10 days salmon fishing in Vancouver Island for a total novice flyfisherman is to be regarded as, possibly, the wettest baptism of fire in history. An extraordinary time filled with anglers tales to recount forever, but some of particular note.....
One nice Coho I hooked on the lower Puntledge, just a few hundred yards from the sea, was particularly tricky.
After 20 minutes and several stubborn turns and runs both upstream and down, this 20lb'er (it had been identified as such during the 10 minutes out of the 20 it had seemingly spent in the air) decided it had toyed with me long enough and was leaving the party.
With astonishing speed it ran back down the river leaving me stumbling through the fast flowing, knee-deep water after it. Following the fish intently downstream, I became aware of yelling and realised that I was walking straight into deeper water. Lo and behold, the traction of my boot-soles diminished rapidly. This was a new and novel experience, as I now had an extremely uncooperative fish to contend with as well as the imminent prospect of being swept away, something I wanted to avoid on account of not having any spare pants with me.
Oh soooooo gingerly I edged back across the flow into the shallows on the far side and, releasing the clutch entirely, the fish dropped into the pool below the rapids, and feeling the pressure come off, turned and held position in the fast water.
"Excellent!" thought I, as I steadied my stance and retrieved about 100m of line, getting back into contact.
Another standoff ensued, with an interested audience of fellow anglers looking on as the straining parabolic curve of my rod nodded and dipped with every move of my piscine adversary.
At this point my chum Steve said something like "oooooo....loook, there's seals down there...", and sure enough, 150m downstream, two large black heads bobbed around, watching with opportunistic zeal.
Time slowed, and the dread grip of unpleasant certainty settled in my stomach like a lead kebab with concrete salad. The thought process went something like this; Need to wear this fish down... Just a bit more tension.....need to steer this fish into the shallows...bit more tension....biiiiit more...more......little bit OHCRAP!
The Coho took umbrage to my attentions once more, turned and screamed off downstream again. 10...20...50...70....100yards.....this time the clutch slackening ruse did not fool the silver torpedo into turning upstream again and my Vosseler whined like a child being pulled up a hill in the rain.
The seals suddenly looked perky and alert...like overweight american kids arriving at a McDonalds Drive-thru.
In desperation, I clamped down on the clutch as much as possible, but 'twas to no avail, such is the staggering power of these fish. In the slo-mo action, I watched the backing scythe out, and the seals' heads lock-on like surface to air missile batteries.....then they submerged.
The bearded, lumber-jack shirted Canadian standing across the pool from me spoke - his words banged in my ears and oozed into my consciousness
"Oooh no.....NOW you're buggered...!".
There was a terrible breath-stifling pause...then the line went REALLLLLY heavy......and then - it wasn't! Seals 1, Joe and Coho 0.
After wretchedly retrieving miles of backing and line I finally looked forlornly upon my sadly deformed little Christmas Tree fly, brutally bent out by several hundred pounds of peckish blubber. Nuts. No nice silver salmon, which meant $20 all-you can eat Chinese for dinner ....again...which no colon should have to suffer.
Still...it wasn't all like that.....
a little tale of woe from Vancouver Island...
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