From The Life of a Fisherman

He dances with the boat

The rear seat of the big pick-ups was not particularly comfortable. The three sat we lined up in the stalls and gazed at the passing through the front window on the unique panorama of the Skeena river, which snaked left next to us in the direction of Pacific. The flat aluminum sport boat on the trailer behind us, to push seemed to and from the towing vehicle, should take up the salmon hot tip us, by land difficult walking distance which was. So anyway, Fred, our guide, the River had described, the we be wanted to fish today. Fred was driving the 7 liter truck, the obligatory Stanton (no, not a Stetson) pushed felt in the neck and is one of those stories from half-truths and literary invention, recited from his wealth of experience for the British Columbia became famous. Even if they had understood all details of its stories, it was undecided in the decision to believe or not, ultimately it was unable to escape but the well-managed tension and the images in the mind’s eye.

Suddenly, it was “All out”. Four fishermen from old Germany obeyed. You could simply refuse nothing Fred. With a twist and without the approach of a steering correction he put the boat on the slipway to water, moored there and parked the truck in the parking lot earlier. As we stood now with the fishing equipment in hand, full of anticipation for a new salmon adventure with the mighty King Salmon, particularly numerous rising out of the Pacific Ocean to the rivers in July. First of all, we realized that it was not so easy to come, as the quay wall was likely intended for larger vehicles in the flat boat. Then we were allowed to throw a look at the boat’s engine, a Gleaming Ford V8 with 400 HP. Such behemoth had believed no one in this small boat and Fred had to grin when he saw the four faces of enquiring and grumbled only so much power would be necessary to overcome the narrow flow channels of the river sure.

How he was right, it became clear later us.

The short journey across the ocean in the estuary, was quickly overcome. The sea was smooth like a duck pond and the boat swept with half strength and the inimitable bubbling of the V8 as the best Mustang times, about the mirror water. Sometime later we were in the River, and initially it looked after a rather leisurely River cruise. The first challenge that faced us in the way that consisted of small tree trunks with all kinds of scrub, which itself had wedged width, at a narrow point of the River at maybe 20 m on both sides. The obstacle by releasing just a passage of about 4-5 m between the menacing Palisades left and right, from which the water was compressed with powerful pressure. It looked like there was even a promotion, which was caused by the strong current at this point. The pleading look of Udo, my seat mate of Rhineland Palatinate, said what I thought: “There no boat coming through”. Shortly thereafter, when angry howled the V8 and the Jet drive brought the water behind the boat pumping:

“Fred, you want not…?”

But he wanted to.

He pushed the boat with irresistible force into the stream and squirmed through the bottleneck, so soft and supple, as if his boat with ballast from five passengers was jointed like a seal, which can change both bevel and direction at a short distance. As a result, there was no pause to rest. Obstacles and shallow water passages were handled with speed and if someone had managed to film us, then comparisons to a roller coaster ride were not excessive, so we were shaken and stirred by rapid changes in direction and strong acceleration phases. It was pure adrenaline and not for the faint of heart, because they had told us that Fred had caught last week on the same route approximately 10 cm thick trunk of a tree, which was shot by the low windshield and had damaged his boat. The aluminium parts, earlier in the week had been welded, bore a significant witness.

Finally, we reached a larger pool of Fred said here a trial would be worth in a wide river passage. He drove the boat gently on the gravel of banks of and let get out, before he made it out. When we started to prepare our tackle, it started to drizzle slightly and Fred noticed the way that would be Grizzly weather and would add:

“If you have to, then please before and not behind the Bush. Behind the big brown could wait.” And because he was under the impression that we do not take seriously his note enough, he went 20m downstream, motioned us up and had our attention when he put his forearm in addition to a powerful footprint, to spot was near the soft shore.

Thoughtfully we distributed on the banks, not to throw a glance over the shoulder in the near bushes, before we showed our indicator in the emerald green waters of the pool. Fred’s advice and we had elected a grungefarbtes iron. Boost throwing up, slowly, until it again drives back in the quarter circle on the shore. This rhythm was an hour in high tension, every moment in the expectation of the electrifying moment, the trigger is capable of a salmon bite. But nothing happened. The fish in the pool while not stingy with provocative jumps as if she wanted to show us how unsuccessful they appreciated our efforts.

I got a 60cm small specimen, a jack on the hook in the second hour, lost him but in the drill, before Fred could move him with the nets to tackle. Otherwise there was little report, except that Udo, the Palatine, exchanged his green indicator against a red. I, however, lost second parts of my three-part salmon rod with a strong discharge and had to bring laboriously again ashore the dishes, because the indicators often stated on reason. Even to think of when this action one of the salmon would have bitten. After joining the rod parts, I had pleasure once to pause and turned off the device. At this very moment, Udo hooked the fish of the day. , As he him later baptized, had to persuade one of many Kings, and was followed by an exciting drill his red “phantom”, in which Udo Sieger remained. Slightly more than 12 kg of salmon on the scale brought. That was Fred’s estimate, and no one could doubt that it was true.

Common lunch we had enough ideas also material for discussion. Unfortunately, all following tests, numerous position changes were included, not crowned with success. Against 15: 00 we began the ride home, little impressed by the numerous “hotspots” of the boat man engine, we had experienced on the outward journey. It was interesting but once again on the Pacific Ocean passage, because the wind had freshened up and there was a noticeable swell. No water for a shallow water boat like ours without keel and other structural aid. We surfed the last piece with 400 HP, known but hardly hold a course.

On the drive to the lodge, all a further anecdote a listened la Fred, told of the drift boat fishing on the Kitimat River, where his Group at the picnic by a Grizzly surprise was, which ran through the middle of the frozen anglers troupe to bring an already recorded King Salmon from the shore.

To be honest, when writing these lines, I was almost tempted to incorporate Fred’s story in my story, could me the only catch of the day, Udo not overcome but, BB´s of salmon, to sacrifice.

So is myths of Canadian salmon havens mobilise not only the imagination, but can become “Truths” of fishing life too quickly.

Gallery

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Life of Fisherman ‹ M H Rana

Source: mhrana.com

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