-wielding maniac. Still pretty beautiful. The rock flats and old floodplains give the river a nearly constant change of character.
It is possible the feeling of not being alone was simply the fact the river was very lively. We had come across a wolf, a moose and a mink and the heaviest hint of all was the amount of tracks we found dappled in the sand almost anywhere along the river.
We were blessed with fish, the weather on our side and no one smashing 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 crossed along the Manitoba Escarpment suddenly seemed brimming with potential.
The hike back to the car was bittersweet, wondering when we would be back—scratched up, sweat-drenched and grinning like idiots.