Earlier this week I fished for salmon from the boundary rock, a flat topped, terraced beach rock that stands at the point our northern boundary meets the next neighbor’s southern line. The fish have been biting there lately, so I went out before the high tide to see if I could catch dinner.
When I found my spot, I laid out my gear on a small shelf of rock behind me: fish knife, small tackle box, and landing net.
The Alaska Marine Highway ferry went by, which meant I had to watch for her wake. It turned out to be a lot bigger than I’d estimated. I leaped for safety to the top of the rock, but my knife and tackle box washed away.
I saw this as a minor catastrophe. The small tackle box contained several brand new lures, as well as weights and survival gear, and some favorite old lures. I had bought the fish knife a few years ago, and had come to rely on its heavier, stiffer butchering blade. I needed my stuff back. Continue reading