Pike Place Fish Market’s signature product, wild salmon.

Photo: Matt Ironside

“One King salmon!” The rasping cry came from a red-bearded man wearing orange overalls made out of rubber, a cigarette in his right ear.

“One King salmon…heeeeEEEYYY!” replied three men working behind the counter as the red-bearded man snatched a 15-pound salmon from the ice bin and tossed it to one of them.

The crowd of at least 70 people at the Pike Place Fish Market, which stretches from the gift shop on the left side to the pastry shop on its right, gasped simultaneously as the fish flew through the cool, early afternoon air.

The crowd held their collective breath during the flight of the fish, and then erupted with applause when a young man behind the counter, sporting an orange beanie and a two-week-old beard, made a spinning catch that would make soon-to-be Hall of Fame wide receiver Jerry Rice proud. As fast as he had spun and made the catch, he had the salmon wrapped and bagged for a gray-haired man in khaki colored slacks and a blue and white striped button up shirt.

A monk fish with its mouth propped open is ready to scare any tourist who gets too close.

Photo: Matt Ironside

“That’ll be $14.95, sir,” said the sure-handed youngster.

“Money well spent, as far as I’m concerned,” said the gray-haired man. “I’m gonna get this thing smoked. My wife loves smoked salmon.”

“If there’s anything left over, you know where I’ll be for the rest of the day,” quipped the orange-beanied pro as the man turned and made his way back up Pike Street.

It was another sunny Saturday afternoon at the Pike Place Market in downtown Seattle and America’s most well-known fish throwers were in rare form.

An hour had passed by and only one other salmon had soared through the air over the walkway between the ice bin and the counter, past the yellow caution sign that read “Caution: low flying fish” in black letters and into the grasp of the sure-handed fish catcher.

“Folks, if you’re just watching, if you could take a few steps in so you’re not blocking the way, thank you,” barreled the red-bearded fish thrower so that everyone could hear him over the constant rumble of the crowd.

Down on the bottom right side of the ice bin, just to the left of the steamed clams and under the Silver salmon, rested an odd-looking brown fish with a stick propping its mouth open. Its oddness drew the curiosity of a five-year-old named Jake.

Market visitor Cecilia Cole purchases dinner, spot prawns and crab.

Photo: Matt Ironside

Everyone knew Jake’s name because his mom had spent the past five minutes telling him to stop playing with the live shrimp.

“Jake, leave those shrimps alone!” she’d tell him.

“But mom,” Jake would reply, “they’re still alive, look!”

Fascinated by the brown fish, Jake drew closer and closer wanting to touch it, but debated with himself as to whether it was safe or not.

“That’s what we call a Monk fish,” said the red-bearded man as he walked over to Jake, who was now standing face to face with the curious looking creature of the sea.

“What’s a Monk fish?”

“Exactly that, a Monk fish.”

Sam Samson hauls in another salmon for filleting.

Photo: Matt Ironside

“Where does it come from?”

“Right out there in the Puget Sound.”

“How old is it?”

“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask it.”

Jake turned to ask the fish how old it was. Meanwhile, one of the red-bearded fish thrower’s co-workers, who had snuck behind the ice bin where the Monk fish’s tail was hanging out, tugged on the tail, making the fish seem to jump out at Jake.

Jake looked as if he were standing on springs as he took a giant leap backwards and sprinted to his mom, clinging to her right leg for dear life.

It was a stunt the fish throwing crew had pulled many times before, usually on unsuspecting children or tourists.

The growing crowd, captivated by the exchange between the red-bearded fish thrower and the little boy, exploded in laughter. With an ear-to-ear grin on his face, the red-bearded trickster bellowed out, “Is anybody here to buy a fish? Who wants a fish?”

Behind the counters, the fish market’s cutters make short work of a Chinook salmon.

Photo: Matt Ironside