The summer of the shark surprise was also the summer that Aaron and I went to Alaska to fish with my dad on the Russian River in Kenai National Park. IT wAS the time of year for “combat fishing”—that is, standing side by side, perhaps four or five feet apart, from the person next to you, all of us casting at about the same time, yelling “fish on,” when you hooked something and otherwise pulling your lure back in and out of the way—if you weren’t the one with the fish on. Combat fishing usually involves standing in the river a few feet out from shore.
The rocks in the river are slippery with moss, they’re irregular-shaped and irregular-sized, so you had to walk slowly and take it a step at a time. As you get farther out, you can’t see what you’re stepping on, nor can y ou see where to step next, which makes it more difficult.
I’m emphasizing the toughness of walking in the river because it’s especially difficult when you have PD. Talk about something creating roadblocks for the mind trying to focus on walking … Surprisingly, it’s quite rare to see someone fall into the river. I don’t know if people have boots with special properties that I’ve never seen … but I think I win the prize for most in-the-river falls while fishing. And when I catch a fish and start backing up toward shore … well, walking backward on the slippery rocks is even tougher than walking forward. So, I would turn and face the shore, pulling the fish behind me. It’s harder to play the fish that way, though. So it’s a mixed bag.
One time, Aaron had a fish on, so I took a net and walked out to try to bring the fish in. (You do that to help catch the fish, but it also lets the other fishermen get back to doing what they came to do sooner). Anyway, the person behind Aaron got a fish on just after Aaron’s, and while I was trying to net Aaron’s fish, this other fish swam in circles around me, trying to get away. I ended up wrapped in line, trying to move my legs and that just made me fall into the water. I submerged and then found myself floating down the Russian river, right into some heavy rapids. I was blessed to have some brave soul run out, grab my shoulders, and pull me back into shore. I was cold and soaked, but I was safe.
So, after that experience, I began fishing in the Handicap zone, a spot where I could get my lure out into the deep water without having to wade very far off shore.
One morning, Aaron and I were out on the river by 6:00a.m. I had a spot in the Handicap zone, and Aaron
was about fifty feet to my left, just out of the zone. Quickly we each caught a salmon and had them on a stringer, in the water. I had brought a lunch bag with peanut butter sandwiches for Aaron and me. I also had the previous day’s empty sandwich bags in my camera case. I had tucked them in my camera case just out of convenience that previous day. Those baggies had sandwich crumbs and a bit of peanut butter smeared on the inside.
Awhile later, Aaron called over, “Dad!”
“Yes?”
“Look behind you.”
I turned. There were two grizzlies—looked like a big mama and her big cub—standing close enough to me that I could have reached out and touched them with my fishing pole. This was too close. They had probably come out of the woods to gather salmon scraps that accumulate from people cleaning their fish at the fish cleaning station on the other end of the Handicap zone.
The first thing I did was reach for the two salmon on the stringer. That was probably a stupid and dangerous move, looking back on it. It was my automatic response, however. Then I began walking backwards, facing the bears and moving away from them slowly.
The bears went for my camera bag first. They smelled the bits of peanut butter on the wrappers! They ripped the camera bag open. My camera, a nice Nikon, went flying across the rocks. My zoom lens went flying across the rocks as well. Finding the wrappers empty, the bears seemed angry. They ripped open the lunch bag and found the sandwiches for which they were hoping. They ate the sandwiches in entirety, zip-locked bag and all.
There were also bags of chips and a package of m&ms. The food was all gone. and the canvas bag was in shreds.
My takeaways? Bears are cute only in movies. Bears are larger in real life. The bears seemed to briefly consider the whole salmons I was holding, but a lot of salmon scraps were floating in the water along the shore, and they decided to content themselves with that. The rest of us had to wait and watch them eat, because the bears were between us and the ferry to take us back.
The End (True Story)