SALMON'S MOOCHING LODGE

A light tap-tap indicates a spring - funny how a fish so big can often be so tentative. Grab the rod too soon and the fish is gone. You have to wait for a full takedown.The strike of a silver is anything but tentative, though. The rod instantly goes from a steady bend to lurching like a demented wizard's wand.

You'd think that with such a vicious strike, the fish would have solidly hooked itself, but it's vital to reel down to the fish as you simultaneously take the rod out of the rod holder so as not to put any slack in the line. Then it's important to do a solid hook set, or two, or three.

And, this is where I went wrong on my first couple of fish. I had plenty of bend in the rod and lots of pressure - or so I thought. Wrong! First, the rod is longer than any other rod I am used to using, so even light pressure on the fish magnifies to a substantial load at the angler's hands. (That's why tuna fishermen use short rods.)

A test with a scale at the dock proved how little force is applied at the hook end. Also, the banana weights, even as light as two ounces, put a hinge in the line, and a good part of the initial rod sweep goes to straightening out the line, with little pressure actually applied to the fish.

To shorten a long story, that's why I got schooled by my first coho of the trip. That first big coho made its trademark surface runs, interspersed an impressive display of aerobatics, and eventually let me get it close enough to the boat for a good look as it made another Olympic-quality leap. Anyway, just as I thought maybe I had the battle under control, the hook came out and I was left only with the memory (added to an ever-growing list) of the big one that got away.

I soon had another chance to get it right, and many more during my stay. We had the choice of staying out on the water all day, and having a hot lunch, including thermoses of wonderful soup, brought to us. Or, we could take a break and go in.

I always stayed out.

The week I was there in mid-August we tended to tailor our efforts toward the coho salmon, which are less finicky than the Chinooks (or springs). In fact, the springs were late. Naturally they showed up the following week. I was quite happy to be focusing on coho salmon. They would sometimes slash at the wake-riding stern bait like a crazed marlin, and then repeatedly rocket out of the water like a Polaris missile. And, they were big, many pushing 20 pounds. We'd look for birds (taking along a pair of binoculars is good idea), bait balls on the fish finders, as well as tide rips and current seams.

I didn't spend much time fishing for bottom species, but I hooked what would have been the biggest halibut of my life. First, it was a real struggle to get it to move even a little bit off the bottom. Then, it would toy with me, allowing me to gain several feet of line, before easily stripping line off the hellishly heavy set drag and plopping itself back onto the bottom. This unseen beast toyed with me this way several times with no indication whatsoever that it was tiring in the least. I know I was.

After 10 minutes and several trips back to the bottom, it got bored with the game, and, suddenly, was gone.

That's how the days passed: fishing for, losing and catching the biggest coho I have ever laid eyes on, while surrounded by beautiful and always changing panoramas and by humpback whales that breached, tail-slapped, eye-hopped, and, one day, even rubbed against Heath's boat.

We returned to the dock each evening to weigh the fish, mark them down on the board, take pictures, and then turn them over for processing (fillet, vacuum-pack, flash freeze, and box for the trip home). Great appetizers and drinks waited in the beautifully appointed, rustic dining room/lounge. Dinners were a blend of the gourmet and hearty prepared by Executive Chef Gianni Picchi. Afterward we'd sit at the bar and tell tall tales until late in the night to drinks prepared by mixmaster, Karen Drgon. Night after night, the time for rest until our next bout with the salmon of Rivers Inlet ends up being far too short.

But it's not right to keep the giant salmon of Rivers Inlet waiting. Besides, there will be time enough to sleep when I get home - and dream of returning to Legacy Lodge.