Angled right with nature

I am a terrible fisherman — but lucky. But there is more magic to fishing than skill. So it was that I found myself knee-deep in the Bell Irving, a river in British Columbia, Canada. And as I let the rhythm of casting lull me, I remembered how, as a child, I found fishing boring. I would sit on the riverbank with a rifle and try shooting the salmon when they jumped.

Then the fly stopped and I felt the weight of a fish turning against the hook. One's focus shifts fast when fishing and so it was as I raised the tip of the rod. In a moment, the reel was, as they say, screaming.

The steelhead was 7 kilograms. The idea is to do as little harm to the fish as possible, so there was no barb on the hook. The barbless hook slipped easily from her mouth and, having gazed at her in awe, I put her gently back in the stream, a thin smear of my blood on her flank. She waited for a moment in my hands and then, with powerful strokes, beat back into the stream. My brother Angus and I had taken a flight out of the horrors of Heathrow, with its shabby, money-grasping departure lounge, to Vancouver, where shops are dedicated to hockey, sailing and skiing. A two-hour flight, the setting sun reflecting off glaciers and fiords, saw us settle into the damp browns and greens of Terrace, a rough logging town close to the Alaskan panhandle. In the small airport, the car-hire woman suggested we watch out for "bear and moose on the road".

The Bell 2 Lodge was once a petrol station but has grown into a collection of log cabins amid a dense forest. As we ate breakfast, our guides appeared: Canadian Steve McPhail with a Zen attitude of "do no harm" — against attack by bear or bull moose, he carries a small can of pepper spray — and Bavarian Michael Brackenhofer, with a rifle.

Steve took us down to the Bell Irving, reversing his metal-hulled skiff into the clear waters and then navigating through torrents and placid pools. I realised that as I get older, fishing brings me peace.

Up, up and away

A couple of days later, we headed downhill from the lodge to the waiting helicopter, a Bell Ranger with room, at a push, for five. Angus, a fellow Brit called Nico and I stood nearby. Steve jumped into the front seat. We packed into the back and lifted off. Soon, the weather licked at us and the pilot was forced to circle down a thousand feet into a thin layer of clear air above a stream. When the view opened up, we saw a large meandering river, the Nass. We fished the Nass for two days, flying back to the lodge each evening.

Wilderness incarnate

Nothing, however, compared with a moment up on the Nass a couple of days before. I had been struggling to keep my footing on a steep bank, when an unsettling cry went up. I gazed over at the opposite bank and out along the trunk of a cottonwood walked a wolf. It reached the furthest point and turned to stare at me. In the face of the truest incarnation of the wilderness, I forgot my daydream. Another howl rose from beyond and the wolf turned and wandered back and out of sight.

If you go

Ruaridh Nicoll's journey to Bell 2 Lodge was organised by James Moreland of Elemental Adventure (www.eaheliskiing.com), which organises heliskiing trips worldwide. Visit www.steelhead-fishing.net

A nine-night trip to Bell 2 costs from £5,000 (Dh30,316). It includes two nights in Vancouver, transfer from Terrace Airport, seven days of guided steelhead fishing, including two days' helicopter fishing and five days' jet boat and raft access on the Bell Irving, Meziadin, Naas or Bear rivers, full-board accommodation in a single room, licences and use of fly-fishing equipment.

Visit www.britishcolumbia.travel

Drive from Terrace to the lodge in a car from Budget Rent-a-Car, which offers car rentals from Terrace Airport from £33 (Dh200) per day.