My shipmate is not happy. It isn't the 100-degree heat, although his stubbled brown skull is visibly sweating. And it's not the fact that we have caught exactly one tiny fish this August morning (a five-inch kokanee salmon we discovered dead on the hook). It's not even the paramilitary vibe of the Koke Addiction, a well-seasoned, 20-foot Boulton aluminum fishing skiff--bristling with antennas and nets and rods.
