Should it become necessary, I told her, we could chase the fish with her at the bow, but that was highly unlikely. I was sure it would stop, turn tail and race back at us.
A hundred feet from our stern it came straight out of the water, landing on its side. Briefly it thrashed on the surface. When Jane lost contact with it, a collective groan came from all aboard. I shouted at her to reel. She seemed to crank the handle forever before the rod tip dropped again and thumped up and down. She was back in contact with it. I tested the drag—it was fine.
“Keep your rod up and keep pressure on it.”
“What the hell do you think I’m doing?”
“You’re doing just fine. Keep it up.”
The fish gave line and took line, but gradually its runs became shorter and it spent time cruising around the boat ten feet below the surface. Everyone knows water magnifies. When the salmon came close to the surface it looked like a young orca, and questions arose about whether the landing net was big enough or whether it was a shark. Sten and I kept our peace and let the group speculate. Jane had been on her feet playing this fish for nearly forty minutes and her right arm was starting to shake. Each time the fish took another run, she exhaled in exasperation.
When the salmon slipped past the stern of the boat, barely two feet under water, I saw that the lure was across its mouth and that the knot looked worn. I was sure the line would not take another run, so I signalled to Sten to wet the net and prepare to bring the fish on board.
A good man on the net is as important as the fisherman. Sten was a master. In all the years we fished together, I never saw him knock a fish off a line. To be skilled with the net means anticipating the movement of the fish so that the net is placed in front of it at the right moment. If this is done properly, the fish will swim headfirst into the net and to the bottom of the basket.
I explained to Jane how she should slowly lift the head of the fish so it was just under the surface, then steer it toward Sten. “He’ll do the rest.”
The netting was anticlimactic. Jane steered the fish smoothly toward Sten, who dipped the net in front of it and allowed it to swim into the mesh. In a single motion he locked the salmon in and swung it on board. It looked huge and gave off the characteristic sharp smell of a chinook.
While Sten tended to the fish, I took the rod from Jane’s hand and gave her a hug. The boat erupted in another roar of applause. Jeff grabbed Jane and gave her a serious kiss, which turned up the applause even more. We slapped each other on the back and shook hands. It was better than Hogmanay in Scotland. Jane was elated but clearly in serious need of a cool drink and a rest, so I told everyone to go below and have a drink while Sten and I cleared the deck and weighed the fish. Out came my trusty scales, and Sten weighed the fish. It was exactly forty-one and a quarter pounds. When I examined the knot attaching the lure to the line, I was able to break it with a slight tug. We had been lucky, and the salmon had been unlucky.
Most fishing stories end with the netting of the fish. This story has an addendum. We continued fishing for another hour in the hopes that Alice or Ethan would boat a fish. As things turned out, they had a double header—they each caught a seven-pound coho. It was a perfect ending to the charter.
Nice people, good weather and excellent fishing. You simply cannot improve on that combination. And Sten had once again lost his bet with me.
After the fish were cleaned and on ice, we stowed the gear and made our way leisurely back to the marina. I took the helm while Sten pulled out plastic bags to store the fish—this was standard procedure. We were out of heavy-duty extra-large bags, so the forty pounder had to be slipped into a standard black plastic bag.
At the dock everyone clambered off the boat in high spirits, swearing lifelong friendships had been forged. Sten lined up the plastic bags full of fish and handed them to each couple. Jane wanted to carry her fish but Jeff insisted on doing the honours. It was probably a wise decision, since Jane’s back was giving her some grief after the workout of catching the fish.
With a wave of his hand and shouts of thanks to everyone, Jeff picked up Jane’s plastic bag and swung it over his shoulder like Father Christmas with his sack of gifts. Sten and I watched, incredulous, as the bag hit his back, split open at the seam and the prize fish slipped into the ocean between the dock and the boat. It was over in an instant.
Have you ever seen shock and guilt written across someone’s face? Pride and jubilation were replaced with adolescent embarrassment. Jeff was so stunned he couldn’t utter a word. Desperately he looked into the water between the boat and the dock, pointing but still mute.
Finally he found his voice. “Get it!” he exploded. “You’ve got to get it back!”
In unusual circumstances people respond in unusual ways. To my surprise Jane doubled over with laughter. She laughed so hard I thought she was going to do herself some damage.
Jeff was stupefied. Between them they looked like characters from a commedia dell’arte play. She laughed hysterically as he skipped around her, saying, “It’s all right, honey, I’ll get it. I’ll get it back!”
I thought someone had rung a gong in my ears. I could not believe the circus on the dock. Jane was still laughing as Jeff, Matt and Vic peered into the water. The entire scene required only a fellow in a top hat cracking a whip to make it into a Dali canvas.
Clearly something had to be done. I ruled out taking the plunge myself or asking Sten to shed his clothes to retrieve the fish. It crossed my mind that a scuba diver might be around, cleaning the hull of a boat. Scanning the marina with my binoculars, I spotted someone who looked to be wearing diving gear clumping along the wharf. Running until I was breathless, I caught up to a young lad still wearing his flippers, snorkel and mask. Quickly I explained what had happened and asked if he would retrieve the fish for five dollars.
Without hesitation, he introduced himself as Larry and said he would do it for nothing, but I insisted on the payment. Before I knew what was happening, Larry had removed his flippers and was jogging with me to the boat. He slipped into the cold water at the bow and for ten minutes searched underwater, only occasionally coming up for a breath of air. I became concerned about this skinny youngster spending so long in the frigid water. I was about to call off the search when he popped to the surface, spat out his mouthpiece and said the fish was directly below him, ringed by crabs, but it was too awkward to bring up. Sten rigged up a hand line with a monster hook on it and gave it to the boy, and we all waited with bated breath.
Within a few minutes the salmon was on the dock and Larry was standing at the stern of the boat wearing an oversized terry cloth bathrobe I had wrapped around him. I put the five dollars in the robe’s pocket as I draped it over his shivering shoulders. The kid’s lips were nearly blue but he was smiling with a fury.
“Wait till I tell my dad about this!”
He was shivering so much that I put some milk on the stove to make him a mug of sweet cocoa. While I was in the galley waiting for the milk to heat, Sten was double bagging the fish and giving Jeff stern instructions on how he should carry it.
“You’ve caught this fish twice,” Sten said with a slight edge to his voice. “The third time it will deserve to get away.”
Jane was still laughing. “It’s almost a shame we got the fish back,” she said. “Otherwise it might have given me a lifetime of leverage on Jeff.”
Everyone came aboard again, poked their heads into the galley and said an enthusiastic
