Shows and No-Shows

Today, in The Columbian, is an article on the indecision concerning the recreational/commercial salmon season on the Columbia. Guides, gearing up for the largest consumer outdoor show in the northwest and the opportunity to fill their days with commerce, are on hold with calendar and pen in hand. Anxious? Yea, I would think so. Will they survive it? Remains to be seen.

When I was young I learned to mooch for salmon on a charter boat called The Chief. The boat's owner was a crusty, stubble specked man named Hans. His vessel was a pile of steel and loose chain railings that begged to unload a passenger on a rolling swell. I loved the smell of the salt water at 5am in Sausalito, the choking diesel exhaust, and the grey hue of the boat we fished from until early afternoon. Each trip was littered with other crusty old guys who deserted their wives for their mistress, the sea, if only temporary. Their names were one word monikers like 'Brinky' and 'Dutch', and their jackets and caps had seen more years than I had at that point. Sour coffee, glazed donuts and an eager flask transitioned to damp deli sandwiches and cans of Old Milwaukie as dawn turned to daylight.

These impressions have been left indefinitely in my memory and were planted there by a 'guide', albeit a crusty one, back in my formative years. I sincerely hope that a youngster, in his formative years, is not prohibited from gaining these experiences due to some posturing by fish boards aiming for control. Let the fish be fished, in moderation of course, and come to a compromise that can let us get back to making memories we can write about 30 years from now.