I’M BAAAAACCKKKK! THE LIFE OF JIMBO RED PRO FISHERMAN

For my (2-3) faithful readers, I don’t know if you had noticed. But I have been unable to keep up, my usual steady stream of brownish coloured drops of wisdom for the last few days. The reason, for this interruption to your favorite reading site. Was that myself and Ol’ Bubbaloo decided that I had been self isolated for so long that I needed to go to the most remote location I could find and mingle in society. She decided that Quatsino, on the northern west tip of Vancouver Island was remote enough.

So she packed my gear, mostly consisting of a variety of medicines, a giant pack of manpers, my fishing clothes and threw in my fishing tackle. Then said, “go fishing and bring back the meat for the winter months.” “Take your boat pack up a couple more old fools and slay us some fish.” I reluctantly went. Her last words were “have some fun, but NOT too much fun. You hear me?” The lingering question in my mind was “just what in hell can you do at my age that would qualify as too much fun?” The events that follow put me on a course towards a “mini rant” and lead me to document this “heart-burning” journey.

For at least a week prior to departure, I spent every waking minute thinking up things which could, might, possibly go wrong. And what the impending disaster might look like. I looked at all of the possible angles of each impending calamity. Turned them over looked at then from each angle, bit, stomped and hammered away at them until I near exploded. Then I took them out again and went, back, thru all the issues. Everything related to the car, the boat, the trailer, the gear, the bait, the accessories the launch, the load out, and many many other evil things that could befall me. I could not find any that looked like “too much fun”. So, of course, by the time I embark on this odyssey, I am a complete mental train wreck.

I make a checklist of everything I will need. This I take out too the garage and check it daily for 7 days. Come the time of departure and Im still unsure as to whether I have everything or not. Well time to leave we load everything and set out. At this point there’s no longer anything we can do about it. So now that’s one item off my list. The trailer works perfectly. The boat is checked and purrs like a kitten. The gear is all operable. The launch goes like clockwork. One by one the things that drove me crazy for the last week are falling to the wayside. One of the other fisherman looks at me and says “G’damn Gump you are a bloody genius”. Bubbaloo had our accommodations booked, my clothes all packed, by day, in individual bundles (I might add this got a big chuckle from the guys) and everything was perfect. My mind is now clear and I can finally relax, aaaaaahhh!

Now a new creeping doubt enters my mind, that being, because of the constant reduction in sport fishermen catch limits, were we still going to have enough limit left to feed us fish over the winter, or even over the fall. This lingers and causes me some additional lost hours of sleep. Thus the start of my “mini rant’. The first day we get up before light to make sure we catch “the first bite”. You know the saying “the early worm gets eaten first by the salmon”. Gosh, I’m thinking, I hope we are not back at the lodgings an hour from now, “limited out” and nothing to do for the rest of the day.

Well, not to worry, about 10 hours later we are still trolling around in big circles in the ocean waiting for our first bite. It’s now a little cool, wet and windy and it seems the fish, want no part of anything we have offered them all day. So now instead of worrying about having to go in too early, I’m now silently praying for “just one small fish” so I know that they are still in there. We change gear from spoons, to hoochies, to anchovy’s, speed of troll, depth of water and location. All to no avail. Nothing! Defeated we go in for the evening to commiserate with each other and promise that tomorrow will be a better day.

The second day arrives and we go out earlier, farther and more determined. The difference is that it’s now drizzling rain and cold. I can hardly wait. We arrive at our all-time favorite spot and sneak in behind, and among, 10 other boats, including three guide boats. The wind has freshened a bit, it’s cold, it’s early, and it’s a bit miserable. Around and around we go, up and down the coastline patiently waiting our turn. After 3 or 4 hours, no-one has caught a fish, not the guides, nobody! We head back in for fuel and to change location. Once again, the lady at the fuel pump, says to us with a very condescending look on her face that “even the commercial boats are not catching anything”. “Yup”, she says “looks like you’re wasting your time”. Now I’m starting to get pissed. Wasn’t she a little ray of sunshine?

Where the hell is our share of the 60million fish that spawn each year about now, in this area? We persevere for another 8 hours and about dark our second day we give up, defeated, wet, cold, angry and saddened at our luck. However, vowing to return and get even with the little bastards soon. Now I return home to be met by my partner “hands on hips” and a stern look on her face demanding to know “where have you been?” and “where’s the fish?” Geezus I think, “I’m back”, nothing much seems to have changed. That is the life of a professional sports fisher!