What's down there?

First Mate’s Log July 8, 2008
Vitner sound, Gilford Island
Broughton Archipelago
British Columbia, Canada
I decided to get a fishing license. Neither Ken or I have ever really fished. Since the license cost a whopping $106, plus the cost of lures, I better make this good. How many fish would I have to catch to pay for 100 bucks of fish protein?
I was excited to fish, and then reality it. Catching is one thing, all the rest is something else again. Does this make any sense: you put a hook on the end of a pole and drop it into the vast ocean, and hope you catch something. You can’t see your quarry, you don’t know what’s down there except kelp and logs and debris to catch the line. Would any self respecting land hunter shoot in the dark and hope that he got what he wanted?
I sat in the dinghy and jigged with a very pretty minnow looking lure for (I swear) about five minutes, when I felt like I must have picked up some kelp--the line felt heavier. I reeled it in and there was a bloody fish on the hook! I told Ken I had caught a fish, he looked over and saw that I was obviously not struggling, nor was the pole bent, and he said “No you didn’t!” Indeed the fish, which we later identified as a rock fish looked as if we had had a knock down drag out most-of-the-afternoon struggle, and hung limply from the line. “Gee, those Rock fish really put up a fight eh?” I said to Ken, feeling like I really had the touch. “They must be fatalists” I said “ and know when they‘re hooked, that they might as well through in the towel.”
Ken got me a bucket of salt water to put him in, and after I figured out how to get the hook out (man their flesh is tough)urged me to keep fishing. Inspired, I rowed the dinghy about a quarter mile against the current in order to do some drift fishing. Upon returning to the boat, Ken being ever hopeful of his wife’s new found angling skill, said “Caught anything else for dinner?”
“No honey, but I did catch something else.”
“What’s all that junk in the boat?”, he noticed, which was full of cedar branches, moss and leaves. I had gotten the lure hooked on the bottom, and wondered what my ratio of fish to snags would be in my new found avocation as a great fishing huntress. Being in an inter-tidal area, and not wanting to lose my lucky minnow, I had to figure out how to stop the boat!--and not lose the oars or the pole was starting to slip over the gunwale, and I had nothing to cut the line save my teeth. I quickly weighed the try to save the lure or the pole equation. The fate of being pole-less and unable to fish paled in comparison to the tongue lashing I knew I would receive from my captain.
Letting the line out, I rowed upstream, then took the line in again, but I quickly drifted by the snag. I had to stop the boat, so I rowed to shore, underneath the overhanging cedar boughs. Even along the shore the current was enough to pull the bow out. I stood up and, using the boughs as levers, inched my way towards the snag. I was finally successful at freeing my pretty little minnow.
Nobody talks about the experience of killing a fish, and now I know why--it’s traumatic! I had nothing to stun it with, so I wrapped a towel around him and pithed him with my trusty Leatherman right between his eyes. Though this quickly kills most creatures--cows and people come to mind--his mouth gaped--his yellow-brown flying fins flared, and I felt like I had just committed murder. He flopped and thrashed and flipped and betrayed his earlier representation as a passive fellow. He simply would not sit still for gutting, and, just like a girl, I squeaked and screamed every time he struggled. I felt like a torturess. As if all that writhing wasn’t enough, this guy exuded goo from his pores, you know, like what happens to your nose when you catch a cold. Whatever happened to going to a restaurant and just ordering the catch of the day?
I hoped it would all be worth it. After all the excitement, all I could muster was throwing him in the frying pan. Fresh and surprisingly free of bones , and Ken liked him too. And I figured I only had to catch another 20 just like him to pay for my fishing license. I can’t wait.