Grizzlies, Gales and Giant Salmon. Pat Ardley
boat!” George hopped aboard, and they took off at full speed. I got the story later. They pulled up to the dock at the lodge on the other side of the inlet, barely took any time to tie up and raced together up to the kitchen. There, all over the griddle in all their fresh, net-caught glory, were dozens and dozens of pieces of sockeye salmon. The lodge had bought “Indian food fish” to feed their guests. Very much against the rules. The salmon caught by First Nations people on fishboats could not legally be sold to non–First Nations people. The officer wrote the owner a “notice to appear” and had the staff scoop all of the salmon into buckets and carry them to his boat. I still wonder what they fed their guests and crew instead that night?
One afternoon, George watched as a Seabee float plane broke loose from its mooring and started floating toward the shore. Earlier in the day, the fellow who owned it had landed in the bay and quickly dropped his anchor just fifty feet from the shore, unstrapped a little boat from the side of the plane, climbed in with an armload of gear and headed out fishing. There was quite a chop on the water because of the afternoon westerly, and later in the afternoon the airplane dragged its anchor and was quickly heading into the rocks. George grabbed a rope and jumped into our skiff. He carefully pulled up beside the plane and threw the line around a spot that wouldn’t get damaged when he towed it away from imminent disaster. He slowly pulled the plane over toward our floats, and I helped get it to a place along the front of the dock where the wings wouldn’t bang into either of the buildings. A Seabee plane’s propeller is situated behind the aircraft’s cabin so we didn’t have to worry about the propeller getting damaged. George secured the plane to the float, and we waited with anticipation for the owner to return. “What would the reward be?” we wondered. Many hours later the fellow finally returned and climbed onto our dock to retrieve his airplane and to thank George. He said, “I want to give you a little something for rescuing my airplane.” He pulled his wallet out and thumbed past hundred-dollar bills, then past fifty-dollar bills, past the twenties and the tens. Then he picked out a five-dollar bill and two one-dollar bills. Seven dollars for saving his airplane that was worth well over $100,000. He really did mean “a little something.” George almost handed the money back.
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