I fish for fish, no other reason. Oh, maybe because of the competition.

The Tununak River

I like to complain about fishing.  It's fun for me - to complain.  I'm sure I complain for the same reason anybody complains about anything - as a means to divert blame for one's ineptness.  But this is not a blog of complaint.  Rather, it is a blog of celebration.  A celebration of fishing and how awesome it is.  A celebration of salmon and their wonderful ability to find my hook, bite down, and end up as dinner on my plate.  Ahhh, sweet, sweet salmon.  To think back to those two days of fishing makes me forget what I dislike about fishing.  Almost.

Robby and his giant fish

My success story started one evening.  I had been invited to go up river by one of my students.  Duh...I'm going.  At the time, I'm thinking that even if I don't catch any fish, the river is fantastic to be on in the evening.  Oh yeah - the mosquitoes had retired for the year (the last trip they were worse that anything I could have ever imagined.  Northern Minnesota has NOTHING on Alaska mosquitoes.  I'm not kidding).  Anyways, I grab my rod, tackle box, and throw on my rubber boots.  We pick up Robby (my neighbor) and head out to the boat.  A twenty minute journey and we are at our little spot.  And then the most amazing thing happened.  Seriously, in the history of time, this is probably the single greatest thing.  I cast my line out...and caught a fish.  I had a fish on the end of my line before my fishing guide or Robby had even gotten to their spots let alone had the chance to cast.  Oh glorious day.  In the boat I had a beautiful silver salmon.  The score, for those of you keeping track at home is now 1-0-0, with me in the lead.  Of course, minutes later my guide gets a bite.  I try to be a good sport.  But his fish is so much bigger than mine - and it's bright red.  Apparently the longer the silvers have been in the river, the less silver they become and they take on a beautiful red color.  They are striking to look at.  Raw score... 1-1-0.  No big deal.

Perspective is everything

Fishing goes on for a while with bites and fights and fish interrupting the evening often enough to keep things interesting.  Final score for the evening 2-3-2.  I lost.  It's okay though because I caught not one, but two beautiful fish: one smaller silver salmon and one trout (called a dolly vardon(sp?) for whatever reason I have no idea).  Robby ended up with two nice sized reds (which are technically silver salmon).  My host: four large reds.  Figures.

It's amazing what this night did to my faith in fishing.  Up until this moment I was convinced that there were no more fish in the river.  I would be out fishing, share my opinion with my fishing partners only to have them catch a fish in the next five minutes.  "Okay then," I would say, "now there are no more fish in the river.  That was the last one, and you caught it.  Time to go home."  But this most recent event changed everything.  Not only were there fish in this river, they were huge, and beautiful, and delicious, and best of all, they were willing to bite my hook.  I needed to get out fishing at least one more time.  That chance came that weekend, and is the topic of the next blog.  Stay tuned...

The definition of satisfied

Nazi ghostbuster?

I was creeping on my blog stats and one thing stuck out.

Someone found accessed my blog through a keyword search with the phrase "nazi ghostbuster".  How frickin' awesome is that - that my name comes up as a possible match.

Man that's great.

Random story from a few years ago

“Hey! Eric!” Someone was whispering urgently at me.

What time is it? The sun’s not even up yet. And then I remembered. Today was the day. The reason we were even in Spain. Adrenaline surged – my stomach doing a quick little somersault. I quickly dressed – bleach white pants, a white tee, my blood red sash and neck-scarf. It was too early to find any places open for breakfast, but that was okay – I probably wouldn’t be able to eat anything anyway.

We weaved through the cobblestone streets, were glad we’d decided to get such an early start. People were coming from all over. A white mass converging on a rapidly filling plaza. Being early ensured us a place in that plaza. Now we had about an hour to wait. Wait and contemplate our decision. Was this really such a good idea? Is that guy drunk? Yeah, he is definitely drunk. That doesn’t seem like a good idea. He better not trip. What if I trip? What if I get hurt? What if I get gored? That was the big worry. The I spent the most time trying to ignore. Gored?! We’d seen the bulls the day before. They were not small. Not even close. In fact they were huge. And those horns. The horns that tapered to point so fine one couldn’t be sure where the horn ended and the pain began. And then of course there were the horror stories of previous years. There were pictures of gorings, videos of tramplings. In less than an hour that poor, pain riddled face could be mine.

SCREEEECH!!

The sound of the first rocket being fired. All thoughts about what could be vanished. All thoughts about what had been vanished as well. The only thing yelling in my mind was the fact that the door had been opened. The bulls were coming.

SCREEEECH!!

The second rocket signified that all six bulls were out and running...toward us. Oh dear God.The crowd starting moving, filing along the narrow barricaded streets. Barricaded to keep the bulls confined, but I now realized how confined I was as well. Panic? Um, yeah. But this was nothing compared to what was coming.

The speed of the mass slowly started to increase. Those around me were feeling the fear grow as well. It wouldn’t be long now. All I wanted to do was turn around look for the bulls. But if I stopped to turn around I would be run over by those behind me. Quick peeks would have to do. Each peek was terrifying because we were so closely packed. People around me had already stumbled and fallen - either on the uneven cobbles of the road or on the legs of the people in front of them. Those behind the fallen had to act quickly to prevent a serious pileup. Three or four peeks showed nothing different. People were jogging along, faces focused on not tripping. And then suddenly everything changed. Looking back over my shoulder I instantly saw that the look on peoples’ faces. The slight smiles of the joggers had been replaced with looks of sheer terror. This was the moment it all sunk in.

There were six, two thousand pound bulls chasing me, each capable of ending my life. In all likelihood, however, I wouldn't die. I'd merely be gored. A foot long horn stabbed through my stomach. Or I might trip and be trampled, my legs broken and chest collapsed as twenty-four hooves crash down around me. I’m sure my face changed at this moment to mirror those behind me. The panic raced forward as those in front of me, making their quick peeks, noticed this our faces. Hysteria erupted. People starting sprinting. Others merely stopped, frozen in fear. Collisions were commonplace. People were lying on the ground, scrambling to get out of the middle of the street. Bodies were tangling with bodies. Legs and arms were everywhere. Some of the runners were trying to climb over the barricades. This is when I caught my first glimpse of the bulls. They were massive. So much larger than I had remembered. The first to pass held its head high, horns at the level of my head, and it was moving so much faster than the crowd. The runners began to part, fleeing to the sides to allow the bulls to pass through the middle. Before I could even think the bulls were upon me. I watched in horror as the unlucky, still lying in the street, were overtaken by the stampede. One, two, three passed me. I was certain the people on the street were dead. Then the other three came rushing past. All six had passed allowing my mind to slow down enough to begin rational thought again. I was alive, but where were the other two I ran with? A quick scan of crowd and I saw Chris, his red hair standing out against the mass. It took a while longer to locate my brother. Chris and I scanned the injured, fearing the worst. Miraculously the injuries were all minor. Those who I had seen trampled were not dead. In fact most were up and walking around. My brother, however was not in that mix. His absence there was a relief, and our search continued. We finally found him outside the stadium alive and well. All three of us had survived unscathed. It was now only about 9:00 in the morning. The hardest part of our day was done.

Feria San Fermin is a nine day festival taking place annually in Pamplona, Spain starting on July 6^th and ending on July 13^th.  The encierro, better known as the running of the bulls, takes place each morning of the festival. I ran in the summer of 2006 with my younger brother, Bryce, and friend, Chris.