As the two Africans rolled up to their campsite in the woods, a mere half hour off the ferry, we were greeted by the spectacle of one bear and many humans partaking of that most mysterious of natural events, the salmon migration. The return to the birthing stream of thousands of salmon at the end of summer. It is both a time of renewal for salmon and the end of their lives at the hands of the river and all manner of creatures who subsist on this, before the long dark night of winter.
Thus it was that I found myself inexorably drawn to the Haines Outfitters, to ask a wild man of Alaska for the tools with which to catch me a salmon. I purchased a 24 hour fishing license and returned to the river.
Dressed in African shorts (surrounded by a more appropriately geared fishermen for a very cold river) I proceeded to cast my lure upon the waters. Two hours later, a few near misses and a 10 minute interlude for said bear to wander past, and I had my strike. It was the biggest I had ever felt and my rod seemed pitiful- not so much as being pulled about the river, but more a resistance with which only time had some leverage. I couldn't land it with the rod, so I handed it over to my faithful companion and waded out into the stream to land it with my hands. A magnificent Pink Salmon (a 'humpy').
In our clearing in the woods that eve, we enjoyed a salmon as fresh as ever could be, and like a San hunter gave thanks to our Maker for life passed and renewed.
No comments:
Post a Comment