Please make it to the rail.

     I've been on enough boats to understand that there are different kinds of pukers. Me - I am a silent puker, but there are also groaners, growlers, coughers, and the dreaded try-to-hold-it-in-so-it-sprays-everywhere pukers. One trip to Oregon in 2005 yielded a close encounter with a particularly vociferous groaner. 

     I decided it would be fun to try a salmon fishing trip - having never caught a salmon in Oregon before. I booked the trip and set out early the following morning. Our boat was very small for a charter boat. There were only three passengers on board; myself, a man probably in his late 40's, and his elderly father. The weather that day was decent, the swells probably in the 3-5 foot range - not flat calm, but certainly very manageable. After a short jaunt to the fishing grounds we set out the down-riggers and cut-plug herring and began to slowly troll our way around, searching for promising looking blips on the sonar. 

     I think we trolled for about a half hour without incident. However after that, it soon became clear to everyone on board that the elderly gentleman was having a less-than-pleasant morning. Did I mention that he was a groaner? Well, he was a groaner, and an enthusiastic one at that. He tried to tough it out, and his son tried his best to help, but he just kept getting worse and worse. I tried to act like I didn't notice or mind , but on a small boat there is really nowhere to go and not much to do if the fish aren't biting - which they weren't. In the end I just managed to fight the urge to plug my ears, pinch my nose, and shut my eyes. 

     He finally ended up sitting on a cooler next to the rail and turning and leaning over the rail when the need arose. This worked for a while until he stopped making it all the way over the rail.... Anyway, I'll spare you the juicy details, but suffice it to say that it was a very noisy, smelly, and nasty hour until they finally asked the captain to take them back to the dock. 

     As we motored back to the harbor, I wondered what would become of my morning. Much to my relief the captain said we could go back out. He gave me the option of trolling for salmon some more - which by that point had lost it's appeal, or going to the old standby - bottom fishing. I opted for the latter. 

     It was fun having the boat and captain all to myself. He took me to some spots that I hadn't fished before. Most of the time we were within about a quarter mile of the shore. It was obvious that there were a lot of fish around and judging by the size of the fish we found I'm guessing that the fishing pressure there is light. Several times I saw groups of fish hitting something on the surface within casting range, so I sent my jigs over to greet them - something you normally can't do on a charter boat full of people. It didn't take long until we both had our limits. My biggest black rockfish for the day was about twice the size as my previous best! I didn't measure or weigh it but I think it's pretty safe to guess it at 7 or 8 lbs! That made for a very good ending to a day that got a rocky - and nauseating - start.

My personal best black rockfish

Da bulls

     The summer of 2005 was the summer of the North Fork Clearwater for me. There was a period when I went camping up there four weekends within six weeks. Beautiful scenery, gin clear water, and tons of spunky little westslope cutthroat are always common denominators there, but every once in a while a creature with a bad attitude comes out to play. This is the story of my first encounter with that creature.

     I had been anticipating this particular trip for weeks. The weather was right, the spring runoff was done running off, and Justin and I had two full days of fishing ahead. We arrived late Thursday night, set up camp and quickly went to bed.

     I was the first one up and I didn't waste any time wetting my line. We had camped at the mouth of Skull Creek, so that's where I started. There are some nice holes down low on Scull Creek, and it didn't take long until I had caught a couple feisty little cutthroat - who weren't all that much bigger than my castmaster. Hoping for something a little bigger, I worked my way out of the mouth of the creek and into the North Fork proper. The results were as expected; the fish got bigger. After landing three or four trout up to about 15 inches and working my way a hundred yards up the bank from the creek, I noticed Justin make his way down the bank and join the fun.

      I like to try to figure out new ways to present baits and lures more naturally so I began to experiment with different speeds and angles of retrieve for my lure. I felt pretty confident about one trick I figured out: I cast out about 45 degrees across the river downstream, and without reeling, let the current work the action of the lure. This also sent the lure down deeper into the hole. I later found out that swinging a lure or fly like that is a very common technique, but I didn't know that at the time.

     I could feel every little flap of the lure as it worked it's way through the bottom of the hole. About halfway through my third cast while doing this, my lure stopped and instantly got heavy. At first I thought I hooked a rock but I set the hook anyway just in case. Sure enough I felt the head shakes of a fish, but not like the quick short shakes of the small trout I had been catching, these were the long, slow, and dangerous head shakes of a big fish!

     You'd probably think that this is when I would have gotten excited, but it's not. I had hooked what felt like a really big fish there before and reeled it in gingerly, hollering for everybody within earshot to come see the huge trout I was about to catch, only to discover that what I had hooked was a big monster sucker fish.

     So not being one to be duped twice, I of course assumed that I had again tied into another sucker. I tightened my drag and promptly began to horse the fish in. Before long the front end of the fish came into view. I had expected to see a brown puckered sucker mouth, but instead I saw a big gaping white mouth pointed at me and two big wings for pectoral fins with gleaming white leading edges.

     It took me a couple of seconds to process this new information as I hadn't seen anything like it on my line before. When it finally dawned on me what I was looking at, I immediately let up on the drag and yelled at Justin, "HEY I GOT A BULL TOUT"!

      He scrambled across rocks and logs and finally got to me and I handed him my net which now looked comically small. He waded up to his knees, shoes and all, and made valiant efforts to net it but the fish was at least a foot longer than the net. Every time the net touched him he freaked out and shot back out into the river. Finally on about the 8th try everything came together and his head went straight to the bottom of the net and Justin grabbed the tail to keep the monster fish from falling out. We got him!

     We snapped one quick picture and immediately put it back in the water to revive it. I took a moment to admire its vivid emerald green skin, and the surprisingly bold pink spotting on it's flanks before letting it kick out of my hand.

No, I'm not missing a tooth, the picture just smudged that way when I scanned it... really, I'm telling the truth.

I think this was my favorite part; watching the biggest trout of my life swim away to fight another day.

     I could have gone home a happy dude after that but we still had a lot more fishing to do. I made a mental note to buy a bigger net and we fished on.

     We fished near our campsite for most of the morning, then packed up and headed upstream. We caught fish at pretty much every hole we stopped at; cutthroats, a few hybrids, and Justin even landed a beauty of a smallmouth.

     One hole we stopped at had a huge rapid at its head. Of course, being boys we had to go check out the big waves and throw rocks in them and all that fun stuff. Right next to the biggest part of the rapids, we were surprised to find a perfectly cylindrical hollowed out section of rock that looked like the perfect holding spot for a fish. We could see the bottom about 6 or 7 feet down through the calm water in the cylinder even though the white water was just feet away. We both dropped our lures down and began jigging them to see if there was anyone home. I think we both about jumped out of our skins when a shadow, which was at least as big as my bull trout, shot out from the wall of the cliff and grabbed Justin's lure! He set the hook and tried his best to keep the fish in the sliver of slack water. I got down on my belly and tried to stretch down with my tiny net and land his fish. This went on for a very long 5 or 6 seconds, then the big bull made a break for freedom, reached the white water, and broke the line.

     I left Justin for some much needed grieving time and made my way downstream again to fish in the hole some more. Along my way I found myself creeping along a narrow, slanted piece of rock with a thin coating of damp moss on it. This was the last tricky spot before reaching the hole again. I was hemmed in on one side by white water, and on the other by a sheer rock wall, there was no way around it. I crept along, and I had almost made it to the safety of the dry flat rock just past it when I found out just how slick wet moss can be. Time slowed down and my feet were no longer underneath me. I remember thinking, in what must have only been a fraction of a second, that I didn't want to loose my fishing pole if I was going to go swimming. So in a quick maneuver that would have made Keanu Reeves proud, I twisted around and gently tossed my rod up onto the safety of the rock ledge just before I was swallowed up in the white water.

     Don't worry, I managed to haul myself out of the rapid about 30 yards downstream. I retrieved my rod and kept on fishing.

     Though they don't happen often, every encounter I've ever had with bull trout attitude has been memorable. And all but one of these encounters has been on some part of the North Fork. I think that's one reason it's one of my all time favorite rivers.

     Here are some more recent pictures of the North Fork that show a little more of why I like it:

Pretty eh?

I had to shoo away an Italian plumber riding a funny little dinosaur to take this picture....

Brooke embracing her inner hippie and hugging a huge tree on the upper North Fork

Glaciers and Salmon and Bears! Oh My!

The year 2002 was full of several important milestones for me. Sure I graduated high school and went to college, but more importantly I made 2 trips to Alaska, almost got eaten, and caught some big new fish.

   Shortly after graduation my family and I drove to Prince Rupert, British Columbia to visit my mom's cousin Jim and his mom. We saw lots of sights along the way including several bears and moose. My dad and I went out on a charter boat in Prince Rupert and we caught a few salmon but overall it was a really slow day.

This was my first salmon since California with Uncle Fred. My sideburns were much more impressive by this point wouldn't you agree?

Here's my dad with his fish. He had enough sense to shave off his sideburns when the 70's ended...

     We tried for some halibut but we got skunked. I was pretty ticked off. I had heard all about how great the fishing was up there but we fished all day for three salmon and one rockfish between three of us fishing.

     I didn't want to give up just yet so I checked my bank account and decided that I could swing another trip if I found a cheap guide. So I got on the phone and started calling around. I found a guy willing to take me out for pretty cheap. Two days later I was headed back out! We trolled for salmon some more and I got one more Chinook, then we jigged for a while, but I didn't catch a dang thing. I started to think I was in for a repeat of the previous trip.

     When the tide was just right we anchored up and dropped down the biggest hooks I've ever seen baited with big chunks of salmon meat. We watched our rods not do anything for about a half hour then the tip of mine started to bounce. I grabbed the rod and set the hook into what felt like a wiggly tire. Up came my first halibut. It didn't really fight hard, it was just heavy. I knew it wasn't a big one, but I was just happy to catch something! When I started to see the fish, the captain reached up on top of the cab of the boat and produced a large and menacing looking harpoon. I thought that was a little bit of overkill, but I figured he knew what he was doing so I kept cranking on my fish. sure enough when it got to the surface, the harpoon found it's mark and I had my first halibut, a respectable "chicken" of about 20 lbs.

First halibut, harpoon-hole and all!

     Of course I went back and bragged to all of my buddies that I had caught a fish so huge that we had to harpoon it like Moby-Dick!

     The other fisherman on the boat and I caught two halibut each. He also caught an arrowtooth flounder as well - which I'm still furious about because I didn't catch one. I would have liked there to be another zero on the end of the weight of my 20 lb halibut, but I had at least caught one, so this time I went back to the dock pretty happy.

     After seeing the sights in Prince Rupert for about a week, being entertained by Jim, and jealous of his beard (I should mention that Jim also routinely plays Santa Clause at Christmas time for children living in rural communities and outlying islands near Prince Rupert, so ya he has a sweet beard), we packed up the cars and headed even farther north. Our destination this time was Stewart B.C. and just across the border, Hyder Alaska.

     The trip up there was awesome. We saw more bears and moose along the side of the road. We also saw our first glaciers of the trip.

Mama and babies!

This glacier is appropriately named "Bear Glacier"

      In the lake below the glacier were tons of tiny little icebergs that had calved off of the glacier. Apparently a popular activity is to collect ice from these little Titanic-sinkers and put it in drinks, or melt it for drinking water since it's so pure. Not being one to be left out of an enterprising activity such as that, I agreed to go 'burg-wrangling. It took a little wading in some COLD water, but I got a nice little piece of ice. We enjoyed some anticlimactically normal water after melting my catch.

My high pitched voice after this wasn't nearly as funny to me as it was to everybody else....

     Hyder Alaska ended up being the closest thing to a wild-west town that I've ever seen. It is tucked into the very tip of South East Alaska, WAY out in the middle of nowhere, just across the Canadian border. The nearest police station was a number of hours away. We even saw bullet holes in the doors of one of the buildings there.

2/3 of the town of Hyder is visible in this picture...

     Our main reason in going to Hyder (other than being able to say we went to Alaska) was the Fish Creek Bear Viewing Area. This is a large enclosed wood platform built overlooking a river where salmon come to spawn and bears come to eat, or so we were told. All we found was a large wooden platform and a small river. We left Alaska having enjoyed our stay but not having much to show for it. The trip back to Idaho took a long 24 hours.

     Shortly after returning home my buddy Justin and I - both newly fledged high school graduates looking for adventure - decided to take our own road trip at the end of the summer. Our destination - Hyder Alaska!

     The day finally came and we loaded my parent's Nissan Sentra down with 2 weeks worth of camping gear, a video camera, and who knows how many cans of mountain dew. 

     We camped our way up to Prince Rupert where we again stayed with Jim and his mom. Justin was just as impressed with Jim's beard as I was. We made good use of our time and the morning after we arrived we set out fishing with the same guide that helped me catch my first halibut a couple of months previous. We again started out trolling for salmon, and we each caught a couple of Chinook. I lost a pink salmon (which made me furious since that would have been a new species). I think the best part of the day for both of us was when we anchored and once again played the halibut waiting game.

     I think I struck first (this is my story after all!) and brought up about a 15 pounder. Justin, not being one to be left out, soon had his own battle on his hands. It was obvious that either Justin wasn't as good at fighting fish as I was, or he had on a much bigger fish, because his took way longer to bring up than mine did. After giving him a hard time for it taking so long we finally saw it and it ended up being more than twice the size of mine! The captain told him to back up so he could send the harpoon home. Justin promptly obeyed, but in doing so sat in and knocked over a bucket of water, which got him all wet. I of course thought this was hilarious. Luckily the captain managed to keep his cool, and his priorities straight and stuck the fish first then sorted things out on deck. This 40 pounder was the biggest fish either of us had ever seen! Heck, I would have been happy to take a bucket of cold water to the pants for a fish like that!

Justin with the 40 lb fish of the day!  - note the offending bucket...

Same fish different side... same bucket...

     We both caught a couple halibut, Justin's 40 pounder being the biggest for the day by far. We also caught a few other interesting things, and I got to add a couple of new species to my list: the big skate and the spiny dogfish. I mentioned earlier that fighting a halibut felt like fighting a wiggly tire, well fighting the skate felt like fighting a regular, non-wiggly tire. It was by far the least enthusiastic fight I've ever encountered, it was just dead weight the whole way up.

Big skate

Spiny Dogfish.
Note to self: when holding a shark of any kind, you might want to keep your hand a little
farther away from its mouth... don't worry that's shark blood, not Bryan blood.

     Next we headed up to Hyder with high hopes of finding salmon and bears. We got a hotel there, partly because we were too chicken to camp in such high-density bear territory, and partly because our mommies said we had to (because of all the bears).

     We headed out to the Fish Creek Bear Viewing Area with high hopes of actually viewing some bears this time. As soon as we got close it was obvious that something was happening because there were many dozens of cars parked all along the road. We parked about 200 yards from the entrance to the elevated wooden platform. As we made for the platform, we started seeing spawning pink salmon in this tiny little tributary that was about five feet wide and right next to the parking area. We stopped and watched, having never seen spawning salmon before.

Here you can see the female lying on her side and flapping her tail to dig the 'redd' (nest) while several males wait to make their move. The big male right next to the female is the largest, most dominant fish. He kept chasing off the other smaller males behind him. 

Here's another picture of the same fish. The big male and the female are next to each other while two smaller males wait in the background to see if they can sneak in when the time is right.

     After watching the spawning pinks long enough, we left them to have some much needed privacy, and continued on down towards the platform. We hadn't gotten more than half way there when Justin grabbed my shoulder and quickly said something, but whatever he said fell on deaf ears because I immediately looked over and saw what he was looking at. Directly across the tiny stream from us, sitting on the bank calmly munching on a salmon was a huge battle scarred grizzly bear! The bear frankly didn't seem to care or notice that we were there, he had his salmon so he was happy. Justin and I on the other hand were both a little puckered, we were after all close enough to spit on a huge wild grizzly! We managed to stand and watch him eat for as long as we could muster, then as calmly as possible continued on our way. 

     On my first trip there that summer the platform was almost empty. This time around that was not the case. There were several hundred people packed into the safety of the platform. It was a little unnerving at first because even though we were in a big crowd of people, you could almost hear a pin drop because nobody wanted to disturb the bears. The clicking of cameras and the winding of film were the only sounds other than the bears splashing around after the salmon and periodically arguing with each other. 

The platform at the Fish Creek Bear Viewing Area

     We hung out for half the day, and saw about 9 or 10 bears. They were mostly Grizzlies, but there were a few black bears as well. In this part of the river there were both pink and chum salmon.

I'm not usually one to sit back and watch somebody else fish, but this time I made an exception.

I definitely need to make a return trip, this time with a much better camera...

     The battle scarred grizzly that tried to eat us before came out and put on a show. In talking to some of the regulars there, we found out that he was a common sight there, and that he was by far the biggest bear that they see on a regular basis!

     Justin and I had our fill of watching others catch all the fish so we went and found our own river to fish in. We didn't stay long because of all the fresh bear sign and half eaten salmon carcasses, just long enough for both of us to catch a decent male pink salmon or two.

Male pink salmon - sweet revenge after loosing the one on the boat earlier in the week!

     After deciding we'd had enough bear excitement for one day we decided to keep exploring. We ended up going up a little windy road up a huge mountain. We found another glacier, this one called Salmon Glacier (creative name right?). We pulled over when the road became too much for my little Nissan and decided to hike to the top of the mountain. We saw lots of ptarmigan and found yet another glacier on top of the mountain (I don't know the name of this one, probably something original like 'Glacier-On-Top-Of-Mountain', or 'Slippery-Because-It's-Made-of-Ice-Glacier'). 

     We didn't know what else we could do to improve our day after climbing an Alaskan mountain, watching bears catch salmon, and catching a few of our own so we called it a trip and began the amazingly long trip home. 

     

     We declared our first road trip without parental supervision a success. We drove for over 60 hours, caught lots of cool fish, saw a ton of bears (none of which managed to eat us), and we had a pretty dang good time along the way.

To Be or Not To Be - Sometimes It's Not To Be.

     Loosing a big fish is probably one of the most frustrating events that can befall a fisherman.  Loosing several consecutively can be downright maddening.  Unfortunately, I have had my share of lost fish and lost species.  Without a doubt, the most painful of which occurred on the island of Kauai in June of 2001.

     I won't spend much time on the non-fishing portion of the trip but I will say that (on the risk of sounding cliché) Hawaii was by far the most beautiful place I've ever seen. There was snorkeling, body surfing, sugar cane and pineapple fields, mountains to explore, and of course endless species of fish to count. 

Snorkeling was my favorite. However, this trip definitely falls into the "I-wish-I-had-a-better-camera-at-the-time" category.

A sunny evening from our room.

I had never even heard of spinner dolphins before these acrobatic little critters showed up beside our boat jumping up in the air and spinning like tops! Here's a token nature video to check out if you've never seen spinner dolphins before.

We took a drive up Waimea Canyon which is also known as the Grand Canyon of Hawaii. Don't ask me why...

"Woa dude, Mr. Turtle is my father. The name's Crush."

This little beauty is known as the Humuhumunukunukuapua'a.  You could also call it the reef triggerfish if that's easier to wrap your tongue around.

      My best friend Justin, my dad, and I went on two fishing trips while we were there. On the first, our quarry was peacock bass in a jungle lake high in the mountains. This was where the frustration began. Peacock bass were and still are very high on the list of fish that I would give my right arm to catch. Our guide was pretty good about finding the fish, but we unfortunately weren't too good about sealing the deal. The peacocks were spawning in the shallows and he could see them clearly since he was smart enough to bring polarized sunglasses, we weren't that smart, and that is not a mistake that I make anymore.
      Justin, being the best bass fisherman out of the three of us managed to catch a couple largemouths on a spinner bait, but we just couldn't get any peacocks. Finally, right before we had to leave to catch a flight to another island, our guide found a very promising bed with two peacocks sitting patiently on it just waiting to be caught. Unfortunately our guide was the only one who could see them with his sunglasses, so he tried to coach us where to cast and when to set the hook. This went over like a lead balloon. Justin and I both made multiple casts into the nest and we both apparently got bites, not that I could tell. Finally the guide yelled "Set!" and Justin jerked back his rod and the water exploded in a flash of gold and red as the peacock was hooked! We were all ecstatic for the 5 or 6 seconds that this lasted, then we all cried a little when the fish threw the hook. That was as close as any of us came to catching one that day, and that made the peacock bass the first species that I almost caught on that ill-fated trip.
      We tried to nurse our pride and lick our wounds by going body surfing and snorkeling over the next day or two. I got an extra kick out of this (no pun intended) because the month before this trip Justin had badly broken his ankle in a misplaced slide into home plate during one of our high school baseball games. As a result, he could only wear one flipper while snorkeling and it took great effort to keep from swimming in circles!
     The snorkeling and surfing was fun, and we even went on a night snorkeling trip complete with sightings of an octopus and several large moray eels. But we hoped to regain some of our fishing prowess by going on a deep-sea fishing trip. So we booked the trip and soon thereafter, the three of us set out again with high hopes of huge fish. We trolled with four or five big marlin lures that looked like huge squid skipping along the surface behind the boat. I was shocked when one of the reels started screaming as a fish pulled out line! At that time, I happened to be sitting in the fighting chair, so I was elected to catch the fish (this was completely innocent I swear).  I don't remember much about the fight, but since we were using broomstick rods and line that seemed as thick as a pencil, the 20 pound fish at the end of the line never really had a chance. Soon the gaff-man pulled over the rail a long skinny blue fish with beautiful silver stripes on the sides. "Ono!" called out the deckhand. "Oh yes!" I yelled in reply. He laughed and explained that the fish was called an ono in Hawaiian, and a wahoo in English. Whatever it was called, it looked huge to me, and it was certainly beautiful! 
     Justin was next in the hot seat, and he also soon brought in an almost identical wahoo. Then it was my dad's turn and he also caught another one just like the first two. Sooo... then it was my turn again, legitimately, without any funny business on my part at all. I was pretty pleased with how much action we had already had and didn't really expect any more bites for the day but I patiently waited in the fighting chair again.  Soon, sure enough the scream of one of the reels filled the stern of the boat and I wondered if it would be another wahoo or something new. This fish seemed to be different. The three wahoos before had made pretty short runs as soon as they were hooked, then they stopped and we reeled them in; this fish on the other hand, just kept on going and never stopped. When the deck hand finally got the rod to me, the reel was already a couple hundred yards of line lighter. A buzzing in my ears began and things started to go blurry when all of a sudden the deck hand yelled "Marlin! It's a marlin!". This had to be a joke right? There was no way I could catch a marlin. You had to put in some serious time on the water or get REALLY lucky to get one of those monsters that sometimes reached weights of well over 1,000 pounds.  I couldn't get that lucky could I?? No. These thoughts all flew through my head in a split second, just before the line stopped screaming out of the reel and the rod was no longer hard to hold on to. I reeled frantically, hoping the fish had just turned and started swimming towards me. But it hadn't. There was no fish there. It was over as abruptly as it had begun. The deck hand who had seen it jump guessed that it was around 400 pounds. The buzzing in my ears continued. That was not how I hoped that would end. 
     I'm not sure how much longer we trolled after that before the next bite came, but it did come. The captain called out "Mahi mahi!" which certainly got my attention. This fish (a dolphin in English, or sometimes called by it's Spanish name - dorado) was just as high up on my "most wanted species list" as the peacock bass! Maybe there would be hope for redemption after all! Maybe not. This fish wasn't even hooked as long as the marlin. After a short run, the hook pulled out, and we just kept on trolling. 
     I considered giving up and letting somebody else have a chance, the fish gods were after all, clearly mad at me. But I wanted to try just one more time. So I sat there in the fighting chair, and sure enough a few minutes later, a reel screamed and I got ready. This one never jumped but just kept on going, and going, and going. Then it stopped, and so did my heart. I had lost another fish! This was just not my day! I hung my head in shame and hopped out of the fighting chair to give Justin a much deserved turn.  After they reeled the lure back in, they could tell by the teeth marks on it and by how strong the fish seemed by his powerful run, that it was a big yellowfin tuna. It was certainly not my day.
     Of course, by that time I had successfully sucked all of the good fishing luck out of our boat and we never got another bite for the rest of the day, so we trolled back to the marina. I realize that it's called "fishing", not "catching", and sometimes you loose a fish or two, but dang! I had come so close to catching four species that I never expected to get a chance at catching. That was almost more than I could take. I was, and still am really happy about landing the wahoo, but 1 for 5 is not the kind of batting average that I'm used to while fishing!
     I'm not complaining. It was still an awesome trip that I'll always remember. And I've made peace with the fact that I'll just have to go back and try again to catch my marlin... and my peacock bass... and the dorado... and a yellowfin tuna. I'm well aware that it wouldn't be near as exciting if you always caught the fish, and that it's "the one that got away" or in this case "the four that got away" that keeps me coming back for more.

The spoils of our day of trolling in the Pacific. Note the cast on Justin's leg that didn't slow him down in the least!

King of the American

     Many people remember important milestones in their lives: first car, first date, first job, etc. However, most fail to recognize truly important events such as first salmon, first fish over 10 lbs, and first fish in a new state. Not me; these are things to take note of. 

     When I was a kid we had yearly Jones-Family reunions. We rotated each year between aunt's and uncle's houses in various states. I remember bits and pieces of most of them, but there was one that still sticks with me in vivid arm-throbbing detail. 

     My Uncle Fred lives near Sacramento California and is a bit of a fishing nut. In 2000 the reunion was at his house and the Chinook salmon happened to be running while we were there, so Fred offered to take me fishing (and immediately shot up the leader board in the uncle-of-the-year contest). 

     We set out early in the morning, and after stopping to get me a license, we unloaded the boat into the American River (a tributary of the Sacramento River). As we motored to his lucky spot, Fred readied the gear; which, by my small-trout-fishing standards at the time, seemed almost comically over-sized. I couldn't see why a fish would want to eat a four inch long silver blade spinning around a gaudy string of pink beads; though I was pretty impressed when I learned that Fred had made the spinners himself - even if they were obviously WAY too big to actually catch anything. He was pretty meticulous about polishing the blades of our jumbo sized lures till they shone just right. He seemed confident, so we sent them overboard and began to troll up and down the river.

      As we trolled, I considered our prospects for success. I had tried my hand at salmon fishing at home in Idaho on the Clearwater River, but I of course had never caught anything, nor even had so much as a nibble. I considered salmon to be somewhere in mythological status between Bigfoot and the Easter Bunny. I knew people caught them, but only seasoned veteran fishermen, not a rookie like me. So I expected this fishing trip to be as (un)successful as my previous attempts and amount to little more than a fun boat ride with my uncle (which, don't get me wrong, was still awesome). However, we certainly didn't have any chance of actually catching anything.

     The morning progressed and we began to see a few salmon jumping out of the water, seemingly at random. I entertained myself by trying to guess where the next fish would jump, only occasionally remembering that I needed to pay attention to the rod in my hand. The monotony was suddenly broken when from the seat behind me my uncle yelled, "Fish on!" Before long he had the biggest fish I had ever seen flopping at his feet! I was forced to reconsider my pessimistic prognosis from earlier; they evidently could be caught! I was pretty pumped since this was the most action I had ever seen while salmon fishing. We checked our spinners and after finding them in working order, sent them back down again. I was watching for more jumping fish when somebody started pulling on my rod. I remember it taking half a second to register what was going on. It couldn't be a fish pulling that hard could it? Finally it dawned on me to set the hook and I started fighting the biggest fish of my life! I'm sure I sounded giddy with excitement while doing my best to bring it in. Things were going fine as far as I could tell until the fish headed for a houseboat that was anchored nearby. I tried to stop him but he eventually got tangled in the anchor rope and broke off.

     We were both pretty bummed that I lost the fish, but Fred got another fish shortly thereafter and that brightened the mood. Now it was Fred: 2, me: 0. But now I kind of knew what to expect, and I was ready and waiting for a chance to redeem myself. Luckily I didn't have to wait too long for that chance! I set the hook, and this time there were no houseboats in sight! 

     I don't remember how long the fight took; I just remember finally seeing the beast, and being amazed at how big it was - making a mental note to suggest to Fred that he get some bigger lures if we were going to go after such huge fish. The salmon made one last desperate run directly under my feet so I put the rod tip into the water as instructed and coaxed him back to the correct side of the boat. I couldn't hardly believe my luck when Fred slipped the net under it and brought it into the boat. 

     My monster Chinook weighed in at a whopping 12 lbs - not big by Chinook standards, but considering that my previous biggest fish was a 16 inch trout, my salmon looked impossibly huge to me!

Uncle Fred and I with my biggest fish ever, my first salmon, and my first fish caught in California!