It would be fair to term Lewiston, New York, a village because it feels smaller than its 2017 population count of 15,964, but in a comfortable way. It has a Center Street that, before ending at the Niagara River, showcases a lot of village stuff such as The Village Bake Shop, Apple Granny, Orange Cat Coffee and Brickyard Pub & BBQ.
Plus, the official name of the town is the Village of Lewiston.
A few other media types and I had come for the fishing, which generally is terrific, and the food, which is always terrific. The fishing was great for my colleagues seeking salmon, steelhead and trout. I was in pursuit of smallmouth bass for a special editorial project.
The Niagara River, on the east bank of which Lewiston is perched, flows for about 35 miles from Lake Erie and into Lake Ontario and, thanks to a geologic bump eons in the making, drops over one of the most famous waterfalls in the world. The smallmouth bass fishing, both above and below the falls, generally ranges from fantastic to better than fantastic. Lakes Erie and Ontario and the connecting Niagara River provide some of the most varied and productive fishing waters in North America.
On this trip, however, the smallies proved somewhat tough to come by. But it wasn’t from lack of skill or effort by Capt. Frank Campbell of Niagara Region Charter service (niagaracharter.com), in whose capable hands we were being guided. The water temperature was 46 degrees. If you fish for smallmouth bass, that tells you everything you need to know. If you don’t fish for smallmouth bass, here’s what 46-degree water means: You have to practically hit the fish on the head with a lure (or fly, in my case) to get their attention.
Capt. Frank trailered us downstream and launched near where the Niagara River enters Lake Ontario. We motored a few hundred yards onto the big lake to a spot overlooked by a chunk of American history and soaked with the blood of men from two continents.
Fort Niagara loomed overhead. The historic site, now part of Fort Niagara State Park (parks.ny.gov/historic-sites/31/details.aspx), was established in the mid 1700s. French, British and United States flags have flown here. Native Americans also had a say in local politics. The history of the place is colorful and bloody. When you’re in the neighborhood, stop by. The falls get most of the tourist attention, but the fort is worth a visit.
Capt. Frank was here for practical reasons. A rock shelf juts from the retaining wall, and the water nearby tends to be a few degrees warmer than the surrounding area. For early-season smallmouth, a couple of degrees can make a difference. A big difference. A catching-fish-and-not-catching-fish difference. I had also requested that we fish this spot for reasons I will explain.
The morning was damp and foggy. I wished for a layer of fleece under my raingear. We rigged up and began casting. While I was focused on a fly-fishing project, my friend Alan Clemons, an Alabaman and experienced bass man, launched a thumb-size jig from a stiff-shanked baitcaster. He was set up for a methodical, deep-water approach and quickly brought a chunky bass to hand.
Capt. Frank and I were fly-fishing in conditions poorly suited for it. I missed a strike. The captain landed a smallmouth. The fog thickened. We could hear sounds from the fort, where a cannon demonstration was being conducted.
I was thankful to be here. A few months prior, on a rainy February afternoon in Nashville, I had been dreaming of this place when I emerged from anesthesia. The fort. The boat. The bass. Capt. Frank. The fog. The cannon fire. All of it. It took a moment for the hospital room and its antiseptic surroundings to come into focus.
My wife’s beautiful face suddenly filled the overhead void.
“Hi. How are you feeling?” she asked.
“OK,” I replied. “I was dreaming about fishing.”
The cardiologist later arrived and delivered his post-procedure rundown, which was brief and to the point. The relatively minor procedure had gone well. He foresaw no issues. Then, surprisingly, he hung around for a little small talk. This guy specializes in electrophysiology. I had to look that up.
“Have anything planned?” he asked. He meant fishing trips. My work junkets often involve fishing. This had come up during our initial meeting, when he revealed himself to be an angler, while bemoaning that his work schedule allowed him little time on the water. I suggested he alter his work schedule, an idea he appeared to embrace.
I told him I had a trip planned to the Niagara River in a few months. Smallmouth bass. He nodded.
“Catch one for me,” he said.
I did my best.
For more information about the fishing, Fort Niagara, Niagara Falls or other area goodies in the Lewiston/Niagara, New York, region, visit niagarafallsusa.com.