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We were on a 8-metre fishing boat some 12 kilometres offshore from Kyuquot Sound on the west coast of Vancouver Island. We had just settling back into our seats to watch the warming rays of the sunrise shine onto the mist-shrouded islets closer to shore.

Then an almost imperceptible jiggle on the tip of the fishing rod.

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I leapt to my feet as two hard tugs jolted the downrigger arm. By the time I got the rod out of the holder, the mainline had already popped free of its clip. My rod bowed heavily as the reel’s handles spun menacingly despite the tight drag. Something big had smacked the lure, we were trolling at a depth of 60 metres, and was running hard.

Suddenly, the rod straightened. Loose coils of line appeared on the surface. The fish had turned, and was coming right towards our boat. I had a sinking feeling that I hadn’t hooked up, but continued to wind furiously.

Our guide yelled, “Suzanne! You’ve got one, too!” I turned to see my wife fumbling to get a good, two-handed grip on her deeply arched rod.