It was a rare day when fresh salmon wasn’t caught on a Smith line. Cowichan Bay was at their doorstep and some of the biggest fish on the continent dallied there. Everyone had a story to tell.
Dave's Story
We always owned a boat when I was growing up. One of my earliest memories is my father bringing home an old, peeling 'clinker built' row boat for fixing up. We put hours and hours into scraping and sealing until eventually it was "good enough" and the new paint was lovingly applied. In my father's estimation the "clinker built" was the best one could achieve in wooden boats. The planks were curved, straight-grained cedar overlapping from the keel to gunnel on a frame of oak. The finished product was wonderfully strong and light.
I spent many hours rowing around Brentwood Bay while my father puttered aboard our larger vessel, the 26 foot, double ender, Skipper. She'd been a life boat in a former life but before she came to us she had been used for many years as a trolling vessel. Tackle and tools were still in her when we took over. The entire side wall of the engine cabin was covered with spoons and plugs of every shape and size. Old rusty, tobacco cans and cookie tins held hundreds of nuts, bolts, hooks, weights, fasteners and many other bits that 'might be useful sometime'.
The dark green engine, weighing in at 500 pounds, was an enormous, single cylinder Easthope that sat almost exactly midship. A huge fly wheel had to be grasped with two hands and forced downwards to make the engine catch. A soothing, even 'chunk a ... chunk a ... chunk a ...' pulsed across the water when she was running. My father had installed an old, carburetor from a Model T that smoothed out the put-puts but constantly dripped gas at higher speeds. A tin can hung beneath it to catch the drips. Of course, slower rather than faster was always the challenge for trolling. Our speed had to be just right. When wind or currents were factors, we would often create drag by tethering an ancient steel bucket over the stern.
The cabin was always thick with fumes of gas and oil. The bilge never seemed to be dry and had to be hand pumped, a job I was often given. Etched upon my mind is the rhythm of my early morning pumping. Bilge water sloshed out a pipe in the side, shattering the silence of calm bay. In spite of her age and quirks, Skipper served us well and helped fill the home freezer with many pounds of salmon.
The Tackle Box
Dave Remembers
Spoons and plugs were always a standby lure for salmon. The brass and chrome needed constant cleaning and shining. Tom Mack was a popular name. For grilse, a string of spoons interspersed with beads called a 'gang troll' was popular. Higher on the line, a shiny, flat device called a dodger, worked the lure back and forth so it appeared to be a small, darting fish.
Freshly dug worms were threaded on to the 'gang troll' hook. Tiny minnow were fastened into a special plastic shell and then skewered with the hook in such a way that the curved body rolled back and forth as the boat trolled. Herring were used in a similar fashion but had to be cut into the perfect shape to fit the holder.
Weighting the line was done in several different ways. If the line was to stay near the surface, a simple slip weight of lead was clamped a few metres above the lure. When a fish struck, the jolt released the weight which slid down the line near the fish and allowed the fish to be reeled close to the boat for netting. For deeper fishing a 'planer' was common. It was a flat disc of plastic that angled against the water and dragged the line downwards as the boat moved forward.
My father favoured a device called a 'trip weight', which might be two pounds or more. He used 200 or more feet of heavy steel line which took substantial time and labour to reel in. If a fish got hooked it was essential to have the weight drop off, which meant the weights had to be expendable and cheap. Soup cans were zealously saved and filled with gravel and cement. Each can was rigged with a wire loop that fitted into a notched brass plate fastened in the line. A jerk caused the loop to slip out of the notch and the weight to fall away into the depths.
Henry Smith Special (Murray)I haven't any early Cowichan Bay fish stories that Les couldn't improve, probably. All the Smith siblings were pretty active in the fall salmon run. In the days of quiet rowing/trolling with plugs and favourite spoons, Henry designed and marketed fairly successfully a plug which I think he named the "Henry Smith Special". There was no love lost between other brothers and Henry, so for a bit of mischief, ask Les what he thought of Henry's lures.
Right: Murray Creighton rowing while his mother (Josie) and Aunt Ethyl Brown (Smith) troll. Josie is wearing a Cowichan Indian sweaterSoup Spoon Story
Carrie and Josie often fished together. One time they rowed clear across the bay and saw an Indian who seemed to be catching a lot of fish. Josie hollered, "What are you using?" The reply "A soup spoon!" brought gales of laughter. "Of course they'd never tell you what they were really using," Carrie explained.
Left: Josie Smith (Creighton) was an avid fisherman. The house and garden at Sahtlam are in the background.
Trout (Carrie's memory)
Two creeks crossed the Smith farm. A flexible Willow pole and worms from the garden were all that was required to catch the plentiful brook trout. Oh! One other thing! You had to move very quietly along the creek bank or the fish would disappear.
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