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Iberico Country

The drive from San Sebastian was long and a little boring. We set out at 9am and 6 hours later, thanks to a cheap portable satellite navigational system, that on more then one occasion was almost fucked out the window.

The last part of the journey saw us climb out of a never-ending low flat terrain and into a cooler mountainous region. We were excited for the change in scenery and the cooler temperatures but really, my excitement stemmed from the fact that we had reached Iberico country…you cannot cure hams in a warm climate.

Late in January I was fortunate to host Raul Martin at Salt. Raul is the grandson of Fermin Martin (founding father of the Fermin brand). There are many producers of cured ham in Spain, but there are not many who make the Iberico Pata Negra. Fermin are one such producer, but they distance themselves from the pack by being one of only a few who rear, slaughter and cure their own animals. They are even more unique because they are the only producer who FDA approved to sell their product in North America, a right that took 10 years of intensive paperwork and several visits from American Inspectors. Their Spanish slaughterhouse is actually inspected by FDA annually (www.embutidosfermin.com).

When we arrived at the plant we shared the parking lot with a truck that was dropping off the last of 200 pigs that were to be dispatched the next morning. We met with Raul and after a little catch up he asked what we would like to do at Fermin. I replied that we’d like to see the process from piglet to 36-month-old Iberico ham and he said that he would be delighted to oblige.

So for the remaining of the natural light that day we were to see the animals from piglets in a farm to gorging themselves on acorns and sleeping under acorn trees in a 1000 acre farm.

A true Iberico black hoof pig. Notice the long thin legs and narrow snout.

The Iberico is a breed indigenous to Spain. It is black in color, has a narrow face and narrow legs and its genes allow for as much as 49% of it’s body to be made up of fat. There are 4 wonders of the gastronomical world: truffles, caviar, foie gras and the Iberico Black Hoof Pig. Nobody else in the world can rear it and whether as fresh meat or cured, it is highly prized.

Piglets and sow...

We first toured a farm where the animals are bred. We saw everything from piglets to sows ready to give birth to sows recently pregnant. We also saw the boars, which are leaner and hairier then their female counter parts.

The brown hairy fellow is the only male in a group of 60 pregnant sows. They put him in there in case one or two are not pregnant yet.

The next farm that we went to was specifically concerned with the last 3 to 4 months of the animal’s life. During this period they eat acorns, grass, wild rosemary and wild thyme and this combined with the 49% body fat give the animal its distinctive taste.

The animals eat acorns from 3 kinds of oak trees. One species is the same tree that cork is harvested from. During the last 4 months of their lives, they will eat an average of 10kgs of acorns per day, all the while sleeping outdoors under the same acorn trees. Basically, if they aren’t sleeping they’re eating and this gorging adds an extra 50-75 lbs of pure fat to their bodies.

Bark from tree has been harvested for wine corks

As the light faded, and our stomachs growled, we checked into our hotel and ate a modest meal. As Raul dropped us at our hotel he asked us to be at the plant for 7am and when we asked why so early, he said rather solemnly and cryptically, “to view the next stage”.

Talk over dinner inevitably fell to; did Raul mean the actual slaughter? Could we actually witness that? The other two lads were not so sure that they were ready for that and to be fair it was kind of sprung on them. I, on the other hand didn’t feel that I had a choice. For many years, I have wrestled with my conscience over the killing of animals and my part in it. I use pork in all of my operations and can often account for 100’s of lbs a week…..shouldn’t I be present at least once during a slaughter???

If I’m not willing to be involved in the killing of animals then can I really make money off the back of their slaughter? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging others and indeed there are many times when I reject my own argument as ridiculous. The fact that I am apprehensive about being present because it might make me sick or ruin my day, is not a good enough reason. They’re lives are being taken so that I can sell a product and make a profit, the least that I can do is witness it.

Anyway, tirade over, I had given it a lot of thought and knew that I must attend. The other lads had decided that they would go to the plant decide then.

We arrived at the slaughterhouse at 7am, as requested. Donned white overalls, bootees, mask and hair net. After walking through disinfectant baths and having our hands washed in what smelled and felt like pure alcohol, we were led onto the plant floor. The first thing that struck me was the noise and then the smell.200 pigs are processed through here every morning between 6am and 11am, you need a lot of machinery to move things along at that pace and machines make a lot of noise.

Raul led us through the floor to the first stage in the process and asked that we not photograph this part. Actually, he shouted at us over the noice and as we were concentrating on where we were walking and trying to hear what he was saying, we didn’t actually realize where he had led us to until we were at the killing stage. We sort of turned a corner and I was immediately struck by an unbelievable scene involving pigs being shocked, cut, hung, dropped in boiling water then having their hair and skin scraped off. I was fascinated and a little overwhelmed by what I saw, the two lads, who hadn’t even a moment to decide whether they’d view it or not were also fascinated. The noise, the flash of a knife, the geezer of blood was unlike anything I had ever scene before. Some of the animals we screeching, but that was for just 15 seconds before they received an electric shock, nonetheless, the noise of the animals and the machinery combined with the blood and the use of a knife on a live animal (albeit stunned) caused me to trip slightly. Despite the fact that this was highly organized and heavily regulated, I felt like I was witnessing the end of the world. I remember thinking that this felt a lot like that scene in Apocalypse Now when Martin Sheen and the boat crew stop off at a besieged outpost to refuel.

Me looking a little shell shocked...

After witnessing 4 animals meet their end, we walked around the corner to the space where the pigs were disemboweled, cut in half and had their tongues and hearts removed. At this point we were allowed to take photos.

Pigs have just emerged from the hot water bath. This rids them of their hair and oddly, an outer layer of skin, making the black pig white.

The animals that you see here were alive less then 20 mins ago. Disemboweled. Cut in half, some still attached by the skin of their back.

check out the back fat on this animal

As we moved to the next stage my heart began to beat a little easier as I had witnessed whole animals being butchered many times before at J. N. & Z.

A sight that I am more familiar with...

In this room, the animal is broken down into loins for lomo, meat is scraped off the spent bones for chorizo and Salchicon, legs are trimmed for hams, several fresh cuts of meat and beautiful 3” thick slabs of back fat for lardo.

slabs of back fat

There is a piece of the animal that the Spanish call “Secreto” and it is sort of like a flank steak but with over 49% fat content. When cooking it you are supposed to grill it, but you can never leave it on the grill for longer then a second. So, cooking it demands constant turning and moving around the hot surface.

Secreto

In the next room we see items being prepared for salting and then curing, etc. I’ll let the photos take it from here.

The salting room was almost full at the time of our visit. Only Spanish sea salt is used

When full there are 80,000 legs in this room.

The chorizo room...

It had been an awesome 16 hours, but we had a 3 ½ hour drive ahead of us. So with an eye on the time we thanked Raul for his hospitality and made our way to Madrid.

Next up, we gorge on Tapas, Madrid style, and return home to Vancouver and the construction of our new restaurant.

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Doing something interesting abroad? Email the editor if you’d like to post your travel journals.

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Spain

Arrived in Madrid airport at 9am and was met by Scott Hawthorn (co-owner of Salt) who had arrived from New York earlier. Rented a car from Avis and set off on our 4+ hour drive to San Sebastian.

Stopped at a truck stop and were delighted to find lomo packaged as a roadside snack, a welcome change from the pepperoni and jerky at Canadian Chevrons.

Arrived in San Sebastian at 4pm and after a snooze and a freshen up, we set out for the old town to experience the Tapas Bar culture or as the Basques call them Pintxos.

As mentioned in the previous post we are in Spain to collect ideas for a new project, specifically to see if the essence of the Tapas Bar can be transplanted to Vancouver.

Our conclusion is that in order for an authentic Pintxos Bar to operate in Vancouver several established laws would have to be broken. In many locations we observed people smoking, food left at room temperature on counter tops for hours, the same food items completely exposed to the elements (including people sneezing on or around them) and dogs, dogs everywhere dogs.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t have a problem with most of this (the octopus was a bit iffy) but we could never recreate these particular elements in Vancouver. We used to allow dogs to sit in the Heather’s glass conservatory until one concerned citizen dropped a dime and we were threatened with the Health Board’s full wrath if we allowed dogs to continue to enter.

But these aren’t the only things that give a Pintxos Bar its unique feel. Some of the aspects that we like and feel would work in Vancouver are -Smaller pours of beer & wine, a varied selection of small reasonably priced food items, hams hanging from the ceiling, ham being sliced off the bone from a counter top and a standing bar (ie no stools, not even one.)

We are curious to see if the Tapas Bars in Madrid allow dogs and smoking like their Basque counterparts. There is definitely a feeling in San Sebastian of “we do it our way and to hell with the rest of you”. I pity the individuals who are charged with enforcing the smoking bylaw in San Sebastian. Most of the people who we saw smoking in restaurants were doing so under no smoking signs.

We ate and drank our way through 4 bars that night with the best being “Gandarias Taberna’s” as recommended by Tim Pawsey.

amazing meats...

baked goat's cheese wrapped in bacon

pouring a glass of the Basque sparkling wine, txakoli

deep-fried pig's ear...

Stuffed and tired we returned to our hotel and decided on a nightcap at the local Irish Pub Molly Malone’s.

The next day we walked the length and breath of San Sebastian and concluded that while beautiful, it was a seaside town that’s heart beat loudest in the summer.

That night we decided on dinner at a restaurant. Bernardo Etxea came well recommended for their work with fresh seafood. We decided on sharing half a fresh fish, some grilled octopus and some locally produced lomo. All were great, with the fish being the standout.

Grilled octopus dusted in smoked paprika...

Whole grouper...

head off, filleted and hissing on the grill...

plated and doused in a warm lemon infused olive oil

Still tired and slightly hung-over from the previous nights “Nightcap” we called it a night.

Next installment: hanging out with Iberico Black Pigs

Miss the first post?

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London

Arrived in London at lunchtime and got to the hotel just in time to freshen up and then head out for a late lunch.

Canteen “is committed to providing honest food, nationally sourced, skillfully prepared and reasonably priced.” That’s what their website says. I can’t disagree with their claim.

As I was tired and hungry, I chose the safe option of Bangers & Mash. It tasted great save for the char on one side of each of the bangers. Thankfully, the very sweet onion gravy balanced the char. So, after comfort food and a cup of tea I felt restored and ready to head out to Borough Market, one of London’s better food markets.

Bacon, anybody?

I think they're all dead...

Mmm, goose fat...

After ambling round the market for a while I headed over to Neal’s Yard cheese store for a meeting with their sales rep, Jane.

Normally when a Canadian restaurant/store purchases imported cheese they must go through a broker. There is a quota on how much Imported cheese is allowed into Canada each year and only brokers who have inherited or purchased quota can bring cheese in. Since the quota system was implemented in the 70’s, the quotas have not been increased.

Most of the time, the selection of imported cheeses is based on what a broker believes will absolutely sell, i.e. they are not inclined to use up their quota on unusual, risky cheeses that may not sell. So if you have ever wondered why the selection of foreign cheese is so limited in Vancouver, it’s because brokers are unwilling to take a risk. And really, who can blame them?

Vancouver company Dovre Imports has some of this quota and a refreshingly different attitude to ordering. When it comes to unusual cheese they allow sellers like me to place our order directly with the European cheese sellers. Neal’s Yard is one such cheese seller and Jane calls me once a month to talk about her favorites, what’s good and what’s not. I then place my order. The first time Dovre knows about this is when they receive confirmation from Neal’s Yard that an order has been sent.

Today I am going to place my order in person.

Store manager Toby and sales rep Jane help me taste my way through 20+ cheeses. When it is over I have ordered Lincolnshire Poacher, Isle of Mull, Cashel Blue, Gubbeen and Dawes Weslydale.

Jane

Wall of cheese...

Tired and feeling a “cheese coma” coming on, I head for my hotel.

Next day I had breakfast in an English Café called The Regency Café.

Film buffs might recognize the Regency as the scene of a brutal assault in the movie “Layer Cake”.

The café is busy and runs like a well-oiled machine. Everybody lines up to place their order, and you must not take your seat until your order has been placed. The lady, who takes your money, also makes your tea, puts your toast down and calls out your order when it is ready for you to collect. Between “to go” and “to stay” business, she processes over 90 people in the 30 minutes that I am there. I get my tea when I place my order, and as I settle in my seat the lady bellows “White Toast”. I collect my toast and settle back in my seat only to hear “bacon, egg, sausage and tomato” roared again.

The big booming voice does not match the small lady, so much so that I at first thought that there was a burly cook shouting from the kitchen. But no, she is a small lady with a big booming voice. Nonetheless, each time she bellowed it was like something out of Poltergeist. The truth is that if she didn’t shout, a customer might not hear her and the food would start to pile up in front of her, etc. The breakfast was great, with the tomatoes being a welcome change from the usual baked beans.

Content, I head to Covent Garden to visit the store of Irish designer Orla Kiely. My wife was gracious enough to hold the fort (business/home) so that I could go on this trip, this despite the fact that all 3 children and my wife had been sick the day before I left. I would be killed if I went to London and didn’t buy an Orla Kiely item. Just like Isaac Mizrahi, Orla Kiely has been commissioned by Target to design a line of goods.

Purchase made, I made my way to “The Cow” gastropub in Notting Hill for lunch. It is arguably London’s first gastropub and as such is considered to have led the gasatropub revolution. It has been a major influence on the Irish Heather and I always try to visit whenever I am in London.

The Cow is owned by Ton Conran, whose dad is Sir Terrance Conran, the founder of Habitat (Britain’s version of IKEA) and owner of 30+ restaurants. Tom appears to have passed on the family business in favour of building his own empire. Tom also has a deli, “Toms Deli”, a diner, “Lucky 7”, and a Mexican cantina, “Crazy Homies”.

I ordered the chicken liver paté, fruit chutney and toast with a beautiful pint of Guinness. The guy beside me had a whole Dorset crab that was as big as his head.

There were two reasons for this trip. First, to check out the tapas culture of Spain. Second, to attend the Ireland versus England game in the Six Nations international rugby tournament in Dublin. I next headed out to Stansted airport to catch a flight to Ireland.

Ireland

After an overnight in my hometown of Limerick, myself and Brian (pals since we were 12 years old) drove to Dublin on Saturday morning. The scene of the rugby game was Croke Park. This stadium is located in the city and with a sold out capacity of 82,000 people, all roads leading to it are clogged beyond belief.

We parked our car at my uncles house in the ‘burbs and he gave us a lift into the city center in his vintage Rolls Royce. Riding in this old boy was like floating on a cloud…

Once downtown we headed to Bentleys Oyster Bar & Grill for a pre-game late luncheon. Bentleys is the first Irish-based restaurant from Irish-born, UK-based celebrity chef Richard Corrigan. Chef Richard has a Michelin star restaurant in London’s Soho (Lindsay House), and Bentleys is a casual seafood restaurant in the center of Dublin.

With Corrigan’s following in Britain and his Irish roots, Bentleys was an obvious choice for Brits and Irish folk in Dublin for the game, and it was packed. The mirror above the fireplace was draped in the British Union Jack and the Irish Tricolor.

I had an in-house smoked haddock with soft poached egg and Brian had the fish and chips. Both were superb, and so with two hours to go we walked to the stadium.

Ireland carried the day and there was much celebrating that night, though ours was muted slightly as we had to fly out to Spain at 6am the next morning.

Next installment – Eating Pintxos in San Sebastian

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That would have been a particularly mellow holiday season had it not been for the treachery of the weather. It began, really, with me pulling out of my driveway after the first major cold snap (the night of Dec. 21st). I very quickly discovered that the Westfalia was in no mood for travel. As we pulled up to the first traffic light I pressed my foot all the way to the floor to find that the master brake cylinder had cracked, the brake fluid had drained, and we had the stopping power of butter. Nothing happened. Very gingerly I pulled the beast around and into the mechanic’s garage (two doors from my house).

[imgset:72157611966774389,square,true]

$850 and three days later, the car was of little use to us anyway. The weather had gotten so bad in the upper redoubts of West Vancouver that getting to Michelle’s parents house on Christmas Eve required us parking at the bottom of 300m high hill and then piling all our luggage and gifts on to an old sleigh and pulling it up through the ice and snow (Grinch-style).

After that, it was all turkey and gravy. Michelle’s mom made a superb Christmas dinner, and after putting our very anxious children to bed we stuffed the stockings, had another drink, and fell asleep ourselves.

Christmas morning was beautiful. All was quiet, with snow deep and crisp and even. Jack and Pip tore through their presents like raptors through a primary school, and following a hearty breakfast of chocolate and coffee we piled our things into the sleigh and tore down the hill to the car to ready for Christmas #2 in Victoria. Because of the snow and the icy roads (and a missed ferry), we didn’t get to my mom’s house until after 5pm. The kids went through their second present opening session by a roaring fire (listening to Neil Young), and then we all sat down for another turkey dinner, complete with paper hats and lots of Stella Artois.

The next few days are sort of a blur. The grandparents took the kids up to Point No Point Resort in Sooke, so Michelle and I were mercifully left to our own devices. We bumped into lots of old friends; breakfasted and lunched at Mo:Le twice; got high on caffeine at Habit several times; enjoyed a truly fantastic dinner of five courses at Fernwood’s excellent Stage; and followed walkabouts with driveabouts and early nights with late mornings. I grew up in Victoria, so it’s always a headful of memories and reminders of paths taken and not.

Point No Point is a post-Christmas family tradition, so we were quite eager to get up there and join everyone. It’s an ethereal, Big Sur kind of spot. The noise of the ocean never fades, and they keep the cabins well supplied with kindling and mossy wood. My iPhone had no reception. There was no wireless. No TV. No radio. There was, however, a hot tub on the deck, lots of wine and beer (My sister’s husband brought a big bottle of Le Fin du Monde) and a long and winding path down to a longhouse on the beach, complete with open fire pit and benches. It really does feel like the end of the continent, and we love it.

On the 29th it was time to get home and back to work. We packed our things and piled into Westy, listening to the King’s College Cambridge Choir sing Agnus Dei on the old stereo as we headed north to catch the ferry home, happy to have had some time to slow down and reflect on both 2008 and 2009.

We hope you had a great holiday, and wish you the best for the new year.

I recently visited Harrison Hot Springs, and among some other interesting activities, had the chance to fish for White Sturgeon – a pre-historic fish – on the mighty Fraser River.

A couple weeks prior, Andrew had called and asked if I wanted to go to Harrison Hot Springs as part of a media trip that would highlight things to do in and around this little village. He mentioned that Sturgeon fishing would be involved and my interest was piqued. I somehow wrangled two days off from work, and last Monday I hit the highway to Harrison.

Being a virgin to these sorts of press junkets, I was a little apprehensive. There would be real writers on this trip, and then there would be me: a dirty cook with a blogging hobby. Would they allow me to speak to them? Would they eat steak and lobster, while I ate bologna sandwiches alone in my hotel room? These are the sorts of things that run through my insecure mind. Of course all the worrying was for naught, as everyone was incredibly nice and a pleasure to hang out with.

The drive to Harrison takes about 90 minutes from Vancouver on Highway 1. If you have a little more time, and are a fan of winding, tree-lined roads, Highway 7 will also get you there. All nut-lovers must stop along the way in Agassiz at one of the many hazelnut orchards there.

The Kilby General Store

You had me at pie

Pig at Kilby

Upon arriving in Harrison, I headed to the Harrison Hot Springs Resort and Spa, where I would be staying, to rendezvous with the media group. After a brief meet and greet, we headed to the Kilby Historic Site in nearby Harrison Mills, where Jo-Anne Leon gave us a tour of this interactive museum. The centrepiece of the five-acre site is a hundred year old building, which was once owned by the Kilby family and operated as a general store from 1906-1977. The general store is filled with original packaging for products from the 1920′s and 30′s, and in the high season has interpretive actors playing out scenes from times gone by. The top floor, which was a hotel at one point, now has many exhibits on the history of the area. With a restaurant, heritage farm, camp site and boat launch on-site, it’s a nice place to spend some time.

Back at the resort, we checked into our rooms and then had some free time to explore the property. I soaked in one of the five hot springs they have on-site (two indoors, three outside), and then it was back to the room to iron my fancy clothes in anticipation for dinner at The Copper Room, the resort’s upscale restaurant. Prior to dinner we met up for drinks and canapés in the one of the suites with director of sales and marketing for the resort, Ian Maw (Jamie Maw’s brother!), who prior to moving to the valley seven years ago, worked for both the Pan Pacific and The Four Seasons in Vancouver.

Love is beautiful

Dinner at The Copper Room is a trip back in time. The restaurant doesn’t look like it has changed in thirty years, and I think our server Bart has probably been there since the last renovation. There is a house band which plays lounge favorites seven nights a week and a large dance floor to strut your stuff. Watching the old couples shuffle across the dance floor, holding each other closely, was almost enough to thaw my cold heart for a moment – but not quite. Food was standard hotel dining room fare, but I have to say the steak I had was cooked nicely, which counts for a lot in my books.

Then it was back to my room for a good nights sleep, for tomorrow was the activity that drew me to Harrison Hot Springs: Sturgeon fishing. But first I would have a relaxation massage in the Healing Springs Spa.

The White Sturgeon has been swimming around the river systems of the Pacific coast for over 175 million years, making it the oldest freshwater species of fish on earth. It can live to be over a hundred years old, with females first spawning between 24-35 years of age, and males anywhere from 11-24 years. They grow very slowly, but fish up to fourteen feet in length and weighing over 1500 pounds have been found. They differ from most fish in that they don’t have scales. Instead, they have bony plates called scutes along their sides and back, which protect them from predators.

From 1880-1916, commercial fishing took over a million pounds of Sturgeon a year out of the Fraser River, nearly wiping the species out entirely. From 1916-1994, sport fisherman were allowed to harvest Sturgeon for personal use, but a massive die-off in 1993 prompted a moratorium on all removal of the fish from the river. Since then, the fishery has been a hundred percent catch-and-release. With stocks as low as a few thousand in the early nineties, Fraser River Sturgeon are now on the mend, with anywhere from 45,000 to 70,000 now in the Fraser – a marked improvement since the moratorium.

Our fishing guide for the day was Tony Nootebos, owner of Harrison Bay Guided Services and its parent company the B.C. Sport Fishing Group. Tony has lived in Harrison Hot Springs for twelve years, originally owning a gas station and campsite before starting the charter business in 1996. The first year he only did 8 trips and nearly went bust, but the following year that number increased to 80, with the company growing steadily ever since. He offers seasonal salmon fishing, and trout and sturgeon fishing year round. He now has a 22 boat fleet, 24 full and part time fishing guides and takes out about 4500 guests per year.

We met Tony at the dock near the entrance to the resort. The first group of media had just returned from their morning trip and were just beaming, having reeled in a 300 pound fish that morning. Hearing their stories, I felt the excitement building up inside me. Having grown up around commercial fish boats (my cousin and dad were both commercial salmon fisherman), I have a connection to fish that I have never quite embraced fully, but am conscious of it all the same. Every time I’m near the water it reminds me of growing up.

Eagles wait to kill something

We set out across Lake Harrison, heading for the mouth of the Harrison River, which will take us to the Fraser. We stop briefly to do some bald eagle watching and fill out our one day fishing licenses.

Tony baits the hook with salmon eggs

Casting the line

We enter the Fraser and Tony takes us to the same spot where the first group made their catch earlier in the day. This time of the year it is harder to get the sturgeon to bite, as the colder water slows down their metabolism and makes them less active. The anchor goes down and the lines are baited and cast into the cold river. Different times of the year calls for different types of bait – right now salmon eggs are appropriate, as that is a large part of the diet of the Sturgeon this time of year.

The lines are set and the waiting begins

Now we wait, watching the lines from the comfort of the heated cabin. Tony tells us about the Sturgeon Conservation Society’s tagging study, of which he is an active participant. When a fish is caught for the first time, a microchip is inserted into the fish, which is used to monitor and assess these endangered fish.

I'd never battled a dinosaur before

A bite! There is a pull on the line and Tony jumps into action. He sets the hook and hands the reel off to me. I immediately realize how hard this is going to be. It is raining hard and my weak arms are burning within a few minutes. “Only another hour”, Tony says, laughing as I reel in, wince, reel in, wince. After watching me struggle for long enough, Tony gives me a couple of pointers. The first thing he says is to keep the arm you are holding the reel with straight, using the body for leverage rather than putting all the strain on your arms. Another is to not fight when the fish is swimming away from you; there is nothing you can do at this point. When the fish gets tired, pull up on the reel to create slack and then let the reel down, bringing in line as you go. This helps a lot and I start to make some definite progress. Half an hour or so later, the fish is within twenty feet of the boat, and does a little jump out of the water. “That’s got to be a six footer”, Tony says. Holy shit! A couple of minute later it is beside the boat. Tony sets up a hammock kind of setup to lay the fish in when he brings it into the boat to check for a microchip and measure the fish. In one quick movement, he pulls the fish into the boat and I get a look at the pre-historic creature that I have been battling for the last thirty minutes. Tony checks for the chip in it, and finds it has been caught before. It is 6.5 feet long and he estimates its weight at around 150 pounds.

That's what half an hour of hard work looks like.

After posing for my obligatory victory photos, we toss the fish back in and re-set the lines for another one in our group to have their turn.

Owen, Jayne Lloyd-Jones (Spectacular Ink owner), and fishing guide Tony Nootebos.

I returned home that evening one step closer to becoming a man, having fought a dinosaur and won.

Thanks to Spectacular Ink, Tourism Harrison, Harrison Hot Springs Resort and Spa and the B.C. Sport Fishing Group for everything!