[Scott from the Left Coast]

You can never precisely know the moment that a fish hits the line (maybe especially the native cutthroat). The adrenaline surge masks it, and you can never remember it precisely afterward. One moment all is calm and the next moment you know it has been tugging and you are trying to, cautiously, set the hook. But that moment is lost to your memory.

Eternity compressed into a moment. The spot of time that escapes you.

[Sam Cree]

So you are a fisherman? Why am I still up? Good night, All.

[HairOfTheDog]

I grew up fishing with my Dad. We always had a boat when I was a kid. Mostly fishing for salmon in the sound, and up on the straights at Sekiu at least once a year.

A family friend remembers a story better than I do, of he, my dad and I fishing at Sekiu in a rented kicker boat, when I was a little kid.

My dad is very much into the art of playing a salmon, the timing of perfectly setting the hook and then playing the fish until the fish is done. It can take an hour to land a big fish my dad's way, and it was wonderful sport.

A fish hit my line as we sat there drifting... the tell-tale "zzzzzzzzzzz" of a salmon running hard. My dad reached for my pole to do it for me. Our friend says he grabbed my dad's arm and said "Don't you dare! That is her fish!" Heh.