Wavedancer, part nine
May. 11th, 2009 12:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valis2Intro/Index of all parts | Read with the commentary
I thought for a moment on what fishing technique to use, and decided upon planerboards, two flat pieces of wood standing on their sides with metal spacers running through them. I pulled them out of the small cabin and hopped into the bow with Sean. I'd brought the planerboard mast with me as well and I screwed it into place at the very tip of the bow.
"What's that?" he asked, examining it closely.
"It's called a planermast," I said, easily keeping balance as the boat crested a larger wave. "It allows me to put several lines out at once and troll a larger area of water, instead of just putting one line out and hoping fish see it."
He nodded solemnly, and walked back to where his grandfather was sitting. There was such a strong family resemblance between them that it made me think of Corny and my father, who could almost be copies of each other. I walked back to the pilot's seat and finished off my cup of coffee. I started the engines and put it into forward, working with the throttles until I had achieved the best trolling speed I could. It was still a little too fast, but I couldn't get any slower without installing a trolling motor, and I wasn't real keen on the idea. I already had enough on the boat to keep me busy without trying to add another piece of equipment to it.
I set the 'Dancer on a course and hooked a bungee cord to the wheel to hold her steady. "I need some help with the planerboards," I said, motioning to Sean.
"Okay," he said hesitantly. I wondered if he thought that I was trying to keep him busy. He followed me up to the planerboard mast and looked closely at the planerboards. He reached out to touch the neon flags attached to them. "What are these for?" he asked.
"So the other boats will see them in the water and not run over 'em," I said as I began to connect the equipment. I had a ring of release clips sitting nearby, and I pulled one off to show him. "This holds the fishing line," I explained, pointing to the clip, "and this loop is attached to the planerboard line. When a fish hits the lure it snaps the fishing line out of the clip so we can reel it in."
He looked at the twin planerboards and then back at me. "So you put out one fishing pole on each?"
"Actually you can put three or fishing lines on each planer line," I said, turning back to the planerboard. "You put each line out one by one, and they stay in place because the tension on the fishing line prevents the release clip from traveling any further down the planer line." I checked and double checked the connection on the planer board after I hooked it to the planer line and then I threw it over the side. I did the same to the other planerboard on the other side. "Okay, now take the planerboard mast reel," I instructed, pointing to the large spools mounted on the planermast. I took one and began to crank out line, and between the movement of the boat and the slack line I was producing the planerboard moved farther away and out. I watched him carefully, and when the planerboard was about twenty-five feet from the boat I showed him how to lock the reel in place.
I pulled out some of the lures and had him pick out colors he liked. I put two fishing lines out for each side, two running deep, and two running shallow. He wanted to know why we only put four out, and I explained that the DNR had a limit of two rods per person.
"Why don't we have six then?" he wanted to know.
"I'm not sure that this is a hot spot, and I don't want to have too much out in case we decide to move."
"Oh." He watched the rods bend and sway to the rhythm of the waves and listened to the eerie high note the fishing lines shrill as the wind blows through them.
I jumped over the dash into my seat to check the heading. I was about to return to the bow when the radio crackled to life.
"'Dancer, Wave Dancer, Wave Dancer, this is Fish Again, come in." Sean whirled around to look as I picked up the mic and replied.
"This is 'Dancer. How's it going?" Fred Murr, Fish Again's captain, was one of the better charter captains in the area and one of the friendliest. It was always a pleasure to talk to him on the water.
"Just wondering where the fish are this morning," came the reply. "We've been out for an hour already with nothing in the box."
"They were up too late last night," I laughed.
"We'll send 'em down some hot water bottles."
"I've got the aspirin," I added with a grin.
"I think we're gonna try heading west for a spell."
"You get those fish biting now," I answered. "Wave Dancer out."
"Fish Again out." Fred was a good fisherman, one who didn't appreciate a lot of chatter on the radio. In person, however, he was the exact opposite, a spirited talker who liked to pontificate down at Steve Dell's bar.
I hung up the mic and Sean was at my side staring at the radio. "Who were you talking to? What does 81 mean?"
"I was talking to Fred Murr, one of the other charter captains. And 81 means I'm on channel 81, which--" There was a quiet pop as one of the rods jerked up.
"Whoa!" I said, elbowing past Sean and grabbing the rod from its holder. I pulled in some line and set the hook, and from the reaction I judged it a fish and not a misfire. "Fish on!" I yelled. "Who wants it?"
Sean came scrambling up and I gave him the rod as I ran back to the console to cut the engines. The sudden silence was a respite for the ears, and Mr. Jensen seemed grateful for it. He got up stiffly and walked to the bow, holding the railing tightly.
I watched as he helped Sean lead the fish to the back of the boat. I pulled in the other lines before they tangled. When everything was under control I picked up a net and stepped around to where Sean was excitedly reeling in the fish. His grandfather was trying to change the drag setting for him. The fish was putting up a good fight, and it lept free of the water only ten feet from the boat. A coho salmon, maybe four or five pounds; a nice fish. I got in place with the net, leaning on the side of the boat, making last minute adjustments to the length of the handle. Mr. Jensen was helping Sean pull the fish in.
Another minute or two and I glimpsed the fish alongside the boat. With a single fluid motion I dipped the net in and scooped the salmon out, dropping it onto the floor of the boat. I put my thick gloves on and carefully grasped the hook with my pliers. "Are we releasing it, or do you want to keep it?" I asked. "Remember, I can clean the fish for you if you like, it's covered in the price of the charter."
Sean turned to his grandfather, who smiled. "It's up to you. You know better than I whether your mom'll cook it or not." Sean turned back to me and nodded excitedly, so I clubbed the fish, removed the hook, and flipped it into my big cooler. I dunked the net in the lake a few times to rinse it out and then slipped it back into its cradle.
"'Dancer, this is Terminator," crackled the radio. I rolled my eyes, as it was Bob, the Terminator's captain and owner of Yearner Fishing Enterprises, and, if there was such a thing, winner of Most Impatient Charter Captain. He could never be bothered to voice the mandated triple repetition of boat names.
"This is Wave Dancer, I replied, almost dropping the mic as I tried to pour another cup of coffee.
"Any luck?" In his usual unsubtle and irritating manner he was trying to figure out my location so he could crowd me out if I was doing well.
"One in the box," I said, taking a sip of coffee and sitting back, holding the mic in my other hand. Sean grinned elatedly at me.
"So you're by Candle Bluff."
"Um, no, actually I'm not." I refused to fall for that old trick. I was insulted that he imagined me that predictable.
"Mike was there yesterday. I thought you'd be out here first thing."
I wasn't going to admit that I hadn't found out where Mike had been last night, so I bluffed a little. "Thought I'd try another spot first," I said instead. He was probably all ears now, trying to guess why I would turn down last night's hot spot.
"Oh, got one on, gotta go."
And that was it for a conversation with him, of course. "Wave Dancer over and out," I said, and hung up the mic.
On to part ten
Read this section with the commentary
I thought for a moment on what fishing technique to use, and decided upon planerboards, two flat pieces of wood standing on their sides with metal spacers running through them. I pulled them out of the small cabin and hopped into the bow with Sean. I'd brought the planerboard mast with me as well and I screwed it into place at the very tip of the bow.
"What's that?" he asked, examining it closely.
"It's called a planermast," I said, easily keeping balance as the boat crested a larger wave. "It allows me to put several lines out at once and troll a larger area of water, instead of just putting one line out and hoping fish see it."
He nodded solemnly, and walked back to where his grandfather was sitting. There was such a strong family resemblance between them that it made me think of Corny and my father, who could almost be copies of each other. I walked back to the pilot's seat and finished off my cup of coffee. I started the engines and put it into forward, working with the throttles until I had achieved the best trolling speed I could. It was still a little too fast, but I couldn't get any slower without installing a trolling motor, and I wasn't real keen on the idea. I already had enough on the boat to keep me busy without trying to add another piece of equipment to it.
I set the 'Dancer on a course and hooked a bungee cord to the wheel to hold her steady. "I need some help with the planerboards," I said, motioning to Sean.
"Okay," he said hesitantly. I wondered if he thought that I was trying to keep him busy. He followed me up to the planerboard mast and looked closely at the planerboards. He reached out to touch the neon flags attached to them. "What are these for?" he asked.
"So the other boats will see them in the water and not run over 'em," I said as I began to connect the equipment. I had a ring of release clips sitting nearby, and I pulled one off to show him. "This holds the fishing line," I explained, pointing to the clip, "and this loop is attached to the planerboard line. When a fish hits the lure it snaps the fishing line out of the clip so we can reel it in."
He looked at the twin planerboards and then back at me. "So you put out one fishing pole on each?"
"Actually you can put three or fishing lines on each planer line," I said, turning back to the planerboard. "You put each line out one by one, and they stay in place because the tension on the fishing line prevents the release clip from traveling any further down the planer line." I checked and double checked the connection on the planer board after I hooked it to the planer line and then I threw it over the side. I did the same to the other planerboard on the other side. "Okay, now take the planerboard mast reel," I instructed, pointing to the large spools mounted on the planermast. I took one and began to crank out line, and between the movement of the boat and the slack line I was producing the planerboard moved farther away and out. I watched him carefully, and when the planerboard was about twenty-five feet from the boat I showed him how to lock the reel in place.
I pulled out some of the lures and had him pick out colors he liked. I put two fishing lines out for each side, two running deep, and two running shallow. He wanted to know why we only put four out, and I explained that the DNR had a limit of two rods per person.
"Why don't we have six then?" he wanted to know.
"I'm not sure that this is a hot spot, and I don't want to have too much out in case we decide to move."
"Oh." He watched the rods bend and sway to the rhythm of the waves and listened to the eerie high note the fishing lines shrill as the wind blows through them.
I jumped over the dash into my seat to check the heading. I was about to return to the bow when the radio crackled to life.
"'Dancer, Wave Dancer, Wave Dancer, this is Fish Again, come in." Sean whirled around to look as I picked up the mic and replied.
"This is 'Dancer. How's it going?" Fred Murr, Fish Again's captain, was one of the better charter captains in the area and one of the friendliest. It was always a pleasure to talk to him on the water.
"Just wondering where the fish are this morning," came the reply. "We've been out for an hour already with nothing in the box."
"They were up too late last night," I laughed.
"We'll send 'em down some hot water bottles."
"I've got the aspirin," I added with a grin.
"I think we're gonna try heading west for a spell."
"You get those fish biting now," I answered. "Wave Dancer out."
"Fish Again out." Fred was a good fisherman, one who didn't appreciate a lot of chatter on the radio. In person, however, he was the exact opposite, a spirited talker who liked to pontificate down at Steve Dell's bar.
I hung up the mic and Sean was at my side staring at the radio. "Who were you talking to? What does 81 mean?"
"I was talking to Fred Murr, one of the other charter captains. And 81 means I'm on channel 81, which--" There was a quiet pop as one of the rods jerked up.
"Whoa!" I said, elbowing past Sean and grabbing the rod from its holder. I pulled in some line and set the hook, and from the reaction I judged it a fish and not a misfire. "Fish on!" I yelled. "Who wants it?"
Sean came scrambling up and I gave him the rod as I ran back to the console to cut the engines. The sudden silence was a respite for the ears, and Mr. Jensen seemed grateful for it. He got up stiffly and walked to the bow, holding the railing tightly.
I watched as he helped Sean lead the fish to the back of the boat. I pulled in the other lines before they tangled. When everything was under control I picked up a net and stepped around to where Sean was excitedly reeling in the fish. His grandfather was trying to change the drag setting for him. The fish was putting up a good fight, and it lept free of the water only ten feet from the boat. A coho salmon, maybe four or five pounds; a nice fish. I got in place with the net, leaning on the side of the boat, making last minute adjustments to the length of the handle. Mr. Jensen was helping Sean pull the fish in.
Another minute or two and I glimpsed the fish alongside the boat. With a single fluid motion I dipped the net in and scooped the salmon out, dropping it onto the floor of the boat. I put my thick gloves on and carefully grasped the hook with my pliers. "Are we releasing it, or do you want to keep it?" I asked. "Remember, I can clean the fish for you if you like, it's covered in the price of the charter."
Sean turned to his grandfather, who smiled. "It's up to you. You know better than I whether your mom'll cook it or not." Sean turned back to me and nodded excitedly, so I clubbed the fish, removed the hook, and flipped it into my big cooler. I dunked the net in the lake a few times to rinse it out and then slipped it back into its cradle.
"'Dancer, this is Terminator," crackled the radio. I rolled my eyes, as it was Bob, the Terminator's captain and owner of Yearner Fishing Enterprises, and, if there was such a thing, winner of Most Impatient Charter Captain. He could never be bothered to voice the mandated triple repetition of boat names.
"This is Wave Dancer, I replied, almost dropping the mic as I tried to pour another cup of coffee.
"Any luck?" In his usual unsubtle and irritating manner he was trying to figure out my location so he could crowd me out if I was doing well.
"One in the box," I said, taking a sip of coffee and sitting back, holding the mic in my other hand. Sean grinned elatedly at me.
"So you're by Candle Bluff."
"Um, no, actually I'm not." I refused to fall for that old trick. I was insulted that he imagined me that predictable.
"Mike was there yesterday. I thought you'd be out here first thing."
I wasn't going to admit that I hadn't found out where Mike had been last night, so I bluffed a little. "Thought I'd try another spot first," I said instead. He was probably all ears now, trying to guess why I would turn down last night's hot spot.
"Oh, got one on, gotta go."
And that was it for a conversation with him, of course. "Wave Dancer over and out," I said, and hung up the mic.
On to part ten
Read this section with the commentary