STORIES

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

First Timer on the Bella Coola River

EMAIL PRINT

Community: Central Coast

by Jacinda Mack (Nuxalk Nation)

On a recent trip home to Bella Coola, I found myself in the front of a row boat, drifting down the milky green Bella Coola River, hauling salmon in by the armload, all quite by accident. I had gone home to visit my family and “do salmon” as I do every year. I planned to smoke, barbecue, and vacuum pack my fish for the winter months during my weeklong stay. I hadn’t planned on catching the salmon myself.

I arrived at my aunt’s house and ran into my cousin Dean Mecham, who had been fishing on the river on the day of my arrival.

”You got anyone to fish for you yet?”

“No, not yet” I told him.

The next day, Dean pulled up in front of the house with his pick up truck, boat and sockeye net loaded in the back. I went out to meet him.

“Who’s fishing with you?” It is always a two person job: one person to row, the other to set and pull in the net.

He smiled, “Got any gumboots?”

“No!” I laughed. “So who is really fishing with you?”

He looked me in the eye and simply said, “You are, if you want any fish!”

I was dumbstruck. Me?! On the river?! I realized he was totally serious, and jumped in the truck.

“Get the video camera!” he shouted at me before we fired up the truck and made our way down to the river.

By the time we arrived at the launch area, I was beginning to realize just what I was getting myself into. First of all, I had never been on this river, period, let alone as a fisher. Second, my grandpa always used to say that women in the fishing boat were bad luck. Third, the river is very swift, deep and dangerous, and I was a rookie. I had lost my father to another river only a year before. I was feeling a little intimidated. It didn’t help that I knew that locals and tourists would be watching on the banks only a half mile downstream, with a video camera. I put on my gumboots and asked Dean, “You sure about taking me down?”

He just laughed his big laugh, “Sure, why not?”

The scenery couldn’t have been more spectacular. It was a warm summer day, and the riverbanks were lush with cottonwood trees and berry bushes. The mountains glistened with glaciers and sunlight, and eagles soared overhead. The gurgle of the river was interrupted only by the rowing of the oars and the beating of my heart. We turned the corner and began our first set.

“Let the net out about half way across, just to get the feel of it,” Dean instructed, “and make sure you hold onto that net.”

Slowly, I let out the net, feeling the weight of it under my inexperienced hands. “Is that enough?” I asked.

“No, let out some more—I’ll tell you when to stop,” Dean replied.

I could see the fishermen ahead of us, about a quarter mile down.

“You have to watch for snags in the water,” Dean said, pulling the boat with expert precision around the bend in the river.

I looked down the water, seeing it with new eyes.

“OK, pull it in” Dean commanded.

I began pulling in the net, grabbing it between floats and dropping it between my feet on the floor of the boat. It was heavy. And long.

No salmon.

“That’s OK,” Dean said, “we just needed to get the net wet anyway, and give you a feel for it. The real thing is coming up.” He turned and motioned to the shore: “Your fans are waiting.”

I looked ahead on the riverbank, and sure enough, about eight to ten people were waiting for us to pass by, including my nine-year old son, who was cheering me on like a rockstar. I had never felt like such a good mom and role model in my life.

“OK, Jacinda, throw out the net. This time, all the way across the river.”

I did as I was told, letting out the net its full length, about 200 feet. I positioned myself to bear its weight plus that of any salmon we might catch. Boom, boom, boom… Dean banged the oars against the boat to scare the salmon. Splash! One hit the net. Splash! Splash! Splash! The salmon collided with our net in spectacular fashion, fighting and splashing as they did. The net became tight, and pulled at my arms.

“Pull it in and let’s see what we’ve got!” Dean hollered.

Excited, I pulled in the net as quickly as I could, reaching over the front to pull the big ones in, my arms and legs burning with exertion. I felt a big one at the bow, and reached over to see a huge chinook, amulh in our language, staring up at me. He was huge; about fifty pounds at least, and there was no way I was going to let him get away. Reaching down, I wrapped the net fully around him, bent my legs for balance, and lifted as hard as I could. I managed to pull him out of the water, but he began to struggle, and under his weight, I fell backwards into the boat, landing on my butt with my prize in my arms.

“Woo hoo!” I shouted, the thrill of victory coursing through my veins. I was wet and slimy and bruised and never felt better. I could see in my mind my late father laughing on the riverbank, just as proud of me as my son. Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any better, Dean spotted a beautiful eagle feather floating downstream and asked me if I wanted it. I picked it up out of the water, a trophy of my day and accomplishment.

When we got back to shore, everybody was excited to see how I felt and more importantly, how many salmon we caught.

“It was awesome!” I gushed, “I even got an eagle feather for my efforts.” Right away, my son asked me if he could have the feather. I smiled and told him, “On your first drift down the river, I will give it to you. You have to earn it first.”

We caught 17 salmon that day, more than anybody else. I had also beat out my brothers in fishing the Bella Coola River, an unexpected bonus. Next summer, I will be back on the river—with my own gumboots.