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Written by Bob Ellsberg
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Thursday, 31 December 2009 16:00 |
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The first time I met Wong she was battling a late November coho. Using all of her strength, she could barely move the big buck. Pull as she might, the huge shiny mass with the hooked jaw seemed to be getting the best of her. Even the cold east wind wasn’t enough to cool her brow, and the effort was taking a toll. Beads of sweat were forming on her brow and she was gritting her teeth with the effort. Tiny feet clad in rubber hip boots were losing traction as they drove into the slick clay of the streamside.
My initial reaction was to leave her alone. After all, she had more than demonstrated her determination and commitment. She was the only woman I had seen who was willing to join the men in this challenging fishery, and she asked no quarter. Her husband, Neal, was upstream doing his best to try and entice a big fish into striking, but he was paying attention to his own efforts, seemingly not even taking notice of her struggle. But finally she started sliding back, unable to gain advantage over a fish that was probably a quarter of her weight, and I decided to help.
“Let me give you a hand,” I offered. Wong took her eyes briefly from her prize salmon, and smiled wanly.
“Thank you,” she gasped.
I slid my hand into the great fish’s gill plate, took a couple of steps up the bank, and deposited the trophy in the grass in the flat meadow above. The tiny angler scampered up the slippery tree roots that provided some traction, grabbed her fish, and packed it up to her pickup on the road above. Later that day the hatchery scale would validate her pride; the big silver topped 25 pounds, biggest of the season in the coastal river.
Circuit Riders
There are two classes of anglers I see on my favorite southwest Washington river. Those who live close to the stream make up the bulk of my fishing mates. The rest are folks I call “circuit riders,” dedicated fishermen from Oregon and Washington who live in the I-5 corridor and make the rounds of many streams, leaving home in the dark of early morning and working several streams though the day. With effort, they can soon determine which streams are productive, and then concentrate their efforts on those waters whose runs are strongest. This varies widely from year to year, and in the slow years we’ve had recently, I see almost all locals. We may not be catching many, but we can easily fish several days a week.
A few days ago, I was pleased to see Wong dropping down to the stream from the bank just above me. As she reached the safety of the flat strip of turf next to the water she looked over at me and smiled, holding her hands wide apart to pose the universal fishing question, “Are you catching anything?” I shook my head to signify that I was taking my usual skunking. She smiled and started putting her tackle together.
Within minutes she was casting her red bobber out into the surging river, and after about five casts, she had a nice fish flopping in front of her. I had been working the same water without a take. Like most of us who fish futilely for hours and watch a newcomer score immediately, I was a bit disgruntled. It got worse when she beached and released her third fish.
Ask the Expert
As she was baiting her hook in preparation for yet another battle, I sheepishly slipped along the shore beside her. “Wong, what’s wrong with my outfit today?” I pleaded. Now a lot of old fishermen with fifty years of catching salmon would be a little hesitant to ask a younger fisherman, especially a woman, to give them a few pointers. They’d be too proud. I’ve learned that each day is different, and if you want success, watch and listen. I don’t know what your definition of an expert angler might be, but mine is simple—the more you catch, the more expert I consider your technique! Wong smiled and quickly replied. “You need to fish a little deeper, and use a little bigger cluster of eggs. You’ll catch one.”
It took an hour, but I finally had the bobber sucked under, right where Wong had targeted the fish. She had long ago limited and left for home. As I stood next to the waterfall admiring my chrome-sided prize, I whispered, in a voice drowned out by the rushing water, “Thanks, Wong.”
Pride may be hard to swallow, but it goes down easier when chased by a mouthful of salmon sushi! n
Bob Ellsberg’s column, Fishin’, appears monthly in RV Life and at rvlife.com.
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