Quatsino Sound Fishing: Day 4
[There is] a time to search and a time to give up as lost; a time to keep and a time to throw away.
Gaining and losing: two integral parts of the fishing experience. One day, you find a relatively new lure washed up on shore; the next day, after a poor cast, your favourite crankbait gets stuck in a tree. In the morning, a fish swims right into your net; in the evening, a bigger one jumps emphatically and throws your hook. On Saturday, your wife lets you go fishing; on Sunday, she makes you clean the garage. Sometimes you gain, and sometimes you lose.
On the fourth day of fishing, our crew is down to six. Late in the morning, we're one fish shy of our wild coho limit. It's my turn on one of the rods, and I turn to Doug and say: "Next one's a hatchery!" Before I know it, I'm reeling one in. Unfortunately, it tosses the hook just before Alex is able to get it in the net. Angler error, no doubt. I'm pissed off. I'm scowling. But soon after, I've got another fish on the line- and this time, I get it in the net. To make sure we're following the regulations, we've been keeping track of the species we've been catching. My dad grabs a pen and waits for Alex to identify the fish. "Coho," starts Alex in his straightforward and serious tone, "...hatchery." I try, though ultimately fail, to stifle a laugh. I must be the Babe Ruth of fishing.
Later that day, I learn a valuable lesson: the difference between bringing in a good coho and a decent chinook is huge; the power of the latter is simply phenomenal. The king starts the fight by pulling the line off the clip with ease, and taking some more to boot. These runs are something I'm not used to. But with a little help from Doug and Alex, I eventually land the fish, despite the fact that it tangled itself in the downrigger line near the boat. I'm not sure how long the fight lasted. What I am aware of, however, is that my arms and even my legs are dead tired. What I've gained in excitement, I've lost in stamina.
On the way back to the cottages, tragedy strikes. Doug, unable to suppress his urge to urinate, perhaps the result of his bladder being unaccustomed to our vastly superior Canadian beer, grabs Alex's beloved piss jug, restrained not by the fact that the boat is moving at full throttle. After finishing his business, he moves to empty it in the water. But the speed of the vessel causes him to lose his grip on the enchanted chalice, and it drops into the abyss, never to be seen again.
Doug avoids incrimination for a few hours, that is until, like Lady Macbeth, he's overcome by guilt. Rather than spilling the beans in front of the entire crew, he wisely waits until a smaller group boards the boat to pull up the crab traps. By this point, he's mustered up his courage, and so he makes his confession. Alex, scowling, gives Doug the death stare. Silence. Shuffling of the feet. Finally, Alex responds: "Do you know how long it took me to find one with a handle?!"
Fortunately, the loss of the piss jug results in the creation of a good story, one that will surely evolve into a tale of epic proportions, and one that Alex will make sure Doug never forgets.
Gaining and losing: two integral parts of the fishing experience. One day, you find a relatively new lure washed up on shore; the next day, after a poor cast, your favourite crankbait gets stuck in a tree. In the morning, a fish swims right into your net; in the evening, a bigger one jumps emphatically and throws your hook. On Saturday, your wife lets you go fishing; on Sunday, she makes you clean the garage. Sometimes you gain, and sometimes you lose.
On the fourth day of fishing, our crew is down to six. Late in the morning, we're one fish shy of our wild coho limit. It's my turn on one of the rods, and I turn to Doug and say: "Next one's a hatchery!" Before I know it, I'm reeling one in. Unfortunately, it tosses the hook just before Alex is able to get it in the net. Angler error, no doubt. I'm pissed off. I'm scowling. But soon after, I've got another fish on the line- and this time, I get it in the net. To make sure we're following the regulations, we've been keeping track of the species we've been catching. My dad grabs a pen and waits for Alex to identify the fish. "Coho," starts Alex in his straightforward and serious tone, "...hatchery." I try, though ultimately fail, to stifle a laugh. I must be the Babe Ruth of fishing.
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| My biggest fish of the trip |
Fortunately, the loss of the piss jug results in the creation of a good story, one that will surely evolve into a tale of epic proportions, and one that Alex will make sure Doug never forgets.
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