Perhaps the best stories are with, or about a great fishing partner. Mine is my wife. Fishing big chinook in the Queen Charlottes. Hooked a big one. And it began to run. Two and one-half hours later, the fish had been brought to the boat three times - just out of reach - and for good reason - it was foul hooked in the tail. Try that on, in twelve-foot seas and twenty-knot winds, drifting toward Tokyo in a sixteen-foot skiff. Later, the map tells us we were towed two and a quarter nautical miles! We were tired. My new captain (she had never manned an outboard before) was doing great - steering into the swell, reversing and going forward to catch up with this great fish. Finally, (on 12 lb Maxima I might add) the big fish comes along side. I raise the rod as high as I might, and my beautiful other shovels the big stainless steel net deep into the green sea. She scoops and raises the net high! No fish. But I spy my two black hooks dangling in the net! Exhausted (remember 2 1/2 hours!) I drop my $ 300 Loomis rod and $ 120 direct-drive reel, pick up the net, go to the side of the boat, and eye the largest living chinook I have ever seen - 42.5 lb - beside her self, serene, or just exhausted floating like a lost piece of driftwood in this big sea. She (the chinook - but this could also describe my beloved little one) just simply lays there. I scoop her (the fish) out of the white-topped waves - and we, all three, go home spent of even spoken word. I will never forget the great fish, the battle, and lingering spasm on the floor of our little kicker boat. Yes I have had thoughts of her swimming free (or being released) but now just remember the bright, silvery reflection she made while we headed home into the sunset. Both my partner and I laugh about this one on occasion, especially after a great martini sipped in reverence to good fishing, wonderful partners, and the lasting memory of this true great sport.