It was still dark when we left. Old Sam used a spotlight to find a way down the creek and out to the channel. The tide was only just high enough to allow our passage. I could have leant over the side of the boat and touched the river bank. The spotlight shone a ghostly path over the water to pick out the channel markers, slender sentinels which showed us the way.
It was a miracle that Sam had agreed to let me come. Sam never took women fishing. It was bad luck. I had arrived that morning expecting to be told that he had changed him mind. Instead, he had offered me a gruff welcome, and had taken my bag, muttering something about ‘women’s luggage’. I wondered if it was the whiff of the scones I had made the night before that made him turn back and help me down the ladder.
The sun was still only a faint light in the East when we reached the fishing spot. In the stillness of the early morning the anchor chain rattled loudly. Then there were just the peaceful sounds of the surf rolling lazily against the shoreline, and a shag flapping his way across the water.
It was colder out on the open sea and I huddled against the cabin while Sam organised the fishing lines. A strong smell of pipis and fish bait rose to my nostrils. The same smell clung to Old Sam.
I’d never seen him wear anything other then the red check swan-dry and brown cord trousers he was wearing now. Both were shiny with age. The dark-grey stubble on his chin was almost the same colour as the old hat he always wore. I didn’t know what colour his hair was, or even if he had any. Once, his eyes might have been a keen blue, but now they were more of a watery grey.
“Want a rod or a hand line?”
It took a moment for me to realise that the question was directed at me. 
“A…hand line, I think.” I straightened away from the cabin. I didn’t know how to use a rod. All that technical talk about star drags and automatic pick-ups was beyond me.
Sam gave my white hands a disparaging look and handed me a fishing line. “You have to bait your own line.” He pulled the bait-box closer. “There’s raw pipi, trevally or mullet gut.” It could have been my imagination but I was sure he had enjoyed telling me about the mullet gut.
“I think I’ll start with a pipi.” I lent over the bait-box and tried to ignore the smell as I picked up a slippery pipi. I could feel Sam’s gaze upon me as I baited my hook and threw the line over. He gave a sort of grunt which might have meant anything from disapproval to approval.
From the corner of my eye I watched Sam select a piece of mullet gut and carefully thread it on to his hook. I hid a smile and went back to watching my line.
The sky was lighter now. The first red-gold streaks of sun shone out over the sea. With the rising of the sun the whole ocean seemed to come alive. A school of small fish boiled around my line, quickly tearing off the bait. I pulled it up.
“Give this a go.” Sam handed me a smaller line. ‘We could do with a live bait. And drop that line to the bottom, you won’t catch anything on the surface.”
I quickly re-baited my line and let it out until I thought it had reached the bottom. Then I threw in the smaller line. Almost at once I had a fish.
“This will be great for my cat.” I held it up to Sam.
“Cats! Filthy creatures.” He spat over the side.
I opened my mouth to say something, then realised that Sam was baiting me as skilfully as he had baited his line.
“Just what we need.” Sam took the fish and carefully threaded a large hook through its back. I tried not to shudder at Sam’s ‘live bait.’
We caught several snapper, a trevally and lots of small yellowtails. Sam’s ‘live bait’ caught a good-sized salmon. Then the fish disappeared.
“They’ve gone.” I peered over the side then leapt back as there was a swirl and three large fish streaked past the boat.
“Kingies.” Sam didn’t even bother to look up.
“What are kingies?”
“Kingfish. And we’re going to try and catch one.” Sam held up another ‘live bait’, then carefully lowered it over the side.
I watched in fascinated horror as the small fish struggled through the water. Where were the kingies?
“There!” Sam’s eyesight was as keen as ever.
I watched the kingies make a fast circle of the boat; sleek predators of the sea. Then one broke away and raced toward the small fish. In a second the bait was taken and Sam’s line was singing.
“Get the other lines in!” Sam braced himself against the strain. While I reeled in the other lines, the kingfish took out most of Sam’s line. Then Sam began to play the fish.
The sun climbed higher in the sky and beads of sweat gathered beneath the grey hat. It was a battle, I realised. The fish had power and speed. Sam had patience and skill. I waited to see who would win.
It took Sam an hour to bring the kingfish alongside the boat. The two of us strained to lift it aboard.
I looked down at the exhausted fish at my feet. A speck of blood touched its mouth like a badge of courage.
“It’s…a beauty, Sam.” My voice wasn’t quite steady.
Sam’s expression was a strange mixture of pride and sorrow. His keen grey eyes looked up at me.
“Aye, girlie. A beauty.” His old hands shook as he loosened the hook.
I reached for my bag. It was time for the scones.

The end

'Sam's Kingie' is one of the many short stories that appear in my 'Creative Writing' book, coming soon from 'Jupiter Publishing NZ Ltd'.  
The story, along with the others, is discussed and analysed in depth, with the focus on showing how a short story is put together, and what makes a short story work.