Few people are out enjoying Étienne Brûlé park near Jane and Bloor on a chilly spring morning; fewer still are wading out into the waters of the Humber River.
But Rob Cesta, owner of Drift Outfitters fly shop, and Demiesha Dennis, founder of the organization Brown Girl Outdoor World, are thigh-deep in the strong, fast current invigorated by recent heavy rainfall and the spring melt, tying their flies and lures.
“People typically choose to leave the city to find good fishing but where else can you take a subway and have a chance of catching a 20- or 30-pound fish while the salmon are running?” said Cesta. “It’s pretty amazing that we have that opportunity.”
Today, we’re targeting the Steelhead trout travelling on their migratory run upstream. Unlike the stocked Pacific salmon of the Humber, which make the fall journey once at the end of their lives, Steelhead revisit the same spawning grounds within a metre every year. It’s an opportunity that many of Toronto’s intrepid urban anglers refuse to miss.
Balanced on a rock midriver, Cesta guides a fly over a gap protected from the heavy current, trying to coax out two trout taking a break on their journey. “Human beings are the only species that work harder than we have to,” he calls out wryly. Dennis casts into the far side of the river, attempting to match the flow of the undercurrent: the water on the top is the fastest; the water on the bottom where the fish are is the slowest. Unfortunately, no luck today.
Toronto’s watershed is the spawn point for hundreds of underwater species, which seems miraculous given the GTA’s urban sprawl. Industrialization has done significant damage: the tributaries of Lake Ontario once hosted the largest Atlantic salmon spawn in North America, a species now extinct in the wild. It’s an ecosystem that is largely ignored, but urban anglers are dedicated to learning the secrets of our waterways, educating others on conservation, and finding solace in our urban wildlife.
The connector
“Fishing was therapy for me before I had a therapist,” said Demiesha Dennis, who has channelled her love of it into a full-fledged community. “Fishing slowed me down and taught me to be present, patient and open to uncertainty in a way that I don’t think I would have achieved had I not built a relationship with this sport.”
It’s an experience Dennis wants to share with those who face barriers to enjoying the outdoors. She founded Brown Girl Outdoor World “to reconnect Black, Indigenous and women of colour, who are often the caregivers and decision makers and often left out of the conversation on who gets to reap the benefits of time in nature,” Dennis said. “I have crafted a space that says, ‘You belong.’”
The group often ventures on expeditions within and beyond the city limits. “We have hosted walks along the Humber River Trail to experience the annual salmon run. The oohs and ahhs that come from the crowd are usually a reminder that most folks aren’t aware that places and experiences like this are sometimes just a 10-minute walk from home,” said Dennis.
That might be because to many Torontonians, the water doesn’t seem fit to wade into. “There is still so much stigma around the waters here in the city, and with concerns about pollution, it has been work to put a positive spin on how viable our fisheries are here,” said Dennis. It’s true that there is bioaccumulation of heavy metals like mercury within fish found near urban areas, which aren’t safe to be ingested. Still, it doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy our nearby wildlife, and this year Dennis plans to work with local agencies and conservation groups to educate more people on what is available here. “We have our work cut out for us,” says Dennis. “I would love to be in a place where I mention fishing and folks are excited about the opportunity to learn to fish close to home.”
The conservator
Toronto is not a known fly-fishing destination, but Rob Cesta’s specialty fly shop Drift Outfitters at Queen and Sherbourne serves an eclectic clientele of hyperlocal anglers who fish in the Harbour, the Humber River, the Don River and beyond.
“Fishing is a limitless sport when it comes to who can be a part of it, and our community around here showcases that,” said Cesta. Every year, he hosts the International Fly Fishing Film Festival at the Revue cinema. “Most of the films are from elsewhere in the world but our local community comes together to watch because catching a fish in one spot elicits the same feeling as catching one in another.”
Drift Outfitters is also a hub for fly-tying classes, learning about fishing opportunities both local and abroad, and seminars promoting conservation and good fishing practice such as returning fish to the waterways.
The latter is a response to what Cesta feels is a lack of government environmental responsibility and education on regulations. He feels better signage, scannable QR codes on the rivers and multi-language or easy to identify pictorial signage would go a long way. A one-year sport fishing license is frozen at $26.57 — “the proposed increase was equivalent in price to a cup of Tim Hortons coffee. And if that money went into the Ministry of Natural Resources, we would have more funding for these things,” said Cesta. That in turn would help promote conservation. “When you start caring about fish and their habitat, you tend to give back to it. You want to protect it.”
The newbie
“When the pandemic rolled around, there wasn’t too much to do besides get outside and get some fresh air,” says Julian Pek, a young Toronto angler who picked up fishing during his time at university in St. Catharines, Ont. His biggest catch so far? A salmon. “It’s one of those fish that I’ve always wanted to catch,” he said. “When it happened, it was one of my favourite experiences. They put up a much better fight than a bass or a pike.”
Searching for fish in Toronto has brought Pek to the Humber, the Credit, the Rouge, Duncan Creek, Highland Creek, the Don Valley and the Leslie Spit. “I’ve discovered a lot more of the GTA and Toronto through fishing than I would have otherwise,” he said. Exploring the city outdoors has been a rewarding experience, and a scenic consolation for the times when he leaves without a catch.
“One of the main things that I like about fishing is that it’s peaceful. I enjoy being in nature, and there are some awesome spots where you can relax and cast a rod and enjoy the sounds around you,” said Pek, who finds his go-to spots by sifting through Google Maps and Subreddits and talking to people on the river. “Most people are friendly and helpful. There’s definitely fishermen out there who don’t want to share their secrets but for the most part people are open.”
The enthusiast
Durvesh Chury gets strange looks when he rides the TTC dressed in full angler regalia. “For those who don’t have the privilege of owning a vehicle, you don’t have to go all the way to Algonquin to be at peace with nature and fish,” he said. Chury shares his knowledge as a Toronto Urban Fishing Ambassador, offering guidance and advice to young anglers on kid-friendly expeditions from Grenadier Pond in High Park to Topham Pond in York.
Urban angling is about seeing opportunities where other anglers don’t. One such opportunity in the winter months is ice fishing, which makes it possible to fish waters that would normally require a boat. The bigger fish live below the thermocline, which is like a barrier between the warm and cold water, and “during the summer, it’s too warm by the shore, so the big fish are deep,” Chury said. But during the winter, the lake is at a ubiquitous temperature, so you might catch a big one.
Fishing downtown is also about going after species that other anglers might not, like White Suckers and Burbot, the only freshwater species of cod in the world. “It’s native to our waters, it tastes amazing,” Chury said. “Its meat is like shellfish; it’s firm and sweet.”
Chury favours fly fishing (he’s an active member of the fly-fishing community at Drift Outfitters) but embraces all techniques, including the reel-less Tenkara method from Japan. “I grew up in the tropics,” he said, referring to his upbringing in Mumbai. “I love all kinds of fishing.”
The advocate
We leave an imprint every time we venture into nature, and this is top of mind for fly fisher Peter Wasag. “I go down there for my serenity, for my peace, and with the utmost respect for the quarry that I’m after,” he said. A veteran who knows his Caddis fly from his red-sided dace, Wasag is passionate about protecting the life in our waterways via proper fishing etiquette and technique.
He points out that there is a disparity in how fishing is regulated versus hunting. Fishing licenses are required but incredibly easy to obtain at any Canadian Tire. “I can get my license by just going up to the booth. They don’t know how many years I’ve been fishing and how much experience I have,” said Wasag. “They put all the responsibility on the shoulders of the inexperienced fisherman.”
Fish populations are dwindling, in no small part because of how little fishing regulations are enforced, which leads to irresponsible attitudes toward the rivers. Wasag feels that learning about this should be a requirement for a license. “Not only technique on how to catch and release fish, but picking up your garbage, making sure you’re not disrupting the banks of the creeks and the rivers. Don’t snag fish, don’t net fish.” Fishing should begin with research, learning about the river and being in tune with what lives there. It’s for the health of our watershed.
