CHAPTER IV
SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER
July 30th I looked forward to as a red-letter day in my life, for was I not to have my first chance for that 70 lb. fish, about which I had dreamt for so many years?
The early morning (we were all up at 6 a.m.) was spent in getting my tackle ship-shape, and, most important of all, in engaging the services of a good boatman—for on his strength and willingness to "buck the tide," as they happily term rowing against the strong tidal currents, depends largely the chance of success.
The man I selected was a fine boatman. Keen on getting fish—jealous of all others of his craft, and with a capacity for bucking about himself, and what he had done and could do, which I have seldom seen equalled.
His command of strong and even highly flavoured language was remarkable, but a little of it went a long way. When I asked his name, he replied, "Every one calls me Billy." No one on the West coast seems to have a surname, so "Billy" he was to me for all my fishing days.
Billy was, I should say, about twenty-three years of age, slightly built, but extraordinarily strong with an oar. His temper was not of the best, and when I lost a fish he always considered that I was to blame, and resented the unfortunate fact as if it were a personal insult to his own powers as a boatman.
I don't believe he ever thought of the Cannery or of the sum which under happier auspices would have stood to his credit. His pay was three dollars a day (12s.) plus the value of the fish. His appetite corresponded with his pay, which was large.