MACKEREL FISHING story

“Let’s go fishing Saturday,” Grandpa said to his grandson. “You might catch the biggest mackerel of your life.”

Colin knew Grandpa really wanted him to go. It would be fun, especially since his summer visit was coming to an end. And he would soon be returning to London, Ontario.

Fishing morning finally arrived! Colin jumped in the front seat of the car, proud to be carrying their two lunches and drinking water containers.

As they left Truro, Nova Scotia, cars and trucks joined them on the busy highway. Misty trails from airplanes circled in the sky. “We’re getting close to Halifax,” Grandpa said.

Crossing the MacDonald Bridge, the boy’s eyes feasted on four Royal Canadian Navy ships below.

“This is the port harbor for Canada’s Eastern Naval Fleet,” grandpa said.

They were soon in a lineup for boat tickets. “I’m going to catch a monster fish,” Colin bragged to everyone within hearing distance.

Their boat had “THE PUFFIN” in large letters on its side.

Grandpa and grandson climbed aboard the forty-foot Cape Islander built in the village of Chelsea. Colin liked the bright orange sides and green top.

Then the engine’s powerful chugging took them away from the dock and headed into open Atlantic water.

From the boat’s deck buildings looked huge, scattered like salt along hills surrounding Halifax. Soon the MacDonald Bridge looked like a rainbow of steel behind them.

They sailed past George’s Island. It was one of two small islands protecting harbor’s open mouth, from raging wind and ocean.

The boy could see how the ocean seemed to stretch forever in the distance.

Other passengers chatted about their coming fun. Suddenly, there was silence. The motor’s ‘chug-chugging’ had stopped. Ocean waves splashed against the hull.

Then the Captain yelled, ““We’re seven miles from shore.” Making sure everyone had the proper equipment; he explained how to use the rods and reels for ‘jigging’ mackerel.

“This spot is about 25 feet deep, so drop your sinker to the bottom,” he said.

“Then bring your line up about two feet. And let it down slowly. If you feel anything, jerk upwards.”

“Don’t forget to reel in quickly,” Grandpa added.

There was a heavy sinker on the end of each line with three hooks tied about eight inches apart. Colin bit his lower lip as he felt the sharpness of his hooks. Attached to each was a red and orange feather.

“Watch this,” Grandpa said as he swung his line over the side. It splashed into the ocean with a loud ‘KERPLUNK!’ Moments later Grandpa’s excited movements meant success.

Three hooked mackerel fish flipped back and forth then flopped onto the boat.

“ATTABOY GRANDPA!” Colin shouted. “My turn!”

Before long, more Mackerel dropped on deck. And the air was filled with happy shouts from other fishermen as the Captain rapidly removed their hooks.

Smaller sized fish were returned to the ocean.

Sinkers and feathery hooks were eager to be flung back for more fish.

Mackerel, Blue fish, Pollock and a few Cod were soon filleted. Then placed in a large tub where fish were covered with crushed ice.

Colin was having his share of success, except he was being too ‘fussy.’ “Not this one,” he kept saying. He didn’t want to keep any fish unless it was the largest one caught.

Grandpa gently squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “You should keep a few fish for yourself,” he said.

“Nope,” the stubborn boy answered. “I only want one. And it has to be humongous.” This time Colin felt a heavy weight on his line. “Wow,” he said bringing it in.

“That Codfish must be the one you’re planning to keep,” Grandpa said patiently.

Colin carefully studied his newly hooked fish. It looked kind of neat with its huge lips and wide fins sticking out from its brownish body.

Everyone watched as the boy held his prize.

What should he do? Colin checked the stack of filleted ones in the ice chest. He glanced at the blue painted deck, delaying his decision. He remembered saying he wouldn’t come home until he caught the largest fish.

This one wasn’t.

Now he wished he hadn’t been so foolish. Colin slowly walked to the edge of the boat. Shut his eyes and released the Codfish into the ocean.

Grandpa came and stood beside him.

The captain interrupted his thoughts with a loud announcement. “Pull your lines in! Time to head back!”

Colin’s eyes misted as he watched sail boats plow through whitecaps. He didn’t even have one teensy fish for mom and dad.

Grandpa knew what was on the boy’s mind. “They’ll understand Colin,” he said.

Clouds were puffy-white, as other fishing boats chugged back to Halifax. And the sun was warm on Colin’s face, as he turned to his Grandpa.

“Okay if we try again next year?” he asked.

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© Richard & Esther Provencher 2008
All Rights Reserved

URL for Richard L. Provencher
http://writers.ns.ca/Writers/rprovencher.html