Little Hawk
Active Member
Howdy,
What do you think? We're all in love with same favorite pastime and surely we all recollect that one 'special day' out on the water where it seemed the 'Gods' were smiling on us.
So, why not... dive-in, tell a story...
'It's not always about 'meat'...
August 1979.
Cowans Point/Southeast tip of Bowen Island.
Buddy and I lauched the old Fiberform (18'/Merc IO) from Horshoe Bay before first light and headed across to Bowen; trolled for over two-hours amidst nearly 150 boats; so many boats you could walk across them. Typical Saturday morning gong show. Didn't hear one reel sing. Saw no one reach for a net. No fish around.
Slack tide comes. I snuggle up close to the rocks, find 150/ft and drop anchor. Everyone else keeps trolling, yelling at each other for getting in the way.
I discover I only had 8/lb and 15/lb leader-line with me. I was feeling 'Ted Peck'ish' so I chose to run with the 8/lb...
I hook up my 'live-herring', send it to the bottom, reel up ten feet then put it in the rod holder. Buddy goes to 40/ft to cover the coho traffic.
I'd just sat down and poured a coffee and was taking a sip when I noticed a gentle 'flick' of the rod-tip... then another.
F -in' rockfish - was my first inclination.
I was so wrong...
As my old 'Steelite' reel began to smoke, the rod nearly snaps as it doubles under the boat. I spill coffee everywhere as I dive for my rod.
As the 'BIG-FISH' heads for Seattle - tearing nearly 200/yds of line off in his first run - I then wish I'd gone with the 15/lb leader.
No sooner did the big-guy finish his first run then he does a 180 turn and comes running directly back at us. I'm reeling like a machine tryin' to catch-up with him. My line is slack, blowing in the wind. My heart is pounding, my knees are weak.
I'd never hooked such a fish.
Buddy gets his line into the boat. I'm freakin'... screaming at him to tie a float to the anchor line and toss it so we can power-up and chase him. Buddy's tryin' his best to calm me down.
The fish surfaces - breaking the surface, slow like a killer whale -25/yds off starboard. The pink stripe on his side is an easy 3-ft long. I gasp then look at buddy. He's in the 30 to 40/pound class... I see my picture on the front page of the Vancouver Sun... back in them days, a 30/plus fish was front page news in the Lower Mainland.
He heads around the bow... I jump through the windshield... I'm on the bow still yelling at buddy to toss the anchor and fire-up the motor... he's still tryin' to calm me down. My knees are weak, still shaking. I watch as he breaks me off on the anchor line. My heart sinks.
After I stopped cryin - and bitchin at buddy for not tossing the anchor - we got busy and minutes later we were both fishing off the bottom. Still, no one else in the sea of boats has caught a fish.
Boats began trolling past us, real close. People yelling at us... "What are you using?" "How deep?" "How big was he?"
"Big as a seal!" I yell, cocky as hell.
Not five minutes passed when buddy says, " Hey... look at my line."
I look to see his line moving slowly through the water (aft) against the current. I knew something had his line. Then I look at my line to see that it too, is moving through the water (aft) same as his.
'We're both on the same fish... my line is likely tangled with his' I thought.
Again, I was so wrong.
Both of stood at the stern holding our rods then watched as our lines came together, crossed, then went their seperate ways.
'Double-header!' I yelled in disbelief.
My fish comes up from 150/ft then breaks the surface like a sea-launched ICBM, does a double-flip with six-feet of air under him, then hits water with a mighty splash. Over the next 10-minutes he continued to jump like a juvenile-rainbow on steroids. Our reels were smokin'... one minute I'm on the bow scrappin' with mine while buddy is busy with his at the stern, then they'd run, we'd change positions, he's on the bow, I'm at the back. It's crazy, total chaos. We're hootin' and hollerin. We're in heaven.
It seemed then that everyone else out there stopped fishin' and were floating around just watchig us - with mouths agape - as these two guy's in an old beater Fiberform put on a clinic in - How to catch salmon.
Finally my fish began to run out of gas. I had him holding in the gentle current at the side of the boat, straight down about 10/ft below the surface. I'm looking over the side at him. Buddy's busy so I'll have to net him myself. Another quick look down at him (he's an easy 25/lb'er) his tail is swaying slowly in the current, he's holding, resting.
I check the drag on the reel again then with my free hand I reach for the net on the other side of the boat; it's all tangled up with a bunch of stuff under the gunwhale. I'm off balance, cussing alound as I wrestle the net.
Suddenly, there's a huge pull on the rod. He runs, off the stern... breaks me off on the prop. Two seconds, he's gone.
Minutes later we netted buddy's fish. Beautiful 19/lb Spring.
That day, we were the 'Kings!"
Cheers,
Terry
What do you think? We're all in love with same favorite pastime and surely we all recollect that one 'special day' out on the water where it seemed the 'Gods' were smiling on us.
So, why not... dive-in, tell a story...
'It's not always about 'meat'...
August 1979.
Cowans Point/Southeast tip of Bowen Island.
Buddy and I lauched the old Fiberform (18'/Merc IO) from Horshoe Bay before first light and headed across to Bowen; trolled for over two-hours amidst nearly 150 boats; so many boats you could walk across them. Typical Saturday morning gong show. Didn't hear one reel sing. Saw no one reach for a net. No fish around.
Slack tide comes. I snuggle up close to the rocks, find 150/ft and drop anchor. Everyone else keeps trolling, yelling at each other for getting in the way.
I discover I only had 8/lb and 15/lb leader-line with me. I was feeling 'Ted Peck'ish' so I chose to run with the 8/lb...
I hook up my 'live-herring', send it to the bottom, reel up ten feet then put it in the rod holder. Buddy goes to 40/ft to cover the coho traffic.
I'd just sat down and poured a coffee and was taking a sip when I noticed a gentle 'flick' of the rod-tip... then another.
F -in' rockfish - was my first inclination.
I was so wrong...
As my old 'Steelite' reel began to smoke, the rod nearly snaps as it doubles under the boat. I spill coffee everywhere as I dive for my rod.
As the 'BIG-FISH' heads for Seattle - tearing nearly 200/yds of line off in his first run - I then wish I'd gone with the 15/lb leader.
No sooner did the big-guy finish his first run then he does a 180 turn and comes running directly back at us. I'm reeling like a machine tryin' to catch-up with him. My line is slack, blowing in the wind. My heart is pounding, my knees are weak.
I'd never hooked such a fish.
Buddy gets his line into the boat. I'm freakin'... screaming at him to tie a float to the anchor line and toss it so we can power-up and chase him. Buddy's tryin' his best to calm me down.
The fish surfaces - breaking the surface, slow like a killer whale -25/yds off starboard. The pink stripe on his side is an easy 3-ft long. I gasp then look at buddy. He's in the 30 to 40/pound class... I see my picture on the front page of the Vancouver Sun... back in them days, a 30/plus fish was front page news in the Lower Mainland.
He heads around the bow... I jump through the windshield... I'm on the bow still yelling at buddy to toss the anchor and fire-up the motor... he's still tryin' to calm me down. My knees are weak, still shaking. I watch as he breaks me off on the anchor line. My heart sinks.
After I stopped cryin - and bitchin at buddy for not tossing the anchor - we got busy and minutes later we were both fishing off the bottom. Still, no one else in the sea of boats has caught a fish.
Boats began trolling past us, real close. People yelling at us... "What are you using?" "How deep?" "How big was he?"
"Big as a seal!" I yell, cocky as hell.
Not five minutes passed when buddy says, " Hey... look at my line."
I look to see his line moving slowly through the water (aft) against the current. I knew something had his line. Then I look at my line to see that it too, is moving through the water (aft) same as his.
'We're both on the same fish... my line is likely tangled with his' I thought.
Again, I was so wrong.
Both of stood at the stern holding our rods then watched as our lines came together, crossed, then went their seperate ways.
'Double-header!' I yelled in disbelief.
My fish comes up from 150/ft then breaks the surface like a sea-launched ICBM, does a double-flip with six-feet of air under him, then hits water with a mighty splash. Over the next 10-minutes he continued to jump like a juvenile-rainbow on steroids. Our reels were smokin'... one minute I'm on the bow scrappin' with mine while buddy is busy with his at the stern, then they'd run, we'd change positions, he's on the bow, I'm at the back. It's crazy, total chaos. We're hootin' and hollerin. We're in heaven.
It seemed then that everyone else out there stopped fishin' and were floating around just watchig us - with mouths agape - as these two guy's in an old beater Fiberform put on a clinic in - How to catch salmon.
Finally my fish began to run out of gas. I had him holding in the gentle current at the side of the boat, straight down about 10/ft below the surface. I'm looking over the side at him. Buddy's busy so I'll have to net him myself. Another quick look down at him (he's an easy 25/lb'er) his tail is swaying slowly in the current, he's holding, resting.
I check the drag on the reel again then with my free hand I reach for the net on the other side of the boat; it's all tangled up with a bunch of stuff under the gunwhale. I'm off balance, cussing alound as I wrestle the net.
Suddenly, there's a huge pull on the rod. He runs, off the stern... breaks me off on the prop. Two seconds, he's gone.
Minutes later we netted buddy's fish. Beautiful 19/lb Spring.
That day, we were the 'Kings!"
Cheers,
Terry