Stalking Salmon & Wrestling Drunks. Peter L. Gordon

do it for nothing, but I insisted on the payment. Before I knew what was happening, Larry had removed his flippers and was jogging with me to the boat. He slipped into the cold water at the bow and for ten minutes searched underwater, only occasionally coming up for a breath of air. I became concerned about this skinny youngster spending so long in the frigid water. I was about to call off the search when he popped to the surface, spat out his mouthpiece and said the fish was directly below him, ringed by crabs, but it was too awkward to bring up. Sten rigged up a hand line with a monster hook on it and gave it to the boy, and we all waited with bated breath.

      Within a few minutes the salmon was on the dock and Larry was standing at the stern of the boat wearing an oversized terry cloth bathrobe I had wrapped around him. I put the five dollars in the robe’s pocket as I draped it over his shivering shoulders. The kid’s lips were nearly blue but he was smiling with a fury.

      “Wait till I tell my dad about this!”

      He was shivering so much that I put some milk on the stove to make him a mug of sweet cocoa. While I was in the galley waiting for the milk to heat, Sten was double bagging the fish and giving Jeff stern instructions on how he should carry it.

      “You’ve caught this fish twice,” Sten said with a slight edge to his voice. “The third time it will deserve to get away.”

      Jane was still laughing. “It’s almost a shame we got the fish back,” she said. “Otherwise it might have given me a lifetime of leverage on Jeff.”

      Everyone came aboard again, poked their heads into the galley and said an enthusiastic goodbye before leaving. A couple of days later our local paper, the Times Colonist, carried the story of Jane and her twice-caught fish.

      When the cocoa was ready, I called the young diver to the galley and put two huge oatmeal cookies in one of his hands and the mug of sweet cocoa in the other. I motioned him to the dinette table and asked him to sit down while he hungrily consumed his cookies and cocoa.

      Larry was a chatty lad, eager to tell me all about his diving experiences and his favourite subjects at school. I thought he was terrific and let him chat and impress me while I washed the dishes, rinsed the reels and put the galley in order. Vaguely I wondered where Sten was, but I imagined he was accompanying our guests to the marina office.

      In the middle of my thoughts, I realized Larry had fallen silent. When I looked over at him, he was staring into his cocoa.

      “You all right?” I asked.

      “Uh-huh.” His colour was coming back and he now gave off only an occasional shiver.

      “What’s up?”

      He squirmed in his seat then looked up at me. “You know you said you’d give me five bucks to find the fish?”

      “Yes, and you did, and I did. We owe you many thanks.”

      “It’s not that. It’s something else.”

      “Okay, tell me.”

      He reached into the pocket of the robe, pulled out the five dollars I had given him and dropped it on the table. With his other hand he reached into the other pocket and pulled out a handful of twenty-dollar bills and dropped them on the table.

      “You see, they all gave me money. I’m not sure if I should keep it. I don’t know what my dad would say.”

      I looked at the young man with admiration. There was a lump in my throat when I said, “I’m proud of you. I’ll bet your dad will proud of you too and say you earned it. Just tell him what you did and what I said.”

      chapter 4

      A Mixed Bag

      Some charters are remembered as distinct events, like the woman who was nine months pregnant and laughing so hard she could barely hold her rod while playing a heavy fish. We were in choppy waters, the wind was blowing and rain was sheeting down, so her laughter mystified me. To keep her stable I had to hold her shoulders from behind while she stood on a pitching deck and played her salmon on bulky trolling gear. When the fish was finally in the boat, I asked her what she found so hysterical.

      “My stomach is so huge I couldn’t find a place to rest the butt of the rod” was her answer.

      Other events are not so much fun. I once had to pin down a guest and hog-tie him because of his violent behaviour. He and another family member had spent most of the night drinking, and they’d brought their drunken belligerence to the charter. The whole group was a problem from the moment they stepped onto the boat—most of them had also been drinking before boarding. Their family quarrel soon accelerated into physical violence. That was when I stepped in, pinning the most serious offender to the ground and tying him up. A trick in itself, that manoeuvre required the help of Sten.

      As many police officers will tell you, in the case of family violence the family often turns on the person who intercedes. No sooner was this fellow tied up than I found myself the object of verbal abuse. The women screeched threats and the men crowded me, insisting I untie their relative. When I told them I was calling an end to the charter and we were going back to the dock, a huge outburst of anger ensued. The language was extraordinary and quite complex considering their earthy background, and of course I was the focus of their outrage. Briefly I thought I might be mobbed, so I pushed my way through the group and stood at the bottom of the companionway, which led to the helm. Sten had already turned us around and was heading to the marina at planing speed. When I looked up at him, he handed me what we called the Cardinal. An enhanced version of the Priest, it was a thick, eighteen-inch piece of gumwood I had turned on the lathe and fashioned into a mega fish bonker. I never weighed it but it must have been over two pounds; it was at least twice the size of the Priest. We seldom used it, but in this case it was just the thing to have in my hand.

      When we reached the dock I used only two lines to moor the boat. With a lot of stomping, cursing and threats to notify “the authorities,” the group disembarked. As soon as they were all ashore, I slipped our lines and Sten took us out into the bay for a quiet evening of fishing. We returned to the dock later that evening with a couple of nice fish and having spent four hours full of laughter as we recounted to each other the events of what came to be called the Nasty Charter. It doesn’t matter what business you are in—it’s inevitable you’ll encounter a few nasty customers along the way.

      As a result of this experience, I developed a company policy concerning the behaviour of guests. I made it a policy that on any charter or sub-charter the skipper could terminate the trip if the guests became unmanageable. In reality, most of the time we simply gritted our teeth, smiled and handed them the bill. However, we did put these people on a list of unwelcome guests and circulate their names through the hospitality industry in Victoria.