Encounters Along The Spit

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.
Theodore Roosevelt

 I went fishing this afternoon with my brother in law on this windy, blustery day in late September.  The kind of day that has you pulling your hood up and tightening its' drawstrings to keep the chilly wind from stiffening your neck and beating merciless at your ears.  The kind of day that signals a change in the salmon fishing, drawing the furtive Coho salmon into Puget Sound from the Pacific.

The weather looked as if it might be ready to moderate a bit,  so I picked out my spot among the other fishermen who were casting their lines out from the shoreline and I began the familiar rhythm of casting and retrieving a curious lure called a buzz bomb. The wind was blowing in toward us and I had to cast almost directly into it.  I did not get far with these casts which wanted to trail almost horizontal to the white capped waves being driven in toward shoreline.  "Darn, This isn’t going to work"  I thought.  And yet after just a few feet of retrieval I actually felt powerful  live action at the end of my line.

Salmon fishing on Keystone spit.  Whidbey Island September 2014

It was clear to me and maybe to the fish as well from the beginning that both the fish and I had a fight ahead.  I was held up a bit by my tremors that were magnified by the resistance and action of the rod and reel.  The salmon was held up by a barbless hook stuck in his lip.  I tried to set the hook and reeled line in with my left hand which resisted the power of the fish in a kind of jerky movement as if it were a broken gear.

The fish reversed course and began taking line out with a powerful stream as he made a frantic dash out toward open water.  I braced the rod against my stomach and held on with both hands which now began to rapidly shake and weaken against the strength of the fish.  He put on a show of power and beauty as he turned and jumped, trying to shake the hook loose.  His beautiful and nearly vertical jump had put his silver sides on display, identifying him as a Coho.  He swam toward me and I frantically reeled line in. I got another glimpse of the fish as he rolled near the surface and then began another strong dash away from me. I should have known that I had to let the "big boy" run this time, but I was impatient and tried to match strength of line and rod against him.  I should have known that reeling and trying bring the fish in against such power, stretches, twists and weakens the line.   Again He swam in toward me and I picked up the slack line as best I could and in spite of my mistakes I still had him. As time passed my arms weakened I was beginning to believe that it was a fight I was certain to lose.

Help and encouragement came from fishermen along the shore.  A guy positioned his net for me to use should the fight reach that point.  Someone yelled for me to slowly walk back up the shore and I did, which brought the fish ever closer to the rocky beach.  But dang, just as he reached shoreline he must of got a glimpse of me, the enemy.  He rolled once more, spit out the barbless hook and then was gone to return to the depths of Puget Sound. 

The battle of the salmon was finished for now and left me feeling more than a bit depleted. I returned to casting and retrieving my line, still savoring the powerful battle I just had the privilege of taking part in.

After many more casts, I had begun to think about going home when a curious man walked up to me and placed himself right in front of my face.  I noticed the abnormal and rather constant movement of his head which was in a kind of syncope with his hands, which told me more than a bit about a different kind of battle apart from salmon he had been waging for some time.  He said that he was looking for some fishing equipment he had lost somehow that morning and we talked briefly about fishing for salmon and then he paused, looked at my hands and was rather direct when he asked me if I had Parkinson's.  "Yes", I admitted.  Then he shared that he was diagnosed in 1995 and that for him it has gone very well.  "I rode my motorcycle until just a few years ago and for many years I gave "inspirational talks to various groups" he said.  It is more difficult now, "I have problems with aspiration pneumonia" he continued.  He went to explain the problem he has with pooling saliva running into his lungs as he sleeps. Before he left he wrote out his name, address and phone number on a small note sized piece of paper and finished our conversation by handing it to me and saying "call me anytime, even if you just need to talk."

Was this a coincidence?  Maybe.  But then again, maybe not.

Shaky in Coupeville