the fish like butter, knives flying faster than the eye could keep up. But after a few days, I began to hate the smell of dead fish and dreaded when school let out. All the other kids took off to play, while I had to go slop fish guts into the barf barge. “I’m only thirteen,” I’d mumble to myself, shoveling another pile of guts onto the barge. “This sucks. It isn’t fair.”
But every day after school and all day Saturday, I’d slop wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow full of fish guts and carcasses from under the cutters’ tables to the barge.
The only good part about the whole ordeal was riding out with Augie Santos to dump the barf barge when it got full. Augie had been driving the barge for my grandpa since the beginning of time. An ancient Portuguese fisherman, Augie been working fishing boats his whole life. He knew more about fish than any man I ever met and taught me just about everything I know about fishing. Every day when the barge got loaded up and we’d head off, he’d drop back a hand line. At first, I thought he was nuts.
“You aren’t going to catch anything in here,” I pronounced, nodding towards the busy harbor.
He glanced up at me, but didn’t say a word.
No sooner than that he got bit. I couldn’t believe it. “What d’ya got?” I yelled excitedly.
Holding firmly onto the line with one hand, he reached down and pulled the old Union diesel out of gear. Looking back up at me, his words were soft. “Why don’t you come on back here,” he said, offering me the line. “Pull him in and see for yourself.”
I about tripped over myself, scrambling along the edge of the barge. “Really? Can I?”
“If you can keep from falling overboard or into the guts,” he said, a gentle laugh accompanying his words. “Here you go,” he said, handing me the line as I reached the stern. “Hold tight, or it’ll rip you up.”
The fish almost pulled the line out of my hand, burning my palms as the line seared over my skin. His hands were like leather. Mine turned white where the line burned through before starting to bleed, but I didn’t let go.
“Jesus!” I screamed.
He nodded, knowing how much it hurt, but liking the fact I didn’t drop the line. “If he runs again, let him go. Don’t try and stop him. Keep just enough tension on the line so you have some control, but there’s no way to stop him when he’s this hot.”
It was the biggest fish I’d ever caught, or at least fought. My dad had taken me fishing a few times off the docks, but the only things we’d ever caught were some scrawny bottom grabbers. But this fish was something else. “What do you think it is?” I asked Augie.
“Not sure. What do you think?”
Visions of giant halibut raced through my brain. Or maybe even a King. “I don’t know, maybe a Chinook.”
“Maybe,” he said, “but who knows?”
It felt like the fish was beginning to tire. But then he made another long run after I’d gotten most of the line back, again burning my hands.
“Even pressure this time,” Augie coached me. “Steady even pressure. You got him coming your way. No need to piss him off any more than he already is.”
The fish circled under the boat a few times. Each time he came out from under the boat, I was able to gain a full arm’s length of line.
“That’s it,” Augie said as I gained on the fish. “Slow and easy. Keep his head up, and just guide him toward the surface.”
“Holy shit!” I screamed as the big flattie broke the surface, shaking his head violently and rocking me to my bones. Holding on with both hands as tightly as I could, he wasn’t able to pull out any line, but he about jerked my arms out of their sockets.
“He’s a beauty,” Augie said, reaching over the rail, grabbing the line.
Immediately my body quit shaking. My arms were numb and my hands were on fire, but none of that mattered. This was the biggest fish I’d ever caught.
Augie started talking out loud, not taking his eyes off the fish. “Now take it easy, big guy, everything’s going to be all right.”
He was talking to the fish as if it were a person, and the weirdest thing was, I swear to God that damn fish was listening. It immediately quit thrashing around and let Augie pull him right up next to the boat.
“That a boy,” he said softly, reaching down and pulling the barbless hook out of his mouth in one easy motion. The fish hesitated for a split second before diving for the bottom, leaving a huge boil in his wake.
I was speechless.
“Nice job,” Augie said, leaning back up and extending his hand.
Taking it, I shook my head in shock, “Why did you let him go?”
Augie pushed the shift level forward, putting the barge back in gear, before asking, “How are your hands?”
“Fine!” I snapped back, slowly turning my palms up and looking down at them. I was pissed. My hands were bleeding and starting to really hurt. “That was my fish. Why did you let him go?”
“Look around you,” Augie instructed calmly.
“At what?” You crazy old coot.
“What do you see?”
“Nothing. We’re in the middle of the bay surrounded by water.”
“Not exactly. Look closer.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. He waited, watching me. When he saw me look down at the load of fish carcasses and guts we were hulling, his eyes flashed.
“What are you talking about? You want me look at the guts?”
He nodded.
“I don’t get it.”
Then he asked me, “Are you hungry?”
“What?”
“Hungry? Are you hungry?”
“No. I’m pissed off you let my fish go.”
“Your fish?” he asked.
“Yeah. I caught him.”
“You certainly did. And you did a damn fine job,” he added. “I thought he was about going tear your hands off on that first run.”
Looking down at my throbbing hands again, I nodded, shrugging my shoulders. “He just about did.”
“I know.” Augie said. “You showed a lot of heart hanging on the way you did.”
I lowered my head, my anger draining with the fading adrenalin rush. “Thanks.” He didn’t say anything else for a while until I asked, “Why’d you want to know if I was hungry?”
“Because that’s the only reason to ever kill anything. If you’re going to eat it, take it. If not, let it go.”
His eyes bore into my young soul, holding me there until he saw that I understood what he was saying. I nodded. The corners of his eyes creased into the beginnings of a smile as he slowly nodded back. We understood each other. “Chances are,” he added, “we might even fool him into doing battle with us again one of these fine days.”
And that was it. That was all he said. But from that moment on, I was hooked. After that, I couldn’t wait to fill the barge so we could ride out together. Augie continued teaching me everything he knew about fishing. I soaked it up like a dry sponge.
Born in San Diego, Augie had fished tuna and albacore his entire life—at first from a small converted WWII jig boat, where he spent hours standing in a little area of the stern, hand lining fish, tossing them in over his shoulder before grabbing another line off the spreaders. Jig boat fishing was one tough way to make a living. But he loved it. From there he’d moved on