Fishing in the Fog
The beauty of early morning shore casting for salmon on Puget Sound is especially exquisite on a foggy morning. Everything is a mystery—the location of the freighter with its booming foghorn, the outward creep of the tide, and, of course, the whereabouts of the elusive salmon.
Fishermen in the fog
Dressed in multi-layered warmth including long underwear, a wool sweater and cap, fingerless gloves and heavy wading boots, I joined the usual cadre of “old codgers” on the shoreline near my home. Mostly they are men, but they totally accept the few of us women who venture out to join them.
There is a ritual for arriving at my fishing spot, even in the dusk of a foggy morning. Don’t fish too close to anyone. Give a hug to Jeff or Ric or Pip. Set up my stool near the shoreline. Put the spare pole in a 5-gallon bucket near the fishing creel. And then walk down to my stool and start casting.
My fishing set up on the shore
My father was my earliest teacher of fishing knowledge and skills. We started fishing trout streams in Colorado together on family summer vacations when I was about eight years old. I learned to be quiet and ask no questions. Dad was a serious fisherman with very little patience for interruption. I learned by watching and earned his respect over time.
Artistic sketch of my father in his happy place by a Colorado mountain stream
Mostly us old codgers on the beach don’t talk much. We simply enjoy the beauty of the water, the mountains, the gulls flying overhead, and the occasional seal or sea lion in the water before us. When the fish are not biting, fishing is largely a meditative sport. Make the best cast you can, begin the steady rhythm of reeling in, hope for that exciting strike at the lure, and then cast again.
Staring at the beautiful beach rocks helps pass the time and often leads to the find of a little agate.
However, on this particular early September morning no one was getting even the slightest strike. Meditation had given way to boredom. Clyde interrupted the silence, “Can’t remember when I have ever been so bored. And that is saying something.”
Another man piped in, “I heard the fish are still stacked up at Neah Bay waiting for some signal to begin their run.” (Speculating on when and where the fish are is always part of the shore banter.)
“Well, there are quite a few boats out there now. More than just us think there are fish around,” chimed in another man.
“Pip landed a 12 pounder last night at the tidal change. So, they are definitely here,” added another. (Sharing fishing success stories always buoys everyone’s hopes.)
After a short time, we returned to casting, watching the swirling gray tidal waters before us, and wondering when the fog might lift to allow a little sunlight and warmth.
Fishing in the fog is a wonderful metaphor. In most life situations, we really can’t see the whole story we are immersed in. We just keep casting about, trusting we will find what we’re looking for, and seeking the supportive companionship of those around us.
I spent two hours fishing in the fog that early September morning—the last month of the Puget Sound salmon season. Had two good strikes from fish that raised my heartbeat and hopes, but in the end I returned home empty handed but with an inspired heart. Will be returning to the shore a number of times this month before fishing season closes—hoping for a catch.
thanks dear Ann for keeping us close to the old ways of interacting with wild life, in this wonderful case/story, with fishing. I love the image of you old codgers hanging out together, in the realm of fog and boredom and beauty. I feel a connection with my ancestors as I read your wonderful writing. Love and gratitude, Anne (with an ‘e’!)
Hello Friend! Appreciate your thoughtful comment and insights. As you can tell from the picture of the drawing of my father, I never go fishing without a flood of memories from our times together. Love, Ann
I appreciate hearing from you. My oldest daughter and me went fishing on Lake Millac near Garrison MN. We went on a launch, but what made it unique is we couldn’t keep any Walleyes. Winter kill and tribal gill netting has depleted the population, but the DNR hopes to have a two fish limit this autumn.
Hello Larry! Appreciate hearing this update on walleye fishing in the north and lovely that you are fishing with your daughter. Sent a tackle box of walleye lures to my niece and nephew in Duluth from an old fishing buddy here who will no longer be making his way to northern lakes. Passing on his legacy . . . fishing links the generations over millennia. Ann
I can picture this perfectly. and so fun to think about my own fish lessons with my dad.
And so good to remember fathers willing to share this passion with their daughters—not something every father in the 50s and 60s did! My dad took some guff from a neighbor mom who thought it was not ladylike to have girls fishing. Thank goodness he persisted!!
This is a fun read! Thank you for the story. And, Pip! My daughter went fly fishing in the AK wilds last month. She caught two fish. I don’t know how many the grizzles in the river with them caught. 😳
Hello Gretchen! Love that you brought up the issue of sharing fish with the grizzlies. In Puget Sound the king salmon season is VERY short because we are sharing that resource with our resident southern orca population, which will only eat king salmon and whose numbers are dwindling. Actually, THEY are sharing it with us! And it is up to us to be respectful. Ann
I love the way you write and pull your reader into place and time. Fishing in the Fog. Perfect metaphor, Ann. Thanks for painting this picture.
You are most welcome. Fishing in the fog is one of my favorite times to fish!
Something so soothing (and so right) about communal activities. I loved reading this story. It felt reassuring. Steady. Thanks.
Fishing with friends or family is very reassuring and steady. Most of the early morning shore casters I don’t see except that 3-month period of salmon season. And yet, they are friends. It is always joyful to see them again—especially given our ages. Some have a more pronounced limp than last year. Others look the same, but all of us have had significant journeys in our own ways over the winter.
I usually enjoy your blog. I don’t eat fish, don’t fish, and wish others did not. I love the outdoors, hiking and walking there, or floats on the river, and think you can get the same experience you describe without killing species. Times change, something to think about. My father took us crabbing on the VA shore as kids. in 2011 we had a reunion there and THe crabs wiped out, not a one to be seen at any of the spots we checked. After that I followed veganism as I learned more about it. Do no harm. I’m not trying to convert people, just trying to introduce the idea that it is different today as ecosystems collapse and species harmed by human behavior and climate.
Thank you, Debra. You bring forth a most important point of view, one I honestly struggle with. Yes, times are changing. The California sport salmon fishing season is closed for the second year in a row. Not enough fish. Oregon’s season is reduced and, I am sure, Washington’s will be as well sometime in the future. Alaska still has a lot of salmon, but they, too, must be careful. For me who does still eat meat, grows many of my own vegetables, and lives in an area where it is easy to purchase organically grown meats and eggs, it feels important to really understand what it takes to harvest and prepare my own meat. We could have a much longer conversation, but mostly thank you for bringing forward another point of view. Ann
Thank you for the wonderful blog! I can feel the peace and quiet and solitude. I live in central Wisconsin and am lucky to practice yoga on our “Mountain” here. One lovely evening class the fog moved in and surrounded us in it’s mysticism and wonder. It was incredible. Thanks for sharing.
Yes, fog seems to have a “personality” all its own. Just when I think it is going to lift, it will often settle in more deeply. It is a highly variable companion.
Sounds … like a good spend of a morning or a moment, regardless of ‘haul’…
Honestly, I love to come home with a salmon or two, but just being on the water early in the morning is totally enough reward for me to get up at 5 a.m. and be on the shore by dawn.
Having spent my formative 10-18 year old years along the Siltcoos River, set between the fish-rich fresh water lake, and the mouth of the river where it trickled into the Pacific on Oregon’s Central Coast,
I resonate to the felt memories, smells, sensations of casting, untangling gear, drifting off in thought as the boat did it’s own drifting…a beautiful lesson I only really understood years later, of how vital my own immersion in such times and places was to my life. And still is…. Thanks for your recounting. “They’ll be biting tomorrow.”
Appreciate your memories, Judy, and your description of the whole experience of fishing. And, yes, the word on the water is that the run is going to pick up next week!
I love the metaphor of “fishing in the fog.” I really enjoyed this delightful account of you old
Codgers out there on a chilly morning. Brings back memories of fishing with my mom in Deadwood Creek near Strawberry Valley CA where our family cabin was. Thank you!
One of many things I appreciate about reader’s replies is their own memories of times spent fishing. The memories expand what I have written here.
Ann,
You fish and I fondly remember my work with Alpacas…on Whidbey, at White Violet Farm in Terre Haute, IN and at the Eco-Justice Center in Racine, WI. Their big, brown eyes drew me in and I was lost in a silence that connected and ground me to Mother Earth. Tending them in all four seasons of the year was a beauty all in itself. I am grateful for how my heart and mind and spirit connects with you and Christina over the years and miles. Take gentle care of yourself, my Friend! Love, Alice
Hello Alice! Thank you for reminding me of your earth-tending practice. It is good for each of us to find one or more ways to do this. Salmon connect me to an iconic species of this region. When I do catch one, I pause (with the fish carefully between my knees on the ground so it won’t wiggle away) and think about the long, mysterious journey it has had in the open ocean. And I give thanks that it will help feed my family and friends before harvesting it. Ann
Loved this, Ann! I’ve been thinking of you and Pip and hoping you were knee deep in Puget Sound. I’ve only been fishing for salmon once. It was on a charter boat and I was quite unsure of how the day would go. I loved it and never wanted it to end. Silence is rich when there’s a pole in your hand 🧡
“Silence is rich when you have a pole in your hands.” Heading out to fish again this morning and will hold that thought. Thank you, Bonnie
I enjoyed your post Ann. I too am one of those fortunate daughters whose father shared his love of fishing. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of family fishing trips. I’m sure with 5 girls in our family, my Dad rarely had a chance to fish himself but he was always a patient teacher and never seemed to mind.
Ah, another fisherwoman launched by a father of girls! It is a strong reminder of the importance of early teaching/training. My father had 4 daughters and he was deeply a family man. Ann
Will never forget our two good days casting for salmon together. That was quiet an amazing salmon run!! Right timing. ❤️
Thank you, Holger! I will never forget them either. This year the run is much slower, but, as always, a joy to be on the water. Ann