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The Perfect Fish

By Patrick F. McManus

Feb 4, 2008

Words can't do justice to a description of Ed Haag's Boat. Even Ed hasn't been able to come up with anything appropriate. He's thought of painting on the side of The Boat, "But it catches fish!" Other fishermen stare at it in awe. At the launch ramps, some of them, owners of fishing craft in the $20,000-and-up range, wander over for a closer look, as if they can't quite believe their eyes.

"You build it?" they ask.

"Nope," Ed says. "I did edify it though."

"Edify" is the word Ed uses to describe his various renovations on equipment ranging from outboard motors to fishing rods to downriggers to depth finders. The Boat has two steering wheels—one for the jet outboard and one for the trolling motor. This convenience may not be unique, but I'd never seen it before. When I fish with Ed, he lets me have my own steering wheel, the one for the trolling motor. He knows he can easily overpower me with the big jet.

As I say, it's really impossible to describe The Boat. Perhaps it will be sufficient to point out that the depth finder consists in part of various items of home plumbing and can be attached quickly to the side of The Boat by means of a universal plumbing joint.

The Boat originated in Louisiana as a fishing pram but somehow migrated to Canada, where Ed's brother pop-riveted a foot of aluminum sheeting to the tops of the gunwales. That allowed Ed to haul moose and caribou out of northcountry lakes without taking water onboard. The moose and caribou were dead. In case you might have seen The Boat, I think it's necessary to point that out.

Ed called me the other day and invited me to go fishing with him.

"You mean in The Boat," I said.

"Of course," Ed said.

"You bet," I said. The thing about The Boat is, it does catch fish, lots of fish, and it's a rare honor to be invited to go fishing in it. Furthermore, Ed is an extremely interesting and entertaining guy. Thirty years ago, he was one of my graduate students at Eastern Washington University. I taught him how to become a freelance writer, which is what he has been ever since. I did it as a practical joke, of course, but Ed never caught on and has prospered from his writing. Some practical jokes just never work out as you intend.

"Where are we fishing?" I asked, climbing into Ed's Jeep Cherokee. I carried not so much as a tackle box. Like other guys, I enjoy fussing around with tackle, motors, boats and so on, but these days I often find it rather pleasant to walk out my front door with empty hands and climb into some other fisherman's well-equipped outfit. Ed furnishes everything, right down to the coffee and sandwiches. Actually, I don't remember any sandwiches. I'll have to mention that to Ed.

"The Columbia River," Ed said, in response to my question. "Damon caught a dandy salmon there a couple of days ago. I marked the spot with my GPS unit. I suspect there are a few more fish just like it right there." Damon is Ed's son. When Damon was younger, he trained a pet spider and kept it in his bedroom. I borrowed his spider and put it in one of my novels, The Blight Way.

Three hours later we arrived at a rocky launch site on the Columbia, a few yards upstream of a highway bridge, which is supported by huge concrete pillars. I didn't think much about the pillars at the time.

As we cruised upriver, Ed pointed out various sites from which he had taken significant fish. He also seemed to have in his head a mental map of the riverbed. I suspect he had fished here a few times before. There were about a dozen other fishing craft on the river, and from the waves and shouts of the occupants, it was obvious The Boat was a familiar sight.

A couple miles upstream, Ed killed the outboard jet and put me in charge of the steering wheel that controlled the trolling motor. I have a thousand or so hours of trolling experience, but I didn't let on to Ed. "Keep it in fifty feet of water," he ordered. "There's a trough that runs along the bottom here. The big salmon seem to like it. Okay, we're just about to the spot where Damon hooked his fish. Should get a hit anytime now and…"

Wham!

One of the rods whipped down. Ed jerked it out of the holder and handed it to me. "You fight it!"

I've hooked lots of huge fish over the years—well, two—but this one was major Big ! Twice we saw it roll on the surface.

"In Canada," Ed said, "we call a salmon under thirty-five pounds a tyee. Over thirty-five pounds, it's a king. This is a king!"

I suppose Ed thought that might have a calming effect on my nerves. It didn't. I was tied into a 35-plus-pound fish!

Twice I brought the king in almost close enough to net. Then it saw The Boat. Obviously, it had never before experienced anything remotely like it. The king panicked. The line sizzled out from the reel. Ed had edified the reel. I couldn't figure out how to tighten the drag. "Use your thumb," he advised. "That's what I do." Most guides advise not thumbing the reel, but they don't catch as many fish as Ed. I thumbed the reel. Soon my thumb began to smoke. Then the fish turned, and I began to crank him back in.

Ed timed the fight with his watch. "Thirty minutes," he said at one point. By then we had drifted two and a half miles downriver. We were approaching the bridge! The river picked up speed as it plowed between the pillars. The spaces between the pillars seemed to narrow the closer we got! I thought we might hit one of the towering concrete columns! Ed and I began to shout at each other!

The king was still fighting with every ounce of its 45 pounds. My aching arms were growing numb. Ed started up the jet and began to steer the boat between two columns. Truckers passing on the bridge looked down and honked their horns in recognition of this classic battle between man and 50-pound fish. Ed had already started to refer to the king as "Moby." And then we swept beneath the bridge.

The line went limp.

That 60-pound monster was free and making its weary way back upstream. I slumped into the trolling chair.

"That's the perfect fish," Ed said. "You had all the excitement of fighting it but you don't have the nuisance of hauling it home and cleaning it and getting the car all stunk up with fish smell. Of course, you will miss out on having Bun exclaim, 'Oh, another dead fish.'"

"Right," I said. "Actually, I think that king probably didn't go over seventy pounds by more than a few ounces. What do you think, Ed?"

"That would be my guess."

What better witness could you ask for?

When we got back home that evening, Ed gave me two jars. I stared at the bright-red contents. "Salmon eggs?" I said.

"Salmon eggs nothing," Ed said. "That's my own homemade caviar!"

"Wow!" I said. "I didn't realize you knew how to make caviar."

"Yep. But this is my first try. It's edified caviar. Let me know how you like it."

"How do you like it?"

"Mmm," he said. "I'm giving you two jars, aren't I?"

A minute ago, my wife stuck her head in my office and said, "I just boiled some eggs for you to eat with Ed's caviar."

"Mmm," I said.  

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