A Fish Tale

Please permit me the pleasure of presenting my husband -- the proud fisherman! I'll let him tell his own fish tales!

Well, by popular demand (at least a few people wanted to hear about my trip), I will tell the story. Last Wednesday, as I was preparing for my boss to be gone on another "junket", he came up to my desk and told me several people had cancelled out of his Northern Canada fishing trip. To my surprise, he asked if I would be interested in going. If I could be in Vancouver, BC the next morning, I could go. "Sure" was my response. I have been wanting to go fishing for quite a while, but never imagined going fishing in the wilds of Canada.

We left Vancouver for Port Hardy - on the northern end of Vancouver Island.

From there, the only ways to get to the fishing camp, tucked back on River's Inlet (in the coastal waters of British Columbia's mainland), was by boat (probably a day's journey) or by float plane. We opted for the planes.
I went on a "Goose". We were talking to the pilot, asking him how old the planes were. He said we were on the new one. It was built in 1944. Most of the planes were several years older.

Some from our group went on the "Beavers" -- smaller planes, built in the 1930's.

We flew over such a beautiful part of God's creation. The islands were just scattered here and there, and the water wove a tapestry of green around them.
Rivers had carved their way through the rocky mountains as they worked their way to the sea.
Finally, we arrived at the camp that would be home for the next few days. The staff was ready to welcome us.

Accommodations were what you would expect back in the bush, except for the food. The chef kept delicious food on the table for us at each meal.

We took the 17-foot boats out Thursday night for a few hours, and my partner and I didn't find any fish. It was nice to get out in nature, but we were there for fish.

Friday morning found us already finished with breakfast, and out on the water, as the sun came up. (That was the last time we saw the sun while we were there.)
A beautiful new day was dawning--one that would be filled with fish!!! (or so we hoped)

We took the boat out to the other side of the inlet (about seven miles). We watched sea lions pass near the boat. We were afraid they were beating us to all the fish. Before long, I felt a tug on the line, carefully let out a little more line, then pulled hard to set the hook. There it was, my first catch - a pink salmon. I had Chuck take a picture, just to prove that I really did catch a fish. (It might be the only one I catch, so I am certainly going to get proof.) After lunch the rain began. The rain slickers kept us dry, but the hands get cold and water-logged. By the end of the day, Chuck and I had each caught two "pinks".

Saturday, was spent in the rain, sometimes pretty hard. From the boat, we watched two bald eagles eating their catch on the rocks. As we got a little too close for their comfort, they took off for a nearby tree. We watched them for 5-10 minutes and they watched us even more closely. Chuck got some good pictures of the eagles, so as soon as I can get them, Jeannie will post them. We had to stay somewhat close to camp, as there were gale warnings out for the inlet. Chuck got one "pink" on Saturday, and I only had the memories of the two that got away.

Sunday morning found us out again with the wind whipping! The fishing had been best on the other side of the inlet but the water was choppy. We followed one of the guides out, and after a four-foot swell, he said if conditions didn't improve, we would head back closer to camp. The water did not get any worse, so we spent the morning fishing in the "rich" fishing spot. Chuck got a couple coho and a pink. but again, all I had was the sight of the one that got away. I was a little disappointed, but glad for Chuck.

Bad news - The float planes could not get out of Port Hardy to come and get us Sunday afternoon because of the fog. The weather at the camp was marginal, but it didn't matter since the planes couldn't get airborne. This had only happened four times in the 22 years the camp had been there (three of them while my boss was there, so he got the blame).

There was only one thing left to do and that was to go back out in the rain in search of the "big one". Five boats went out to one of the close-by spots. The other four boats had professional guides in them, and then there was Chuck and me--neither with any real fishing experience. As we slowly trolled off "The Wall" (so named because of its sharp 75-foot cliff that went right into the water), I felt a tug on the line. I let out a little more line, gave a hard pull to set the hook and BANG-- there it was! The fish took my hook and began to run. You know it is a big fish (not the small pink) when they start to run. He took off like lightning. I reeled him back in some, then off he went again. The game had begun! I worked hard to keep the line tight, and not lose him. A few more times of back and forth, and he was close enough to the boat for Chuck to get under him with the net -- a 20-pound Chinook salmon! The boats with the guides got zip - zero - nada! What a way to end the trip!

The staff there cleans and fillets the fish. When I got home Monday afternoon and opened the box with the fish that had been flash-frozen, I felt like my grandson Tano when he saw Grampa Smith's deer -- "We are rich!" What a great way to spend a long weekend!