Catch of the Day
Est. Read Time: 10 Mins.
It was the day before my cousin’s wedding in Vancouver and endless excitement was abound. Before the festivities were set to begin we had a full day planned with my Uncle Tom and under no circumstance were we able to break it.
We were goin’ fishing.
It’s become somewhat of a tradition in our family to go fishing at least one day with Uncle Tom when visiting our family in BC. The man lives, breathes, and dreams about fish. He has fish t-shirts, an endless supply of reels, lures, and rods, and knows all the latest and greatest techniques on “landing the big one”. He even volunteers at the Capilano River Salmon Hatchery during his spare time to give back to the sport and pastime that he loves with so much passion. Needless to say, this man loves to fish.
Before we left in the morning, the women in our lives each gave us an ominous warning to be back before 6pm for the wedding rehearsal dinner.
“For the love of God, guys, he’s the Father-of-the-Bride! Whatever you do, please don’t make your Uncle late for dinner”, my mother, Glori, said with exasperation as we slammed the packed trunk of a tiny 2 door hatch-back closed. “Otherwise, the only thing being served tonight will be your 4 heads on a platter.”
September 1, 2016: Gone Fishin’ w/ the GOAT. Sunflower seeds or skoal? - From left to right: Jeff, Uncle Tom, Riley.
Hours later as our boat gently rocked beside a massive granite rock wall in Horseshoe Bay, I couldn’t help but notice the pending doom approaching.
“Looks like rain”, I said, half glancing up above my newly minted camouflage ball cap Uncle Tom had given me and my brother, Jeff, upon our arrival.
Jeff and I had already caught and released a couple of tiny Coho Salmon, definitely nothing worth phoning home about; however, I was satisfied enough with the minor success that I was more than ready to start the boat ride back to the marina. It was getting close to 4pm and we wanted to leave plenty of time to get back for the rehearsal diner.
“Let’s give it a few more minutes”, Uncle Tom said, his Minnesotan accent still faintly recognizable even after decades of erosion from living in Canada, “I’ve got a good feeling that Jim is gonna reel in a helluva’ monster!”
Up to this point, Jim was having lousy luck on the line. With only a few nibbles, he seemed more focused on finishing off the bag of sunflower seeds then casting out again. But when Uncle Tom gives a recommendation about fishing it carries a lot of weight. On water, he’s like a wise karate sensei.
Switch the bait? Yes, sir!
Follow the fish with the rod? Yes, sir!
Sweep the leg? STRIKE FIRST, STRIKE HARD, NO MERCY, SIR!
We continued on our path up the coast line, when Jeff noticed something ahead in the distance.
“Hey, check that out. There’s a seal over there”, he said pointing to the middle of the bay. Jeff’s eye-sight is razor sharp, much better than my contact lens corrected nearsightedness. That thing was barely visible above the break of the dark green sea water. It must’ve been close to 3 kilometers away too.
“Aaahhh, gotta watch out for those puppies”, Uncle Tom said with a quiet warning in his voice, “they’ll steal your fish right off the hook if you’re not careful.”
Seal spotting in the middle of Horseshoe Bay.
We were heading toward the seal for roughly 15 minutes as it gracefully glided toward us. But something seemed off about the whole sighting. The seal never dipped its head below the surface. Not even once.
We continued to close the distance and Jeff got a closer look. “You guys will never believe this”, he paused and squinted, “I think that thing right there is a dog.”
Impossible. How could it be? The fact that it was so far out to sea made that thought absolutely ridiculous.
Sure, there were houses on the shoreline, but they were all on giant rock faced cliffs. A fall from that height and a dog would most certainly be dead. Maybe he jumped off the Langdale Ferry? After all, we were right on the route that the large transport tanker took, but that seemed unlikely also. The last ferry took off hours ago, long before we even left the marina. Another boat surely would have noticed a dog swimming in the water before us.
Uncle Tom cranked the wheel and he spun the boat around. The black dog was swimming rapidly for the shoreline and made it there before we could cut him off. With jagged rocks everywhere, he struggled to find a location that was flat enough to find his footing. Breathing heavily, the scared dog eventually found a flat ledge and popped out of the water. He started to climb the wall like a mountain goat. We looked on in amazement as he scaled up to about 15 feet. To make matters worse, rain was now starting to gently fall.
“Tom, you think you could pull this thing in closer?”, Jim asked as he sized up the rock face, “If you guys can steady the boat, I think I might be able to get him down”. This was easier said than done, and the last thing we wanted to do was capsize.
With a mischievous laugh Uncle Tom replied, “Ohhh you got it pal, I’ve been practicing for this moment my whole life.”
We watched with bated breath as he expertly maneuvered the boat around the protruding boulders until he was able to make slight contact with the side of the wall. If anyone could dock us safely, my money was on Uncle Tom.
“Hold on boys, it’s gonna get rocky!”, he yelled as he made his approach.
As soon as we were close enough, Jeff and I reached over the side of the boat and held onto the rock formation for dear life. There couldn’t have been more than a finger ledge to hold on to. I could feel tiny drops of blood smearing into my palms as I dug into the sharp rock as best I could. With the boat now secured, Jim stepped out to the rock wall and started to climb.
Jim scaling the rock wall trying to get to the dog.
I don’t know how he did it. I don’t know how he didn’t slip. But with a mixture of balance and adrenaline, Jim shimmied himself onto the ledge and followed the path up toward the terrified and trapped dog. Upon closer inspection, we noticed the dog had on a collar and a leash. Jim climbed as high as he could but with every step closer, the dog moved one step farther away.
“I think I can reach him from here”, Jim said. “Pass me the paddle, I’ll try to hook his leash.”
Jeff let go of the rock and hoisted up the emergency paddle to Jim. Once, twice, three times. Jim used the handle of the paddle to try to grab the leash end, but he kept missing it by just a fraction of an inch. Even the slightest head movements of the dog were causing the leash to sway slightly out of reach.
The rain continued to fall and we knew it was now or never. With every passing second, the rocks were only getting more slippery to stand on and the clock was creeping closer toward 6pm with each failed attempt.
Then, like a beacon of light through the morning fog on the North Shore coast, Uncle Tom gives his best advice yet.
“Ya got this, Jim. Fish with confidence.”
Still balancing on the rocky surface, Jim looks down and offers up a nod of approval. With one final attempt of determination, he locates the leash with the paddle, and slides it through the end of the handle.
Everyone let out an audible cheer! Slowly, without losing the line, Jim begins to reel the dog in. But the dog wasn’t ready to go down without a fight. With every slight pull, the now stubborn dog was pushing back.
Jim and the dog continued this game of give and take and Uncle Tom couldn’t help but laugh. “You got a real fighter on your hands! Tire him out and reel that sucker in!”, he said with one hand still on the wheel. He gritted his teeth in an under bite fashion and made a gesture of air fishing.
The struggle proved to be short lived. Tired from the long swim, the dog started to gradually concede his position. He turned around and walked timidly toward Jim, and then right onto the boat.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Finally up close, we could see what we were looking at. Smelly and wet, the dog was a lean, muscular, and mangy Airedale Terrier with an all-black coat. His hair was matted and salty from the sea water. He was in dire need of a haircut and his bangs were slightly covering his eyes.
“Call this number if lost”, I said, examining the tags on the collar.
Jeff starts punching in the digits and is about to hit the green dial button when Jim says with authority, “Wait”.
Jeff looks up from his phone and Jim continues, “If this dog doesn’t belong to anyone, he’s coming home with me.”
With everyone now safely aboard, Uncle Tom fires up the engine and speeds off toward the marina. I glance briefly at the neon glow of the dashboard to check the time.
Quarter after five. We were going to make it.
Safely on the boat - We never did get the opportunity to take the dog we nicknamed “Shoe” home. While his handler’s explanation as to how he ended up in the middle of the bay was sketchy at best, he came and picked him up from Uncle Tom’s house later that evening.
The next day, I walked around the old Victorian style country club at the wedding, when I noticed a large crowd had formed in front of a rustic marble fireplace. The bustle of guests in their evening gowns, gliding around with wine and h’orderves in hand, made the place feel opulent and grand like no other.
As I approached the crowd I realized that they were surrounding an entertainer who was talking animatedly. The eyes of the people were fixated on his every word. I pulled in behind the last row of guests and could just make out the speaker’s final remarks when the crowd erupted into a raucous bout of laughter and applause that was met with further back slapping, hand shaking, cheers, and celebration.
“I can’t believe it!”
“There’s absolutely no way!”
“A dog? Never in a million years!”
I could see the genuine happiness in Uncle Tom’s eyes as he was swarmed by the rest of his friends. After all, a fisherman is only as good as the stories he is able to tell.
I couldn’t help but smile.