Striking out on Active Pass
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by Chris Hopkin |
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I feel compelled to fess up. There is something I must say to you which is very difficult for me; something I hope you will read quickly and forget. Please do not pass this information on to anyone.
I have been completed skunked two trips in a row. Nothing, nilch, nein fish, zip. Not even a strike. We tried for hours in amongst the trollers off the middle arm. We tried everything, all depths, all speeds, all locations, and only caught one sniveling grilse. This while the commercial trollers were getting sockeye right beside us! Is there no justice?
Two days later we towed fresh herring strip, army trucks, green hootchies, white hootchies, etc., etc. for hours and hours off my favorite spot along Galiano Island just north of Active Pass. Not a strike.
My fishing world was crumbling.
With a friend and his uncle from North Carolina, I was supposed to the guide and expected to produce at least one lousy salmon. After a few hours I noticed the other two over in one corner of the boat talking very quietly about things I obviously wasn't supposed to hear. I was just able to decipher a few words like "failure" and "all talk no fish" and other derogatory terms.
The fellow from Carolina came over to me at one point, trying to be polite and said, "Don't worry about it, Chris. It's just nice to be out here." What a crock! Talk about a baldfaced lie. They wanted fish. In their boat, largely because of my performance, fish became the dreaded "f" word. Twas humiliating.
Later we had to face our respective wives at home again. They were suggesting other forms of recreation such as gardening or tennis or even tiddleywinks might not be so challenging for us; something we might do better. Even the kids were snickering.
I wonder if there's a Betty Ford type place where failed and fallen fishermen can go. We need to mingle with others who have been skunked twice in a row. We need to tell our story, and be told that there actually may be some hope for us. On the first day I'd stand and say, "Hello. My name is Bob Jones and I've been skunked twice. I need help." (It would be hard enough just getting there. Surely I wouldn't have to use my real name.) I just had a terrible thought; maybe there is no such group because everyone else is getting fish.
Actually my same friend and his uncle want to take me out again but I'm reluctant to go because of certain new conditions which have established. Apparently if I don't produce at least one salmon of keeper size I will be politely asked to walk home.
I've decided to purchase additional fishing gear for our next trip to increase our odds, and to prove that I'm serious about this mission. We will try plan A first, using regular tackle. If no fish have been boated within two hours, Plan B using my shiny new gill net will be implemented. In the unlikely event this should fail, Plan C involving the 12 sticks of dynamite will be deployed. Bet I don't get skunked this time.
Maybe I'll get one of those long pointy boats with the tall pole sticking up, hang some big old sheets on it and slowly said off into the sunset. Everyone now and then I'll drop into Safeway and buy a chunk of fish for $6 a pound.
This would be a real bargain when compared to my present costs of $50 a pound.
By the way, I do have flimsy excuses for each failed trip. To catch sockeye off the mouth you need to run at least six flashers to form what's commonly called a chatterbox. (That's why the commercial boats get them and we don't. All the flashers attract the school.) My excuse for the other trip off Galiano was the fish just weren't there. (Those are my stories and I'm sticking to 'em.)
