There were several of us in the party.
Both really hard to beat. I also like Channel cat and Blue cat, which are game fish.
I've caught a number of bigger salmon offshore on heavy tackle, but my most exciting catch ever was a 26" Steelhead on an 8' flyrod and 304 Garcia reel with 6# line and a flat fish in the back eddy of a fast-moving river. Took 45 minutes to net her.
OK @Tattered Old Graywolf -- Fish story short vignette from one of my stories. It is a true happening, and occurred in 1952 when I was 12. He had driven us all the way to Canada to a cousin of his (Roy) who lived in St. Andrews By The Sea. He was a guide. He took us out.
From The Twelfth Magic Summer
We three were on a different lake in the same bathtub boat, fishing in a fashion I have not heard described since. Those television programs showing sportsmen doing all kinds of fishing are missing a bet. We each had over a hundred yards of line out behind the boat, trailing a trio of treble hooks each, woven through a silver minnow. We were fishing for landlocked salmon.
It was cold out on the lake, mainly because it was raining furiously. I was wearing a winter coat that had been loaned to me by the folks at the store. It was about eleven sizes too big, but that suited me perfectly As usual, I was again in the front of the boat. We had been trawling around for about two hours with nothing happening, and so we were fairly relaxed. Dad took out his collapsible aluminum cup, and filled it with hot black coffee from his thermos. He was running the outboard, and said, “Here, Slug, have a belt of this.”
I stood up in the boat, and reached back to get the cup. The instant my fingertips closed over the cup,
WHAM! The fishing rod flexed mightily, yanking me up and over -- cup, rod, coat, and all.
I hit the shockingly cold water headfirst. A happy accident occurred at this point: the shock of the cold water made every muscle in my body tense up, so I didn’t drop the cup or the pole. I bobbed to the surface, choking, totally unable to swim in the huge coat.
I shall never forget Dad’s words at this point. He absolutely said, “Try to hold his head up, Slug, you don’t want to lose him!”
And I really did. With my head under water, and water up my nose, I actually put the cup in the coat pocket and took a few turns on the reel. My next memory is that of Dad’s hands under my armpits, pulling me and the half-ton coat up into the boat while I choked, and coughed spasmodically while grimly maintaining my hold on the rod. Once in the boat, I followed Roy’s and Dad’s shouted instructions on how to land the fish.
Way off in the distance, it jumped and tailwalked. I kept reeling in, and the line kept whirring out. Just for an instant I tried to slow the whirring reel by placing my finger on the line. Big mistake. All I got was an instant friction burn. But eventually, it was alongside the boat, and Roy brought it aboard with a gaff. It was gorgeous and ugly, with a great curving snout, and I whooped in the rain, which was suddenly warm on my face and head.
You may think it was sophistication, but it was just a lucky line. I caused both of them to break out into admiring hilarity when I pulled the cup out of my pocket and said:
“I seem to have spilled the coffee, Dad.”
My ego hasn’t been the same after that, because crusty old Roy took me in his arms as I shivered, and said, “I wish this kid was mine, Herb.” It was the best and sincerest compliment I’ve ever received in my life.
Dad retold the story over the years. He never failed to praise how I ignored the need to swim or breathe, and he loved to quote my one-liner. Roy said the salmon was the largest he had ever seen, and over the years, I assume it got bigger with each retelling by Dad. I only remember that the tail was taller than my foot, and that the meat was a bright, bright orange that tasted like heaven when broiled over our campfire. We only ate a small portion, and Roy kept the rest; so maybe he was recompensed somewhat for his guiding.
