The Wilmot Rooster May 29 2000

Yves and I love to fish - that's no secret.  We were both headed to Toronto on business and figured there would be an opportunity to work a quick fish in at some point over the three days.  With Toronto not being a common stop for me, I had to recommend that we go take a look at the famous Wilmot Creek, you know, take advantake of being in the neighbourhood.  Wilmot is a small stream between Bowmanville and Newcastletrickling into Lake Ontario that flows , about 70 km from downtown Toronto heading east on the 401.  I first saw Henry & Italo fishing it about 6 or 7 years ago on Canadian Sport Fishing - they were hauling in huge steelhead.

The end of May is not when one can count on the Creek to give up its best.  With no rain for about a week, the Creek didn't have a lot of water running through it, and it was so clear it was almost like an advertisement for bottled water.  This is not good for steelhead.  None the less, Steve's Sporting Goods told us there was a chance of finding some if we headed inland.  We purchased a can of worms and followed the directions of the Store Guy. Well, we sort of followed them.  Despite having the Store Guy repeat the instructions to each one of us twice, we still managed to take a wrong turn at Albuquerque and never did find Concession 5. So we settled for Concession 4 and a stretch of Wilmot that winds through a heavily treed area. 

We walked along a path that led us to a clearing beside the Creek.  Then it happened.  The unexpected!  A rustling in the thigh-high grass behind me.  Getting closer.  The music from Jaws was pounding in my head - DUM-DUM, DUM-DUM, DUM-DUM, DUM-DUM, DUM-DUM and the rustling was getting closer.  I could see the grass shimmering where something was beginning to pick up speed as it headed straight for me.  I was frozen like a deer in the headlights - gawking at the grass, scared to know what was coming.  And then it popped out of the grass and began to strut around me in a circle, clucking happily at my feet.  A ROOSTER.  Look at this Yves, its a f---ing ROOSTER!  Pretty friendly little guy - think I'll take a pic.

A few laughs about the rooster were shared, like bringing home drum sticks instead of trout.  Then it was time to fish.  We spread out with Yves taking a riffle upstream and I taking one downstream.  A few futile casts for each of us and Yves decided to join me, leaving the tackle box back where we had encountered the rooster.  Walking back to get it, the Rooster appeared behind me, very suddenly, and matched my brisk pace through the trees.  In fact he was moving faster than I.  Looking over my shoulder, I began to feel a little uncomfortable about the tailgater that was gaining on me.  I began to walk faster, took a second peak over my shoulder, and was astonished to see the bird about 6 inches from my heels, head low, poised to strike at any second, only needing to get a little closer and my heels would be his.  Oh my God - I'm about to be assaulted by a rooster!  I couldn't ever recall Hank & Italo giving advice on CSF about what to do when confronted with an ornery rooster.  I don't want to kill it, so how do I make him leave me alone?  Am I going to have to wrestle a rooster?  He looks pretty big - a fierce cock indeed!

It was soon obvious I couldn't out-run the rooster - he had to be part roadrunner.  I had to distance myself somehow, but how?  Suddenly the spirit of Bruce Lee filled me, and with a primal martial arts scream that probably sounded a lot like "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME", I spun around and confronted the ornery  bantam with the butt-end of my seven foot Mitchell. 

He flew at the rod, pecking and scratching and clucking a mile a minute.  I pushed him back and he stopped flapping, staying still for the moment, sizing me and the Mitchell up for the next assault.  He deaked left, then right, the end of my rod tracking him, not letting him get around, no opportunity for the bird to peck at my legs.  He was furious.  I backed slowly toward the tackle box, determined not to panic and run away without my gear.  I didn't give a second thought to going back through the trees - God knows how hard it is to walk with a rod through trees, let alone wield it with the skill of a Ninja to keep an angry 10 lb  rooster at bay.  The rooster finally backed off and with relief I let my guard down.

I caught up to Yves and, out of breath, explained how I had been assaulted by ole Fog Horn Leg Horn. Yves laughed, and in his French Canadian accent said "Why is it dat you tink I left dat tackle box behind in da first place?"

We didn't hang around the creek for too long after the fowl incident.  We headed for Lake Ontario and found the marina in Bowmanville where the creek flowed into the Lake.  This had to be prime carp territory, and we did indeed see several of the giant gold fish swimming a couple of feet from the shore, mere shadows gliding through the muddy water.  They weren't too interested in our worms unfortunately, but kept us keen to hang around till dark.