CHASING GHOSTS IN THE NORTH
There are trips you plan, and then there are the ones that grab you by the throat and drag you somewhere you never expected to be—places where the maps don’t tell the story and the fishery whispers instead of shouts. Quebec was that kind of trip. When most anglers think Quebec, the mind defaults to Atlantic salmon—sweeping rivers, classic swings, tweed-vest traditionalists sipping scotch in mahogany lodges. But this wasn’t that trip, and we sure as hell weren’t wearing tweed.
We went north chasing striped bass—yes, striped bass, in Quebec—casting into the skinny tidal waters of Chaleur Bay, stalking fish tailing across white sand like a flats mission in the tropics. Our home base was Gaspé Coastal Lodge, tucked into Cascapedia-Saint-Jules, the only lodge in the province solely dedicated to this emerging fishery. And calling it emerging is an understatement—it’s exploding.
And rolling into this adventure beside me: the one and only Carter Andrews—legendary angler, storyteller, and one of the sharpest fish-minds alive. Carter had been whispering about this place for months. And once we arrived, it didn’t take long to understand why.
THE QUOTE THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING
Before we stepped onto the flats, Carter laid out the spark that set this whole mission in motion. You’re going to hear his voice throughout this article, because his words capture exactly what makes this story so damn wild:
“The past few times I fished bluefin tuna in Nova Scotia I caught some striped bass around the harbour and on the beach, so I knew there was a population of fish. They were up north of Maine. What I didn’t realize at the time was this was its own population of striped bass, they don’t migrate—they live there. It’s a little sub-population. After doing more research and talking to several friends, I got connected with the guys at Gaspé Coastal and found out they actually have four flats skiffs that they target striped bass on hard sand flats.”
Let that sink in: a resident population of stripers, living their entire lives in Quebec, cruising sandy flats under pine-covered cliffs in water clear enough to count scales.
This isn’t Cape Cod.
This isn’t Montauk.
This isn’t New Jersey.
This is a northern frontier fishery, and it feels like stepping into history before the crowds discover it.
THE FISHERY: A REBIRTH STORY WRITTEN IN SILVER STRIPES
Not long ago, this population of striped bass was nearly wiped out. Commercial pressure and mismanagement pushed them to the edge—a familiar tragedy for the species across many regions. But the comeback story is fierce, and it’s still being written.
Carter put it best:
“This population of striped bass was once nearly fished out, then with proper management and regulations they rebounded—just like they do so well in so many other places.”
Now they’re thriving. Not in secret—just ignored. The attention has always gone to the Atlantic salmon world, and that’s fine. It leaves the flats wide open for those of us who live for sight-casting, quiet water, and the heart-pounding moment when silhouettes materialize through moving sand.
THE FLATS: A TROPICAL EXPERIENCE IN A PINE FOREST WORLD
Picture it:
Knee-deep water as clear as gin.
Hard white sand under the skiff.
Dark shadows sliding across the sunlit bottom.
And above it all, rugged rock cliffs and dense evergreen forests.
It feels like someone spliced the Bahamas into coastal Canada and forgot to tell anyone.
Gaspé Coastal Lodge runs four purpose-built flats skiffs, and as Carter said, they chase these fish like bonefish. On a 7- or 8-weight rod with a floating line, the playbook is nearly identical: spot them early, lead the fish, strip with intention, and hang on.
“Seven and 8-weight rods, primarily floating lines, were the perfect fly tackle—maybe a nine if the wind picks up. Basically the same stuff you’d fish bonefish with,” Carter said. “On the flats, 4000-class spinning reels, 20-pound braid and 20-pound fluoro.”
The variety of techniques is stupid-fun:
— Topwater plugs slashing the surface
— Swimming lures waking over the sand
— Jigs bouncing bottom
— And flies that get eaten like candy
Carter again nailed the heart of the species:
“Who doesn’t like good sight-fishing? And anybody that tells me they don’t enjoy catching striped bass is just flat-out lying. What a great species—and they can be caught with so many different techniques, both fly and conventional. No matter what type of fishing you like to do, striped bass will satisfy your urge.”
Preach, man. Preach.
THE SCHOOLS: WHEN THE WATER STARTS MOVING
Out here, the numbers will melt your brain. It wasn’t rare to see hundreds—sometimes thousands—of bass pushing water across massive flats. The first time you see that much biomass moving as one, it feels like the sand itself is alive.
Patience is the currency. One wrong cast, one rushed step, and the whole thing detonates.
“Some of the schools were so large that it was important to be patient, and as they made a subtle turn in front of you, you’d try to pick a few fish off the side so you didn’t spook the mass.”
Other times they appeared in wolfpacks of 8–10, thick-backed bruisers rolling through like a gang. And once you figured out what they wanted, everything broke loose.
“Once you figured out what they were eating for the day it wasn’t hard to quickly put numbers boat-side.”
The bite wasn’t small-fish mania either. There are tanks in this system, and the photos we saw prove it—thick 40-inch northern giants that look more like striped tuna than stripers.
“I may not have caught a 40-inch Quebec striped bass, but I certainly saw enough pictures and heard enough stories of them to make a trip back up there.”
That’s a declaration, not a reflection.
That’s unfinished business.
WATER THAT MAKES YOU FEEL SOMETHING
There’s a moment every angler knows—the one where the world slows down, the rod feels like a live wire, and the fish digs into the earth like it’s trying to pull you through the surface. That moment hits different in Quebec.
Maybe it’s the wildness of it—the silence, the standing granite, the feeling that you’re fishing somewhere unspoiled.
Maybe it’s knowing that this fishery is still new, still raw, still something you can watch become legendary.
There’s something powerful about poling on a white sand flat with pine trees towering overhead, watching a dark shape tracking toward your fly, feeling your heartbeat try to punch out of your chest. It’s a combination of tropical adrenaline and northern wilderness grit—and I don’t know anywhere else where you can feel that.
Carter said it with the excitement of a kid about to steal home plate:
“Finding myself in Quebec—typically an Atlantic salmon destination—but now targeting striped bass on the flats with foliage was something that got me really excited. As I did my research, I realized many of these flats had schools of hundreds and even thousands of fish, and some flats had smaller groups of larger fish.”
This is the kind of place you don’t just visit once.
You plant a flag there.
You swear a blood oath to return.
THE MISSIONS BEYOND THE FLATS
The flats were the beating heart of the trip, but the intention was bigger. We trailered up my boat too—planning to explore deeper edges, drop-offs, channels, and bigger water looking for true trophy bass. Gaspé Coastal Lodge allows for that versatility: DIY exploration, skiff guiding, fly, spin, topwater, anything goes.
The unknown was part of the energy.
The possibility of discovering untouched piles of monster bass lingered in every mile we ran.
We didn’t find our 40-inch unicorn—not yet. But the preview was enough to make this destination a new chapter in striped bass lore.
THE PLACE
Gaspé Coastal Lodge isn’t fancy marble hallways and lounge music. It’s authentic Canadian fishing culture—good food, real conversation, logs crackling in the fireplace, and gear drying by the heaters at night. The guides are salty, skilled, and passionate. The staff cares. It feels like home.
This is the kind of lodge where friendships get built, plans get hatched, and return trips get scheduled before you even leave.
A NEW FRONTIER FOR STRIPER FREAKS
If you love striped bass, you owe it to yourself to fish this place. If you love sight-casting, you really owe it to yourself. If you’re the type who wants to discover something before Instagram ruins it, book your ticket yesterday.
I only had a couple of days on the water this round, but I saw enough to know this is the northern flats fishery the world hasn’t met yet.
“The scene itself was spectacular—shallow sand flats with pine trees and rock cliffs. I might’ve only gotten a couple days of striped bass fishing in, but I saw enough to know this is a destination fishery if you enjoy sight-casting to striped bass.”
TIDEBANDITS.COM VERDICT
Gaspé Coastal Lodge is the most exciting striped bass frontier in North America.
It’s bonefishing energy in a northern wilderness setting, packed with fish that fight like they’re being chased by wolves. It’s raw, uncharted, visually stunning, and fueled by a comeback-story population of stripers now thriving in a place most anglers don’t even know exists.
Not catching a 40-inch fish this round wasn’t a disappointment—it was motivation.
The unfinished business guarantee.
The story isn’t over.
It’s just beginning.
We’ll be back.
Lodge Contact Info
Gaspé Coastal Lodge:
- Address: 274 Route 299, Cascapédia-Saint-Jules, QC G0C 1T0, Canada
- Email: lodge@gaspecoastal.com
- Website: gaspecoastal.com