Besting My Fanatic Hubby
Horse Lake, British Columbia, June, 1988: Rain, rain, rain.... No matter, to my husband, who put on his raingear each morning at 5 am. He usually began the day's expedition near the submerged island where the trout congregated to feed at the surface when the sun hit the water sometime between daybreak and noon.
We had one of six small cabins that faced the lake, each with its own dock. The Cariboo Bonanza Resort on Horse Lake was a great place to take the family because it was clean, had a playground for the kids, and laundry facilities. There was a little store where fishermen traded stories, bought the latest fish-producing lure, and trophy pictures were displayed.
The typical daily routine was that Steve would go out early, (hopefully) bring home his first stringer of fish, then rest for a few hours in the middle of the day (when we ate our main meal, which I'd cooked all morning), and then go out again in the evening. He never wanted to miss the evening bite.
After a few days of feeding the kids, trying to keep them busy all day, and cleaning up the cabin, one afternoon the sun finally came out. It was about 7 pm and I had done all of the chores I could possibly find to do. Never having been much of a fisherman, and tolerating the hobby for a number of years because I was married to a fanatic, I decided to take my lawn chair down to the dock, make a cast, and enjoy the clear evening. I thought "I won't catch anything, but I may as well enjoy the clear weather and get the line wet on my pole at some point on this trip." I used the only bait that I knew how to use: a worm and a bobber. I knew that sunset was still a couple of hours away, and that Steve would not return until there was almost no light left across the lake.
Suddenly, just as the light was fading, there was a definite tug on my line. I started to panic. Over the years when I have had a fish on, losing the fish was more frustrating than getting skunked. The only net we owned was in the boat with my husband, and I wasn't worried anyway because I knew I wouldn't catch anything; but now what?? I kept the pressure on the fish the best I could and considered the options: that is, only option: tire it out and then yank it up onto the dock. I played this very feisty fish for about 15 minutes.
Just as I realized I'd better do something to bring that fish in, Steve came motoring toward the dock. I started yelling: "I have a fish; I have a fish; what should I do?" He yelled, "Hold onto it! I'll be right there with the net." He docked the boat much faster than usual, jumped out, and netted my beautiful rainbow trout. It was about 4-1/2 lbs. The good part? It turned out to be the biggest fish caught over the entire weeks' vacation.
-- Kris Lumsden
Steve's rebuttal: "Beginners luck! And I helped by netting it. Ever notice how these nonfishing wives can exaggerate the size of their fish just as much as us experienced anglers?"