Nothing is more memorable than a fish. One tug can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up an epic battle of man vs. fish, a hot summer day, a majestic river nestled low in valley surrounded by snow capped peaks. Now you have a memory, a defining moment in a fishermen’s life. We all have them, they are what make us.
I have been lucky enough to experience events of the previous nature a few times in my life but few compare to a recent experience I shared with my dad, brother and a few friends in British Columbia last week. I was fortunate enough to not only catch one Spring (King, Chinook) salmon but two. The first of which would have not only satisfied my determination to catch “the King of salmon,” but would have made a memory to last a life time. It was however, the second one that will be burned in my memory forever. 
I hooked the fish in almost the same spot in the river were I had caught the Spring the previous day. This time however, I was using a spinning rod, the same rod I use for trout back in Utah. The rod can be purchased at any Walmart for a measly twenty-five dollars. This is not what you want going through your head 30 seconds after hooking the fish of a lifetime. I new almost immediately I had something special, it wasn’t the dislocated elbow I experienced from the initial tug but the aerial performance we all witnessed as my fish headed for the ocean. As I chased the fish along the bank, ever aware of the shrinking distance between me and the log chocked bend ahead and the dismay that it surely held, dad organized the other members of the group and brought the boat to my rescue.
I was able to clamber into the boat as Darren shoved us into the current all the while Craig was filming what should be an Oscar winning performance. Dad rowed the boat with the grace of a ribbon twirling Olympic athlete, the skill of a spey rod wielding Englishmen, and the power of Ryan following four days without a shower. Dad maneuvered the boat around logs in the river, slowed when needed and accelerated as required all the while I stood in the front of the boat hanging on for all I was worth, shouting orders and chocking back obscenities dreading the out come that was most probable.
It was probably close to an hour after hooking the mammoth that it showed signs of weakening, I however had been showing signs for the last thirty minutes. I looked to the beach searching for an adequate location to land the fish. It was not to be, the banks were either to steep or chocked with debris. To make matters worse the channel split three ways just ahead. The boat entered the center channel and with a little coaxing the fish followed (it was close my prize would have chosen the right channel if not for the stout Walmart rod I was controlling it with). Just around the bend was a good length of shore that held promise. I calmly persuaded dad to beach the boat, and remembered a famous quote “this is the place.”
Jumping from the boat, I continued to bring the fish closer to shore. Surprisingly, she began to role to her side, with a final gut wrenching pull I slid her up the beach. Dad was just getting the boat secured and run to assist, blocking any possibility of escape. After snapping a few photos, smiling for the video and admiring my catch we all stood and watched her swim away.
Thank you, to everyone who helped. Most notably dad I couldn’t have landed that fish without you, Kim for making it possible for me to go, Kenna for forgiving me for missing her birthday for the fourth time, Kenzie for finding the rod I used at Yuba and Walmart you sell a hell of twenty five dollar rod.
“Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love,
the things you are, the things you never want to lose”
