So, yesterday I took a couple of buddies out for springers. We got in at 0 dark thirty and headed out to the spot.
Webb was along because he's been wanting to catch a salmon for a while, and had been having trouble doing it. The night before, over a beer in the motel, Webb was singing the blues: "Guys, I never catch any fish. It's really nice of you to bring me out Andrew, but I never catch fish. The guys next to me catch fish, but I don't catch fish."
Now, given the recent luck that the Silver Hilton has enjoyed, I wasn't too worried, but every streak must end sometime, and I have to confess a wee bit of concern...
It was a slow morning, and actually fairly slow all day, compared to last week. We had nothing by about 10 o'clock, though a few were being caught. We had tried turning our backs on the rods, making coffee, sleeping, all the classic tricks. So, eventually we got hungry, broke out the stove, and started to make breakfast. BOOM, the rod goes down, and we float after a nice little breakfast fish.
We continued through the day, and it was much slower than last week. EVentually we got another little one, about 10 lbs, and then we took Webb back to the dock. Bill and I returned to the bar to continue our work, as only Webb, he who never catches fish, had thoroughly skunked us by this time, though Bill lost one earlier.
About 4 o'clock. Bill's rod bends down in that ponderous, assured way that only a fish of size has. He sets the hook, and the fish takes off downtream assertively. I get the other rod and sacks in, and we prepare to drift out.
All of a sudden, the fish takes off on a run that gives new meaning to ripping drag! It is screaming out, and Bill said later that the rythic action that a salmon has, had disspaeared, and the feeling was now as if the line was hooked to an F-250 in second gear.
I realized that we had been herscheled. Sure enough, 100 yards out, a sealion surfaced with our fish in his jaws. The fish was huge - easily 25 lbs, maybe 30. Probably a record for the day. Heck, maybe it was fifty lbs. However, by now it was thoroughly dead, and it had one of my best plugs in it's jaws still. I was not about to give up.
"Reel like a (like really fast-cb) I yelled, as I took off after the seal at full kicker throttle. We chased after the seal, putting all the pull on him that 65 Tufline can give.
We circled him, we ran the boat at him. We cut him off. We drove at him. After fifteen minutes Bill was whipped, and we traded places on the rod. Twice, we managed to get the seal to drop the fish, but he got it back each time. Finally, we gave up, 2 miles downriver. I turned the line around a cleat and we motored off. It pulled the fish away from him!!
"Take the kicker", I yelled, running for the big motor, thinking I could ski the fish away. Alas, my big motor didn't immediately start, and he got it again! When I finally got the motor started and we got some water between us, the line came back, sans fish, plug and sinker.
Sigh.
This is a testimony to 3/0 siwash hooks. That hook didn't come out, despite a pull from 40lb leader and 175 horses on one end, and 800 lbs of seal on the other.
I'll miss that plug.
Anyway, we got one more, and missed two more after that, but they were somewhat anticlimatic, and I didn't even take pictures.
[ 12-14-2003, 01:02 PM: Message edited by: Silver Hilton ]
Big game on the Columbia
timinthegorge
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