The rod was bent double and I put on all the strain possible, but it was a full three-quarters of an hour before I could see my lead coming up to the surface, and my arms and back were aching. How the rod did not break I cannot understand, for the fish came up gradually from straight under the boat; but at last I had the gaff in the biggest but least sporting fish I had killed during the month. He weighed 59½ lb. at the hotel, having lost a good deal of blood, and must have been over 60 lb. when he came out of the water. The brass spoon was either bitten or broken in half.
TWO GOOD FISH. 53 lb., 42 lb.
A 60 lb. FISH
[To face page 50.
Having killed forty-one tyee, fished steadily for a month, and seen most of the fish that were caught, I do not think many fish over 60 lb. are killed. One fish caught by a hand-line and small spoon by a young settler named Pidcock, I weighed, and he must have been close on 70 lb. My spring balance went down with a rush to its limit of 60 lb., and I heard afterwards that when weighed at the Cannery it scaled 68 lb., so when fresh must have been close on 70 lb. This was the biggest fish I saw on the coast.
Farther north there are other fishing grounds well worth a visit, where the fish are said to run up to 100 lb.—such are the Kitimaat River and McCallister's Bay at the entrance to Gardner Canal, about four hundred miles north of Campbell River.
A steamer runs direct to Kitimaat and Hartley Bay once a month. Accommodation can be had at Kitimaat, but a camp is necessary at McCallister's Bay. Fish run as early as May. Campbell River is getting too well known, and there are too many boats on the water.
The following amusing description of an evening's fishing is from the clever pen of J. G. Millais, and was published in Country Life. I venture to reproduce it—
"Amidst gorgeous sunset hues we went to fish the usual beat opposite the Indian village on August 11th. The sun had already set, when of a sudden a suppressed excitement ran through the boats. A fresh run of tyee were in and had begun to take. Three or four Indians were 'fast' at once, and yells for help came down the line. In a moment, while close to the beacon stake at the mouth of the river, Mr. Powell, Sir John Rogers and I were 'into' fish at the same moment.
"Then the circus began. 'Look out there; don't you see I'm fast?' 'Confound you; get up your line, or I'll be over you.' 'Gangway, gangway,' 'Where the devil are you coming to!' 'Mind your oars,' 'He's off to the tide. Hurry' (Mac or Bill, as the case might be); 'row like blazes,' were a few of the cries that broke from excited anglers, while even phlegmatic Indians grinned or yelled 'tyee, tyee' in sympathetic encouragement. We all cleared each other somehow. I do not quite know how. Sir John was whisked straight out to sea, and was a quarter of a mile off in no time. Mr. Powell broke, while my fish, to my horror, went straight for the beacon. I lugged at him to steer clear, and he took the hint so forcibly that he burnt my finger on the line with the rush he made for the deep water. It was like poor Dan Leno's hunting song, 'Away, away and away. I don't know where we're going to, but away and away and away.' We could hear men laughing and joking in the darkness behind, and then in a moment we were out of it all in the silence of the boiling tide. Mac was a good boatman, and the way he followed that tyee in the eight-knot current did him credit. This was the strongest fish I have ever hooked. He seemed to do with us just what he chose, and we, like sheep, had to follow. If he had carried out his first laudable intention of a visit to Queen Charlotte Islands he might have defeated us, but seemingly he altered his plan and made a fierce hundred yards' run for the curl of the current at the mouth of the Campbell River. Here there were nasty lumps of floating kelp, and the two anglers fishing there received our return landwards with shouts of warning. In the gloom I could see by their attitudes that they were intensely interested in our welfare, for the next best thing to playing a fish yourself is to watch another at the game. Then began a series of 'magnificent cruises.' It is part of the interest in salmon-fishing that the fish you have 'on' is infinitely larger than anything previously hooked. Generally it is a pleasant delusion; but sometimes it is true, and then the conflicting emotions of the play and the thrill of subsequent capture are something to live for.
"My fish was, I knew, the biggest I had ever hooked, so one had to follow the same old ways of playing him, coupled with such extra force as that stout tackle warranted. After every great circuit of the boat I resorted to all sorts of devices for tiring my antagonist, but he refused to give in or to allow me to shorten the line. But my fish was as gallant a fighter as ever was hatched, and the better the fighter the quicker he kills himself. Half-an-hour has elapsed and I see the lead six feet up the line for the first time. Soon we shall see back and tail. Yes, there they are, and what a monster. He must be 60 lb. at least. At last he shows side, and that is the beginning of the end. Mac, an indifferent gaffer under the most favourable circumstances, now surpasses himself in the fields of incompetence. He makes one or two feeble shots, and then, getting the gaff well home, attempts to lift the fish as I throw my weight on to the reverse side of the light boat to prevent an upset. He heaves with both hands, and a great head appears, when crack goes the steel, and Mac sits down heavily in the boat, looking supremely foolish. I was not distressed, however, as that brief view of the fish's head had shown me the hook well placed; moreover, I knew that somewhere under the thwarts we possessed a goodly club. Mac, after a few moments' search, produced the truncheon, and, at the first attempt, stunned the salmon with a well-directed blow, and lifting it with his hand drew it into the boat. Ha! this is a fish indeed; one of the best of the season, we flatter ourselves, and 60 lb. for certain. But no; those cruel scales blast our hopes by 3 lb. Still, a fifty-seven-pounder is something to be proud of, and we rowed home that night at peace with the world. This, then, is Campbell River fishing for the great tyee salmon. If you wish to collect records you can do so by sitting all day in your boat for a month and using a tarpon-rod, which kills the biggest fish in two minutes, and a Vom Hofe reel, which carries a drag that would stop a buffalo."