Here is a big guy I caught on an Oregon coastal river. When I was a kid fishing in the same spot, a giant one, maybe 60 or 70 pounds, knocked me on my butt as I guided him to shore, then charged with his hooked toothy jaw, swerving at the last instant as his submarine airborne olive-speckled back sank into green invisibility. The line broke and neurons fired. I was living.
Last year, Toyon, at Humboldt State University, published a poem about another big salmon I lost:
Cliff Salmon
The monster Chinook
bit my lure, my foot slipped,
bit my lure, my foot slipped,
and I crashed 14
feet into the water with a sore butt cushioned by stones.
feet into the water with a sore butt cushioned by stones.
Stuart jabbed me
with a net to save my life but I told him to get the fish.
with a net to save my life but I told him to get the fish.
In that moment I was
a water version of Sam McGee standing heart-deep,
a water version of Sam McGee standing heart-deep,
bloody arms and legs,
happily watching the olive-spotted slab
happily watching the olive-spotted slab
of ocean-bright
silver run and roll and head shake and leap.
silver run and roll and head shake and leap.
Five freight train
runs and still strong enough to make the reel sing.
runs and still strong enough to make the reel sing.
Five freight train
runs and still strong enough to break the surface
runs and still strong enough to break the surface
of that other world.
Our adrenaline surged
around boulders into slack water,
around boulders into slack water,
him eyeing the crazy
fisherman who wouldn’t let go,
fisherman who wouldn’t let go,
me eyeing his ancient
prize of 10,000 years of wild red flesh,
prize of 10,000 years of wild red flesh,
brought together by hard
rain down the mountain,
rain down the mountain,
he, eventually tearing
free of the hook, and I, outside the flames of time
free of the hook, and I, outside the flames of time
for only as long as
we fought.
we fought.
Leave a Reply