Book Two Chapter Three

  In those days, there was a great federal penitentiary in New Westminster, on the right bank of the Fraser River and at the north end of the city, which not only held a lot of men who had lost their freedom due to serious crimes, but which dominated a spot dedicated to one of the loveliest of pastimes for those who are still free: fishing. The high grey walls of the jail were in plain view to anyone occupying a fishing site on the long sand bar lying across the river and half-a-mile downstream.
   
    One Saturday morning in the autumn, when the salmon runs were making their long journey home from the ocean to the spawning streams, Toby, his father, and his grandfather came to the bar to fish for jack salmon. These were the mavericks of the salmon run, too young to spawn, but big enough and strong enough to swim with the adult schools a full four years old, and being hungry also, readily took the bait their other intentioned companions chose to ignore.
  
    When Toby heard from his father the news of the fishing trip he asked if they would dig up the worms at his grandparents' house.
 
     "Oh, you don't fish for the jack salmon with worms, my boy. You use the roe from the grown up salmon, the little red fish eggs."
  
    "How big are the jack salmon?" On  the lowest floor of Woodward's, the department store where his mother shopped, there were fishing scenes painted on the walls, of fishing boats and fishermen and fish. The salmon looked awfully big.
  
    "Just the right size for you to catch. About two pounds."
 
     "But I don't have a fishing rod. You do, but I don't." His father had already taken him fishing at Eagle Harbour, over on the West Vancouver shore, but it had not been a good experience. He had eaten a chocolate bar as they set out in a row boat on a cloudy afternoon, and waves from the wakes of passing steamers had tossed them up and down so much that Toby got sick and pretty much ruined the outing.
 
     "You won't need a fishing rod like mine. There are all sorts of willow bushes growing on the sand bar. We'll cut one of those to make you a rod. The way they catch the jack salmon, you just tie your line to the end of the stick. Then you cut another stick with a fork at the end to make a cradle for your rod and stick the butt end of the rod in the sand. Then you throw the line out into the water and sit down on the sand to watch the end of your rod. When it starts to bob up and down you know you've got a fish."