George Friskey: The Legend

 

Roger Brunt
Steelheader Contributor

  There are darned few anglers who can say they have personally contributed to revolutionizing an entire sports fishery, but George Friskey of Vedder Crossing can honestly make that claim.
  Of course, he never would. George is a soft-spoken unassuming sort of man, used to minding his own business and quietly going his own way.
  But he is a leader in the West Coast sports fishery none the less, his ideas having shaped the way steelheading is practiced wherever the fish are found.
  Next time you're in any sporting goods store, take a look at the packages of differently colored yarn stocked on the store shelves in the steelheading section. If it weren't for George Friskey, chances are those packages might not be there, for even though yarn has been used in tying flies and making lures for centuries, George was the first angler in the northwest to fish for steelhead using yarn the way it's fished today.
  George Friskey has lived on the Vedder since 1933 and he's fished the river for 55 years without missing a season. Now, at 76, he's still out there catching steelhead and salmon.
 He's seen a lot of changes over the years.
  He recalls the early days when he and his friends fished for steelhead using bamboo poles with the reel and line-guides fastened on with tape.
  "There were two kinds of bamboo in those early days," George recalls, "both male and female. The male poles had a hole in the center and were hollow. We always used the female poles, they were lighter and much stronger."
  "Our floats were ping-pong balls with tube and glued through the center, and we used a small wedge of carved cedar to regulate the depth of the float on our line."
  That was back in the early days of float fishing, and the fellows were experimenting with all sorts of rigs.
  George remembers one day he was out on the river when he saw a squarish-brown object drifting towards him. At first he thought it was a muskrat, but then realized a fisherman upstream must have been using a float from a fish-net corkline, and it had gotten away and was drifting downriver."
  George smiles when he remembers those early days, and he smiles when he remembers how the Vedder and the Chilliwack Valley used to be.
  "I came into this country from over on the Alouette river," he says. "Dad was a mine inspector from Cape Breton who moved us to Scotland when I was four, then back to B.C. when I was 16. We worked the logging camps along the Alouette until the stock crash of '29, then moved to the Chilliwack Valley.
  "This was all grand country back then," George recollects, "big country, rugged and wild wiht lots of fish and game. I remember seeing as many as eight and nine deer coming down off Larson's Bench to drink in the river, and we could stop and watch the mountain goats at Middle Creek anytime in the fall."
  By 1937, logging had opened up the valley to within a few miles of Chilliwack Lake, and the Red Mountain Mine (a gold mine just across the border in Washington State) was in full production. A mule-trail ran up the valley beyond the logging roads, and packers like Ed Bell, Ed Allyson and Bridge Bailley made regular runs hauling in supplies.
  There was a logging railway up the valley, too, hauling logs to the skidways along the lower Vedder, and logging was George's business. Over the years he worked his way up to become book tender, the most versatile position in the logging camps. Later on, in 1957, it was George who, with a D-8 cat, pulled down the last remaining logging-railway bridge across the Vedder just above the highway bridge in Vedder Crossing. There's a photo of the two bridges standing side by side in Kuiper's riverside cafe', still a regular steelheaders' hangout on the river.
  During those early years, George fished every chance he had, learning the river and learning everything he could about steelhead and salmon. Nearly everone who fished the river in those days used roe for bait, but an article George came across in the late '30s started him thinking along different lines.
  The article was about an experiment being carried out in a Washington State hatchery to determine if there was a particular color that steelhead reacted to more than others.
  According to the article, the color that aroused steelhead the most was fluorescent green, so George set out to see if he could hook a steelhead using a fluorescent green lure.
  As George tells it, he scoured the tackle shops on both sides of the border looking for green lures, or anything he could make one from. In those days it wasn't unusual for fishermen to make their own gear, including pounding out spinners from scraps of chrome, and pouring their own weights in home-made molds.
  But it wasn't until he was shopping with his wife at the Sumas mercantile store that he found what he was looking for.
  There in front of him was the answer to his search -- a whole bin full of knitted bobby socks in all different colors, including flourescent green!
  George bought a selection of the socks, and as soon as he got home he went to work on them, unraveling the wool and using it in tying up a bunch of hooks.
  On the river the next day, it didn't take long to prove he was on the right track. Within a half an hour he'd hooked his first fish using fluorescent yarn, and within an hour he had his limit of two steelhead.
  At first, George enjoyed trying to keep his new discover to himself, even going so far as to keep his hook hidden with his hand until he was ready to cast, but it didn't take long for word to spread. Every time he hooked a fish near another angler, the other fisherman would come over to see what he'd caught it on.
  "As soon as the boys figured out what was happening," George laughs, "they emptied the mercantile store of green bobby socks!".

As time went along, George and his grandson experimented with different combinations of colored yarn, and eventually they came up with what became known as the Campbell River Special. This was a four-color combination of white, pink, red and fluorescent green yarn that took fish consistently where ever they tried it. With the four colors blended together with an old toothbrush, they way it was tied and trimmed it pulsed in the water and moved along like something alive.
  There were advantages to fishing with yarn that were immediately apparent. Each cast was a presentation of a fresh lure compared to roe which had to be constantly replenished. And with no more continual 'baiting-up', actual fishing time was greatly increased. It was a lot more comfortable fishing in winter conditions without having to handle roe, too, so anglers could stay out longer.
  But even though the change from bait to yarn offered advantages, it didn't replace the skills necessary to consistently take fish. Fishermen still had to be able to read the water, and know how to fish it properly.
  George points out that the most important thing in fishing for winter steelhead remains finshing the runs and holes at the proper depth, and that's something that will never change.
  You read a river by reading your float," George says, "and that's not a talent acquired easily.
  "A lot of beginning fishermen expect their gear to do all the work for them. Graphite rods, styrofoam floats, monofilament lines are all fine, but none of them replace knowing how to read a river, and being able to concentrate on what you're doing.
  "You have to be right on the ball the whole time you're float fishing", says George. "It's like sighting down a rifle barrel. You have to be ready for the slightest touch.
  With winter steelhead there isn't going to be any big strike, unless you're fishing with lures. With float fishing, the fish will often take with just a slight touch, and you can't afford to miss it."\par
  This was an advantage with the old style Avon and Silex reels. The slightest touch on the line was immediately transmitted to the anglers' fingertips where they rested on the rim of the reel controlling the drag. With the new levelwind reels, even though they are easier to cast and far faster on the retrieve, this advantage is lost.
  And that means the steelheaders' old standbys, experience and a keen sense of observation, are just as necessary as ever. The rivers may change and the equipment may get more sophisticated, but it's still never going to be easy to become a top steelheader.
  "The Vedder has changed a lot," George recalls. "In the old days there was a run of very large steelhead that used to come in between the 1st and 15th of January. They are pretty well all gone now --fished out, I suppose.
  "There was a run of steelhead that used to come in a little later on that we called the California run. They were a lighter colored fish with almost brown backs, and they were very strong. When hooked they'd jump once to see which direction it was to the Pacific Ocean, then they'd head for it and there was no stopping them.
  "There was a big run of spring salmon in June and July that are pretty well gone, too.
  "But nothing has changed the river like the hatchery," he says. "It's brought back the fish, it's true, but it's also brought out a lot of new fisherman.
  "But that’s O.K.,"smiles George as he stretches out by the wood heater in his living room. "The cold northeasters and a bit of snow soon thins 'em out, and after all, the river has been changing for a long, long time. I remember when the when the very first derby was held on the Vedder. At the awards presentation, Dr. Baker, a fine steelheader from Seattle, was asked to say a few words. I remember how he said that first derby represented the beginning of the end of the river.
  "It's true there have been a lot of changes on the river, and there's no doubt there'll be more, but I know one thing for sure. I wouldn't have stayed all these years if it hadn't been for the Vedder and its fish."
  Visiting George Friskey, you get the feeling the various logging outfits he worked for over the years were lucky to have had him. He shows me a handmade folding gaff he devised, and it's a testimonial to fine craftsmanship.
  His perfectly kept shotguns illustrate his respect and care for all things well made, and he's still got the very first glass rod he ever owned, a gift from his daughter in 1942. He shows me a hand-crafted yarn dispenser he's presently having patented, and it demonstrates a remarkable sense of creativity and ingenuity.
  But mostly, as I watch his steady 76-year old fingers working at the bits of bright-colored yarn as he shows me how to tie a Campbell River Special, I am reminded that George Friskey remains a steelheading pioneer, as proud of the men he taught to fish as he is of any of his life's accomplishments
.

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