The Kilbella tyee

I've known just two men who would instantly stop whatever they were doing if they heard, "The fish are biting." One time when I went to Buster Redd's home in the swan and told him, "The rainbows are biting." He didn't even finish sawing the 2x4 he was working on. Quit half way through and ran for his fly rod.

The other guy, Bob Ewing, took his fishing equally serious. That is why I called on Bob when a chance came to go for the famed July salmon run at Kilbella Bay, British Columbia. Bob was in his appliance store wrapping up a large sale on appliances for a new house. Turned the customer over to his helper and headed home to get ready.

We drove through the day, and next night, to Campbell River on Vancouver Island and boarded the charter boat, Estero, for the long trip to River's Inlet. Two mornings later, we were trolling Kilbella Bay in a 12-foot motorboat — 40 miles inland from the main Pacific shores, and I was the first one to get a strike. Had never done that kind of fishing before and thought I'd hooked a submarine. It came close to the boat in a few minutes, and what I saw was almost heart stopping. It was huge and it took one look and headed for the ocean.

Bob was casual. He said, "That's nothing but a sand shark. We'd better cut the line." What I'd glimpsed in the clear water was no shark and I asked Ewing to reel in his line because, "I'm fighting this baby to a standstill."

The reel began getting hot from the line ripping off and my guide loosened the drag. Time became nothing. It was a battle to the finish, and it went on and on.

When the big male tyee, King Salmon, finally was playing out, so was I. But we were using 13-foot leaders, so to maneuver him close to the boat, I had to stand up on the seat and hold the rod as high over my head as arms would reach. Those arms, as well as my shoulders and back, were in stabbing pain. The 17-year-old guide was standing by with a long-handled net. Those last few yards of line were being bitterly fought and in desperation, I said, "Bob, I need some help." Figured he could steady me while I was balancing on that boat seat. I was thinking that a sudden lurch from the salmon might pull me off balance… maybe overboard.

Bob was quick to react. Got up from his seat, came over, unbuckled my belt and pulled my pants down. Couldn't believe it. "Ewing, if I lose this fish, I'm going to kill you."

The young guide couldn't believe it either, but I noticed he was working hard not to smile. He'd never seen a guy shuffling around on a rocking boat seat with his pants down, fighting a huge salmon. A couple of other fishing boats had stopped about a hundred yards off, and some had field glasses. The dramatic scene was apparently new to them also.

The big king finally was close enough for netting, and the kid couldn't lift it by the handle, so he slid his hands down to the net rim and hauled the fish aboard. My arms had gone completely numb, so I began rubbing them to get feeling back while wondrously appraising my first "King."

When things calmed down a bit, I told Bob, "Ewing! I like you too much to kill you, but I would like to know how you thought pulling my pants down would help."

"Friend George, you looked very hot and sweaty. I just wanted to help you keep cool."

This great adventure happened on July 29, 1973. Bob called me a couple weeks ago from his home in Seattle. We talked about past good times… and getting old. He was 94 last September. Before hanging up, I said, "Bob, although it has taken almost 35 years, I've completely forgiven you for what you did to me at Kilbella. In fact, I'm sorta glad. It makes that fishing yarn a lot more interesting."

After a little pause, he replied, "I've known that all along, friend George… that's actually why I did it."

G. George Ostrom is the news director of KOFI radio and a Hungry Horse News columnist.