Some fishing trips are remembered because of the fish. Others are remembered because of the people.
This one is about both.
Back in 2009, a guide on Vancouver Island received a phone call from a man named Phillip in Seattle. Phillip wasn’t calling for himself. He was planning a salmon fishing trip for an elderly friend named Morry, a lifelong angler who had spent decades chasing salmon.
Phillip mentioned something else that immediately caught the guide’s attention.
Morry preferred to fish for salmon using cut-plugged herring.
Among serious salmon anglers, that technique carries a certain reputation. It’s simple, traditional, and brutally effective when done correctly. The guide happened to be a devoted cut-plug fisherman himself, so the idea of spending several days on the water with someone who had mastered the method was intriguing.
Soon, the trip was arranged.
Morry would fly in from Seattle on a float plane and spend five days salmon fishing around Vancouver Island.
The First Meeting at the Dock
July arrived quickly.
When the guide returned to the dock one afternoon with several Chinook salmon from the day’s trip, he noticed an older man waiting nearby. That was Morry.
At first glance, he looked like a fisherman in his late seventies. His eyes immediately moved to the salmon in the boat.
“Not bad,” he said calmly.
Then the guide noticed something else, the brim of Morry’s cap was covered with Tyee pins, the badges anglers receive for landing exceptionally large Chinook salmon. Anyone with that many pins had clearly spent a lifetime chasing big fish.
In that moment, the guide realized something.
Impressing Morry would not be easy.
The Old Method
The next morning, Morry arrived early, holding his fishing rods in one hand and his tackle box in the other. Many clients prefer using the guide’s equipment, but Morry brought his own.
The guide watched carefully as Morry prepared his bait.
Using a sharp knife from his tackle box, Morry cut the first herring. His angle was slightly different from the guide’s technique. He also removed the vent so water could flow through the cavity, giving the bait a perfect spinning roll underwater.
It was the kind of subtle detail that only years of fishing could teach.
They began fishing along the kelp beds near Hardy Bay.
For a while, only Morry’s rod was in the water while he adjusted his weight and repeatedly checked the spin of the bait.
Finally, he seemed satisfied.
“Fish On”
The guide focused on maneuvering the boat close to the kelp line.
Then a quiet voice came from behind him.
“Fish on.”
Morry’s rod was bent hard as a Chinook salmon peeled line off his Shimano reel.
The guide quickly steered the boat away from the shallows into deeper water while Morry fought the fish calmly and methodically.
A few powerful runs later, they brought a beautiful 17-pound feeder Chinook into the net.
With several days of fishing still ahead, they released the fish and continued.
The One That Got Away
The next day, they ran out into Queen Charlotte Strait, where the water was rougher, and the swells were rolling.
Balancing on deck was difficult, but eventually they managed a few good passes through the fishing area.
About an hour later, Morry shouted again.
“Fish on!”
This fish was much bigger than the previous one and immediately started putting on a show.
Unfortunately, the boat drifted too close to a floating patch of kelp. The line tangled, and the salmon was lost.
Morry said nothing.
He simply tied on a new leader, cut another herring, and dropped the line again.
Several passes later, his calm voice came again.
“Fish on.”
This time, the team worked perfectly together.
Soon, the guide slipped the net under a massive 30-pound Chinook salmon.
Morry looked at the fish and smiled slightly.
“Nice fish, kid,” he said.
Then he added one more line.
“But the last one was bigger.”
A Day That Broke the Rules
The third day would become unforgettable.
They returned to the same offshore spot and resumed trolling. After about 45 minutes, they hooked their first salmon.
What caught the guide’s attention was the boat’s speed.
He had accidentally sped up to avoid another boat when the salmon struck.
Curious, he tried something unusual.
Instead of slowing down, he increased the trolling speed to three knots and dropped another bait.
Almost instantly, another Chinook slammed the line.
That went against everything traditional salmon fishing had taught him. Chinook are usually caught while trolling slowly.
But that morning, the salmon wanted speed.
By 9 a.m., they had already reached their limit, and the action didn’t stop there. They continued catching and releasing fish throughout the morning.
Before the day ended, they had landed eight additional Chinook salmon, including one enormous fish estimated at 45 to 50 pounds.
For the guide, it became the best Chinook fishing day of his career.
The Final Day
On the last day, they stayed closer to shore and avoided the heavy waves.
They drifted along the kelp beds, slowly mooching for salmon.
Once again, Morry showed why experience matters.
Every fifteen minutes or so, another salmon bent his rod.
But this time there was no pressure. They simply enjoyed the fishing and released everything they caught.
At one point, Morry mentioned how much he had enjoyed the trip and hoped he might be healthy enough to return the following year.
The guide, still assuming Morry was somewhere in his late seventies, finally asked his age.
Morry lowered his sunglasses, grinned, and said quietly:
“I just turned 94.”
A Letter From Seattle
A few months later, a letter arrived from Seattle.
It was from Morry.
In it, he wrote that the trip had been one of the best fishing experiences of his life and that he hoped the following year might allow him one more adventure on the water.
Dear Mike and Anika,
I hope all goes well for you, two great friends. If you can put up with one old fisherman who is hard of hearing, and if the Lord keeps him going for another year, maybe we could make another fishing trip in 2010.
The last trip with you was one of my very best. As a fishing partner and skipper, you’re the best.
Your friend,
Morry
The guide later admitted something interesting.
During those five days of fishing, he learned more from Morry than he had in the previous twenty-five years.
