The Southwest Voice

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Since I grew up in Alaska, I am accustomed to the transformation that takes place in the men I love when on an island in the middle of the Kenai River.    

Island/cabin testosterone brings out the nanook in them, they grow scruff and have a contest to see who can go the longest without showering or brushing their teeth. We have machete and ax throwing contests. 

Macho is tolerated, but never has machismo reared its ugly head as when a female caught the biggest fish.

How interesting when a male member of the family caught a king salmon nobody debated the size or poundage of their particular catch. They would pronounce the weight and all would grunt in agreement.  No discussion. 

But when I caught the biggest fish, a fish that wouldn’t fit into the big white cooler, the great weight debate ensued.    

First, let me preface this by telling you that I spent many mornings fishing in the rain and shivering cold; I was skunked. Fish were being caught to the right of me, fish caught to the left of me. I was thrilled for all of them. 

Then on the morning of our anniversary, my husband whispered in my ear, “I’ll buy you diamond earrings if you catch a 60-pound king salmon.”

He chuckled to himself; he thought he was so funny.  Guess who’s laughing now?  

Determination has no boundaries upon the mere mention of diamonds. So the next morning at 3:30 a.m., we launched our boat; my son, my brother and me. Four hours later, I hooked a hog. Hooking a king salmon and bringing it to the boat to be netted is not an easy feat.

My fish took off up river, down river, right and left, under the boat, towards the shore, and then in the prop.  The fishing guides with paying customers were not amused when they had to reel in their lines several times.

King salmon fishing is war; orchestrated chaos on the river with all the boats motoring up and drifting down causing a constant wake. I couldn’t sit because I had to keep my rod tip up, I couldn’t stand because the wake was constantly rocking the boat. 

I was focused and listening intently to my brother’s instructions; “REEL.” I kept yelling “NET IT,” even though it was 20 yards away.

I fought my hog for about 15 minutes before she got caught in the prop. That is where my brother took over; we were not going to lose that fish. It had been 27 years since I caught a king salmon, and never from a boat.  Legend has it you have to spend 100 hours on the Kenai River to catch a king. Many are hooked but few are netted.

“Well it’s every bit of 59 and ¾ pounds … but not quite 60 pounds.” 

So the pound pondering began. My son said if the fish didn’t make my bum look small it couldn’t have been a 60 pounder. Are you getting the idea? 

So after all the pictures were taken, I really don’t know how much it weighed, the best estimate is 62 pounds; the magic number. 

I like not knowing because now it will always be…a fish tale to remember.