Ford Fairlaine, Fisherman’s Detective


Holy crap. There is just a shitload of rain this morning. We have plans to go fishing later today, and so far weather like this has just meant rough seas and lots of not fun. I started the morning making French Toast (toast with red wine) and then headed down to the hotel to get the weather report.

This leaves me nervous. I really want this weekend to be a good time for all those involved, partly because I derive joy from those around me, and partly because I don’t want to be knifed in my sleep.

The report shows that we are supposed to get clearing weather this afternoon, our fishing charter starts at 2:00. And, we start seeing breaks in the rain, punctuated with big downpours. Mind you, we area looking at six people total for this trip, on two boats. Also, I am the only one who brought a rain coat, let alone pants.

So we go for it. I ordered a taxi to take us to the marina across the island, and stat to search for some kind of wet weather gear. With the local grocery store and the hotel gift shop our only sources, (the liquor store was no help) we managed to scrape up fleece jackets for everyone, and trash bags.

Actually, they were quite fashionable Recycling bags, made of a translucent cobalt blue plastic, which when you cut holes for the arms and legs made a very reasonable poncho.

With sandwiches, beer and extra bags in tow, we got our taxi and made our way out to the other side of the island (As everyone knows, the “other side of the island” should always be feared. on Gilligan’s Island the “other Side’ had the cannibals and shit. Stay Away. TV can’t lie.)

Actually, we met our guides with no issue. The boats were not too small, and both had canvas covers for the cockpit area, so we had some shelter, We headed out of port towards the north end of the island, when our guide asked of we had our permits. As expected, we did not. We were able to stop and correct this at the next marina, and lost little time.

Finally, we reached the cove that was supposed to be the hot fishing spot. Shortly after dropping our lines, we got a hit and pulled in a nice Pink Salmon. The girls named him “Bob”. We dropped out lines again and got a hit, which I tried to reel in and lost. A while later we got another hit, which the girls pulled in and got another Pink Salmon. I got another hit and lost it. Needless to say, I was not amused.

We yelled over to the other boat, where our partners in crime were fishing, and they showed us two fish much larger than ours. Yulia yelled back that we had some that big but I had lost them. Crap.

A few minutes later, Yulia looked over at one of the boats around us and was exited to see someone pulling in a dogfish, She was pretty lit up to see that, since it is basically a small shark. she thought this was Tres’ cool, and wanted us to catch one as well. Not more than a minute later, I got a hit and finally managed to reel in a fish! Which was a small dogfish, of course.

We managed to avoid most of the worst rain inside the boat, and our silly Trash-bag ponchos worked perfectly. we were dorks, but dry.

This was a pretty big win in and of itself, as Yulia really wanted to see this, and she got her chance. If we had knows how to cook the thing properly, we would have kept it, but since we did not, we threw it back.

A few more circles and we called it a day. Back in port, we had four fish total, two Chinook and two Pink Salmon, and some good stories and better lies. We caught a taxi back to the hotel and grilled up some of our fish and froze the rest.

Fresh fish grilled only hours after being caught is just spectacular. Today turned out much better than I expected. For a change, I was able to do something that really pleased Yulia, even if it was only a dogfish. Thanks Mr. Dogfish. Grilled Salmon helped too.