Can it still be called "sport" if the object of the exercise is to kill -- quite literally -- your opponent?
Apparently so. In this case, however, it's not hockey we're talking about. They call it sports fishing.
Growing up in the relative wilderness -- well it felt like it at times, anyway -- of Vancouver Island off the coast of British Columbia, salmon fishing was something we did to kill (there's that word again) a few hours on the weekend or after work on a balmy summer evening.
Get a buddy or two, a case of Molson's, a couple of rods and it was off to the marina and out to sea in pop's boat.
During my high school days, I can remember it was a rare occasion when my dad and I, or me and my pal Wink didn't come home with at least a couple of cohos to throw on the old barbecue.
But in the years since I'd left the Island (or the "Rock," as locals like to say), my dad would keep me posted on his latest fishing expeditions. Unfortunately, the news was often not that good -- unless, of course, you happened to be one of the rare salmon out there, eluding the hook.
Salmon stocks had become depleted in the late 1980s and often the only thing my dad brought back to shore was a dozen empty beer bottles and the odd rock cod.
So, considering I hadn't been out fishing for a few years, it was quite an eye-opening experience this past summer when two friends and I from Tokyo spent about an hour on the water one August night and reeled in 17 -- that's right, 17! -- salmon off the west coast of Vancouver Island.
As Stu, Shin and I made the trip across the Island to Tofino in Stu's dad's pickup truck, I have to admit that I wasn't too optimistic about our chances.
This stems from the fact that Stu's brother, Bob, a professional fishing guide, kept blowing us off in favor of making some quick -- and big -- bucks from a planeload of rich Americans who had just flown in.
By the time we got to Tofino, our four-hour afternoon fishing trip had been reduced to "I think we can get in a couple hours some time after six."
Whatever. We were not really in a position to complain since we were getting the family discount rate, which consisted of a few beers and a little money for gas.
By the time we headed out to the open seas, I thought we were just going through the motions, a quick boat trip to placate Shin, a Swedish lad who plays pro hockey in Japan and had never been salmon fishing before.
The only positive thing, from my viewpoint, was the fact that Christy, a hot little waitress from the local pub, was coming with us and she was packing a few plates full of crab meat, scallops and smoked salmon.
The water was calm that evening and there was a slight misty fog on the water as Bob piloted the boat out to Portland Point. He soon threw it into neutral and started rigging the rods. Herring to start and then the ever-popular hoochies.
With our lines about to hit the water, Christy took the boat up to trolling speed -- about 4-5 knots (8-9 kph).
We were almost ready to fish, but first things first. We cracked a few tall boys -- as you've probably figured out, beer consumption is an essential part of the fishing process, at least in Canada anyway -- and had a toast for good luck.
As Shin was a rookie at this, Bob decided the first fish ("Yeah, right," I thought to myself) would be his to haul in.
Bob explained to him that he had to keep an eye on the tip of his rod (*insert rude joke here*) and set the hook if he got a strike, which would be indicated by the end of the rod jerking back and forth.
"No problem," said Shin, as he settled into his seat and prepared to take a pull on his beer.
But before his lips hit the bottle, the end of his rod started to shake violently.
"Get on it!" Stu screamed at the startled puckster.
"What do I do again?" asked the usually unflappable Swede, now sounding more like a nervous teenager on his first date, as he set down his beer and grabbed the fishing rod from the rod-holder.
Bob had him set the hook with a quick jerk, then instructed him to let out some line and play the fish for a while. As Shin started reeling his fish in, the other rod had a hit and it was my turn to spring into action.
For the next 45 minutes or so, it was non-stop, adrenaline-pumping action. We couldn't even get both lines out in the water before we'd get another hit. At many times, both rods would be going at the same time with guys reeling away like madmen.
An hour after we'd left the dock at Tofino, we had landed 17 salmon, ranging in size from about 12 pounds down to 6 pounds.
Due to government regulations designed to replenish the stocks -- which apparently have been quite effective -- we were only allowed to keep the fish that had been bred in captivity and released into the wild, which were recognizable by the fact that one of their small dorsal fins had been removed. Wild salmon had to be released back into the sea, which is a shame because apparently they taste better.
We kept nine fish, and had to let eight others go. We also lost about four salmon that threw the hook before we could get them into the boat. (It's now illegal to use barbed hooks, making it a bit harder to land the fish).
Easily the most productive fishing trip I've ever been on, but just another day on the water for Bob, who had already pulled in a dozen salmon on earlier trips that day, including a 32-pounder and another "slab" tipping the scales at 26 pounds.
So, if you're ever out on the West Coast of Canada and in the mood for a little salmon, head to Tofino and ask for Bob "The Happy Hooker" Kimoto. And, if your lucky, Christy might even bring along a plate of goodies for you -- not that you'll have any time to eat them.
Oh yeah, and don't forget your beer.
For information on rates and availability, contact Weigh West Marine Resort, P.O. Box 69, 634 Campbell Street, Tofino, B.C., Canada
Telephone (250) 725-3277 or check out the Web site at www.weighwest.com