By REAVIS WORTHAM
Special to the Eagle
The Redhead, my 18-year-old and newly graduated (huzzah
daughter, made one single request regarding our recent Alaskan vacation when I asked for her input about what to do once we arrived.
"I want to go fishing."
Huzzah! It was then that I knew I'd raised her right.
In direct response, I contacted Orca Enterprises in Juneau and made the necessary arrangements to schedule both a whale-watching expedition and a salmon fishing trip. They told me how much the trips would cost, and after recovering from Sticker Shock, I broke the news to the War Department.
"We have reservations."
"I've always had reservations about you. How much was the fishing trip?" she asked.
I told her. She dug around in her purse, found a calendar and punched the keys - a little forcefully, I might add. "Do you realize how much that will cost per pound if we just catch two or three fish?"
"Yep," I answered. "But you need to remember that the cost doesn't outweigh the return on the overall experience."
Her blank face spoke volumes. Finally, she spoke. "That's the fertilizer you write in your magazine articles."
"It's true," I said, and went into the living room to think about Alaska.
Two months later, we bobbed in a cruiser off the deep-water coast of Ketchikan with guide Larry Wiseman. "You guys should get a shot at king salmon and pink salmon," he told us as he rigged the heavy fishing rods.
"Yea!" said the Redhead and Taz who, by the way, now wants to change her nickname to something more appropriate for a soon-to-be 16-year-old.
So I agreed.
From now on, I shall write and pronounce. Squanto.
Anyway, the Redhead and Squanto (my daughter formerly known as Taz) called dibs on the fishing rods. "You get those on the right side of the boat, and I'll get the two here on the left side," Squanto said.
"That'd be the port and starboard side," Captain Larry said.
"That's what she said," the Redhead said, defending her sister.
"Whatever," Captain Larry said. "Someone needs to get that rod that just jerked."
Squanto, the daughter formerly known as Taz, grabbed the rod from the holder and commended to crank a large, angry salmon up from the cold depths. While she battled the fish, we followed Captain Larry's earlier instructions and raced around the boat's stern to reel in the other rods lest the fish tangle up and break off.
I helped Squanto land the fish with my usual instructions. "Keep the rod tip up! Don't give him any slack! Don't lose that fish!"
As usual, she ignored my suggestions and cranked frantically, even while the fish was taking line and she was only tightening what was left on the spool.
I continued with my carefully crafted instructions. "Don't crank while he's taking line!"
For the first time in her life, my youngest began to lose the battle with a fish and she finally surrendered, handing me the rod. "Keep the rod tip up! Don't give him any slack! Don't lose that fish!" she shouted
"Funny," I answered. Minutes later, we boated a king weighting approximately 20 pounds.
"I'll get the next one," the Redhead said. And she would have, too, but the War Department happened to grab the next rod to dip and she landed another king, no doubt spurred on by my encouragement.
"Keep the rod tip up! Don't give him any slack! Don't lose that fish!"
The next two or three fish either threw the hooks or weren't hooked properly. Finally, a rod beside the Redhead dipped and she was in the fight. Once again, we scrambled around the stern, yanking rods and lines out of the way.
"Keep the rod tip up! Don't give him any slack! Don't lose that fish!"
Ignoring me, she did well, bringing the fish to the boat while Captain Larry and I cleared the rods and continued to keep an eye on her activities. After a few more moments, the biggest salmon of the day rose from the depths and then sounded again. Seeing the rod tip high, I took my eye from the battle and turned to crank up the last rod when we heard the most sickening sounds a fisherman can experience.
The lure snapped free and the Redhead was left with nothing but an empty hook.
The devastated look on her face told the story all anglers have felt at one time or another. She'd lost an incredible fish, and since it was so late in the day, there probably wouldn't be an opportunity to hook another.
I understood how she felt. I've also known that horrible, hollow, sinking feeling you get when you've seen a great fish just before it flips its tail and slips away forever. We tried to help with encouragement, that she'd fought the fight properly and the same thing had happened to me, but the sad look on her face was something I couldn't fix.
We trolled for another 20 minutes while the Redhead sat silently in the pilothouse, knowing the fishing was almost over for the day.
We learn a lot from life experiences, and with the loss of that fish she'd taken another step toward true adulthood. Then the next shoe fell and I shared that same sinking feeling with my daughter.
"Let's see," the War Department said, weighing the fish and punching her calculator. "Fifty pounds of fish, cleaned, smoked and shipped back to Texas, along with the cost of this boat and this captain"
"Don't forget the fishing licenses," I told her, just to stir the pot.
"That's right, so per pound of fish that comes toeeeek!"
"You can't put a price on the experience," I emphasized and then sat quietly with the Redhead the rest of the way home.
• Reavis Wortham's e-mail address is r.wortham@ comcast.net.
Special to the Eagle
The Redhead, my 18-year-old and newly graduated (huzzah
daughter, made one single request regarding our recent Alaskan vacation when I asked for her input about what to do once we arrived."I want to go fishing."
Huzzah! It was then that I knew I'd raised her right.
In direct response, I contacted Orca Enterprises in Juneau and made the necessary arrangements to schedule both a whale-watching expedition and a salmon fishing trip. They told me how much the trips would cost, and after recovering from Sticker Shock, I broke the news to the War Department.
"We have reservations."
"I've always had reservations about you. How much was the fishing trip?" she asked.
I told her. She dug around in her purse, found a calendar and punched the keys - a little forcefully, I might add. "Do you realize how much that will cost per pound if we just catch two or three fish?"
"Yep," I answered. "But you need to remember that the cost doesn't outweigh the return on the overall experience."
Her blank face spoke volumes. Finally, she spoke. "That's the fertilizer you write in your magazine articles."
"It's true," I said, and went into the living room to think about Alaska.
Two months later, we bobbed in a cruiser off the deep-water coast of Ketchikan with guide Larry Wiseman. "You guys should get a shot at king salmon and pink salmon," he told us as he rigged the heavy fishing rods.
"Yea!" said the Redhead and Taz who, by the way, now wants to change her nickname to something more appropriate for a soon-to-be 16-year-old.
So I agreed.
From now on, I shall write and pronounce. Squanto.
Anyway, the Redhead and Squanto (my daughter formerly known as Taz) called dibs on the fishing rods. "You get those on the right side of the boat, and I'll get the two here on the left side," Squanto said.
"That'd be the port and starboard side," Captain Larry said.
"That's what she said," the Redhead said, defending her sister.
"Whatever," Captain Larry said. "Someone needs to get that rod that just jerked."
Squanto, the daughter formerly known as Taz, grabbed the rod from the holder and commended to crank a large, angry salmon up from the cold depths. While she battled the fish, we followed Captain Larry's earlier instructions and raced around the boat's stern to reel in the other rods lest the fish tangle up and break off.
I helped Squanto land the fish with my usual instructions. "Keep the rod tip up! Don't give him any slack! Don't lose that fish!"
As usual, she ignored my suggestions and cranked frantically, even while the fish was taking line and she was only tightening what was left on the spool.
I continued with my carefully crafted instructions. "Don't crank while he's taking line!"
For the first time in her life, my youngest began to lose the battle with a fish and she finally surrendered, handing me the rod. "Keep the rod tip up! Don't give him any slack! Don't lose that fish!" she shouted
"Funny," I answered. Minutes later, we boated a king weighting approximately 20 pounds.
"I'll get the next one," the Redhead said. And she would have, too, but the War Department happened to grab the next rod to dip and she landed another king, no doubt spurred on by my encouragement.
"Keep the rod tip up! Don't give him any slack! Don't lose that fish!"
The next two or three fish either threw the hooks or weren't hooked properly. Finally, a rod beside the Redhead dipped and she was in the fight. Once again, we scrambled around the stern, yanking rods and lines out of the way.
"Keep the rod tip up! Don't give him any slack! Don't lose that fish!"
Ignoring me, she did well, bringing the fish to the boat while Captain Larry and I cleared the rods and continued to keep an eye on her activities. After a few more moments, the biggest salmon of the day rose from the depths and then sounded again. Seeing the rod tip high, I took my eye from the battle and turned to crank up the last rod when we heard the most sickening sounds a fisherman can experience.
The lure snapped free and the Redhead was left with nothing but an empty hook.
The devastated look on her face told the story all anglers have felt at one time or another. She'd lost an incredible fish, and since it was so late in the day, there probably wouldn't be an opportunity to hook another.
I understood how she felt. I've also known that horrible, hollow, sinking feeling you get when you've seen a great fish just before it flips its tail and slips away forever. We tried to help with encouragement, that she'd fought the fight properly and the same thing had happened to me, but the sad look on her face was something I couldn't fix.
We trolled for another 20 minutes while the Redhead sat silently in the pilothouse, knowing the fishing was almost over for the day.
We learn a lot from life experiences, and with the loss of that fish she'd taken another step toward true adulthood. Then the next shoe fell and I shared that same sinking feeling with my daughter.
"Let's see," the War Department said, weighing the fish and punching her calculator. "Fifty pounds of fish, cleaned, smoked and shipped back to Texas, along with the cost of this boat and this captain"
"Don't forget the fishing licenses," I told her, just to stir the pot.
"That's right, so per pound of fish that comes toeeeek!"
"You can't put a price on the experience," I emphasized and then sat quietly with the Redhead the rest of the way home.
• Reavis Wortham's e-mail address is r.wortham@ comcast.net.