Wednesday, July 19, 2006

IN CAMP

Jim was up early, by our standards.  He quietly dressed then slipped out the door and down to the grate where he promptly hooked and lost a fish.

Polly was quietly drinking her coffee waiting for the appearance of Onie and me.  That happened around eight.

While the tea brewed I made a few notes knowing full well it would be quite sometime before the thoughts would bloom to story size.

Jim continued to fish under the sunny sky and the temperature hovered at forty one.  There was not a hint of Texas heat in the air.

Breakfast brought Jim in from the grate and when it was over Onie and Polly headed off to Safeway.  We had left the refrigerator mostly empty when we left and they were off to get stuff to restock it.  They also were going to stop and pick up the accumulated mail and restart the box service.

Given such freedom Jim and I headed back to the fish grate.  The fishing was going great but the hookups were few and far between.  Not deterred we continued until Onie and Polly returned.  We still had no fish.

The lights on the monitoring panel showed us to be out of fresh water and full of gray and black water.  It was time to get off the jacks and empty the tanks, a ritual we were getting used to.  Jim helped on the outside while Onie and Polly got the inside ready for the short move.  An hour later we were back in space number seven, put back together and ready to continue camp life.

With the move and reset complete the folks in camp knew it was time to come meet the newcomers.  Ted and Pricilla were first but were soon followed by Stu and Shirley.  Later Sonny and Birdie came by as did Marv and Ardith.  Eventually everyone who was in camp came by to say hello, meet Jim and Polly and wish them a good time here.

When the introductions were at last complete the four of us went back to the grate to fish until supper time. Supper passed into oblivion and it wasn’t too much later that we joined it.  The day hadn’t been especially long but the tiredness from travel lingered so we made an early night of it.  The sun was still shining.

Thursday, July 20. 2006

KINGS ANYONE?

Jim and Polly were up early again.  They drank coffee and read the paper until Onie rose and joined them for a visit over the morning java.  At nine thirty I showed my face and got a cup of hot tea.

While we were enjoying a leisurely morning Marv knocked on the door.  He told us the kings were in the bay at Seward and invited us, Jim and me, to go snagging with him, his cousin Arlen and Ted.  We readily accepted.

Now we rushed to get some breakfast down and some clothes on.

By the appointed departure time, eleven thirty, we had our gear together and put it in the bed of Marv’s Dodge Dually pickup which is powered by a Cummins diesel connected to a Mercedes six speed manual transmission.  I had ridden in it once before but it was a new experience for Jim.  The truck is actually quieter than some gas rigs.  Anyway, the five us filled up the crew cab, but not uncomfortably so, and set off on the drive to Seward. 

We figured to get there for the incoming tide which we hoped would bring in the kings and the fun.  Driving to Seward is usually fairly routine.  One heads east on the Sterling Highway through incredible scenery and turns south on the Seward Highway for more eye popping sights.  Today everything went well until we got close to Seward when the eye popping was caused by all the road construction.  The torn up road surface was bad enough but the continuing drizzle had turned it to slush which made a real mess of things.  We fretted about missing the tide while we waited for pilot cars and our turn at one lane roads.  Finally we arrived.  It was still drizzling.

Marv got out and did a little reconnoitering.  The place he usually fished had been filled in and was now a gravel parking lot.  It seems there is a never ending demand for more parking spaces.  This seemed like the last straw; taking a fishing hole for a parking lot.  We looked around and found a place we thought to try our luck.  The bank sloped to the water at a thirty degree angle and the slope had been covered with rock the size of an apartment refrigerator.  Whoever put the rock down was an expert at jumbling them up as no two lay on the same plane nor did they meet evenly.  It was a real challenge for a bunch of mature men to navigate the slope with their gear without someone ending up flat on their back.  We did. 

Arlen, Jim, Marv, and Tom (Ted was the photographer)

A few cast with snagging hooks told us perhaps we had chosen a less than perfect place.  Every cast cost the caster a snagging hook and a long length of line.  We decided to move.

Around the bay a few hundred feet we found a shore more adapted to our navigational skills.  That is to say it was fairly flat and mostly small gravel and sand.  The drizzle had turned to rain so we suited up to stay dry and began fishing again.  Have you ever seen a mowed field that looked smooth as a golf green but when you walked on it found it full of holes and hidden obstacles?  Well the water was smooth and the shore was not too rough.  What both hid was a bottom just like the one we had left.  It would be an injustice and a bit of an untruth, that is newspaper and political talk for a lie, to say that the bottom was just like the one we had recently left since the one we left had claimed a snagging hook with every cast.  To be perfectly honest the bottom now only claimed a rig every second or third time we cast.  That was an improvement even though we weren’t catching any fish and hardly anyone else was.  There was some good news to be had on this otherwise dreary day.  The rain and the accompanying dim light made it hard to see to tie on new hooks so we were slowed down in our frenzy to throw two dollar and nineteen cent hooks into the bottom of the ocean.  I had skipped plenty of rocks in my day but I knew when I turned them loose I would never see them again.  I had hoped to see what a snagging hook looked like after it had been in the water but it wasn’t to be.  The hooks ran out before the tide ran in.  Marv and Arlen were having better luck at keeping their hooks.  They were watching me, Jim and Ted lose ours while they kept theirs in their hands.  As is usually the case wiser heads prevail and, after watching several dollars worth of tackle get deep sixed, they decided they were hungry and invited us to join them.  It was just in time as I was going to be reduced to skipping rocks, once more. 

Driving to the restaurant we calculated that we had seen two fish caught, not really big fish, just jack kings, in a total of seventeen man hours.  At two dollars and nineteen cents a cast I knew my retirement income wasn’t large enough to catch a king, jack or otherwise.  At the restaurant I settled for a bowl of chowder and an order of calamari.  The other guys had seafood too.  We wanted to at least smell like we had been fishing when we got back to the park.

While eating we discussed how deceptive the sea is and how it might have come about that it is referred to as “she”.  After chasing this hare a bit we saw it might be going in a direction we would have a hard time explaining to our brides should we ever rehash it in our sleep so we called off the dogs and talked about the present.  Even as we ate boats that had left the harbor in calm water were returning.  They had ventured out of the bay into the open water only to be met by sixteen foot seas and most of the boats being small, under one hundred feet, they thought better of it and came back to wait for more favorable conditions.  How many men having broached a subject to his partner found the seas to be too big and retreated to the harbor, read-den, woods or river, to await a more favorable time?  What sages fishing trips produce!  Perhaps we were without equal in the restaurant, Seward or even all Alaska but then again one would have to look far and wide to find a more astute gathering of fishermen than at our table.  Next we decided to solve the problems between the Israelis and the Palestinians.  It would be a piece of cake.

As soon as the mid east problem was resolved we repaired to the sea shore to appraise the situation anew.  We carefully watched those souls who remained throwing dollars into the deep.  The rain was still coming down, it was cold outside, no poles were bending, our tackle was put up and all agreed the fishing was not going to improve at that location on that day.

We headed for home but of course had to go through the hazing referred to as construction, first.  Now that we were full, tired and mentally sapped from solving the world’s problems we were anxious to be moving.  Strangely enough our condition did nothing to hurry us through the slow down areas.

On the Sterling Highway the rain continued.  As we neared the part of the road where one can view the Russian River the traffic slowed to a crawl.  We did the same although the cars behind us bore down on us while we viewed a black bear on the shore.

All good things do come to an end and our brain trust was dissolved when we reached the camp.  Gear was unloaded, in the rain, and thanks extended for inviting us.  As Marv drove away we could smell our supper.

Onie and Polly had put together another good meal.  Grandson Andrew and his friend Ryan joined us for supper.

Andrew and Ryan

We thoroughly enjoyed it before heading off for more fishing at the grate.  No matter how much tackle we lost we didn’t think we could top our performance earlier in the day.  Our efforts didn’t yield any fish but then again we didn’t lose any tackle.  At eleven Onie decided to leave the fish alone so she went to the coach to watch a movie.

I continued to fish and to see if I could multiply two nineteen by a big number, in my head.  Jim, and Polly stayed on as well and we fished on until midnight.

In the coach Jim and Polly got ready for bed.

I joined Onie in the bedroom where we finished the movie.  It was over at one.

Friday, July 21, 2006

2 PAIR + 1

Jim and Polly have convinced us they are early risers.  They were up early again this morning with Polly getting the paper read and Jim well into an old issue of the Cowboy Chronicles before Onie appeared at nine, for coffee and me at nine thirty for tea.

Andrew was up early also and caught a red.  Ryan had also strung one.

Andrew with his first Sockeye

Breakfast was ala Jim and Polly, oatmeal and sausage with coffee and tea.  While the kitchen was being cleaned I quickly put down a few notes in hopes of jogging my good, but short, memory at some more opportune time in the future.

After the kitchen was clean Onie and Polly headed off to Safeway and the post office box.  Jim sat on the couch and read The Life and Times of Doc Holiday, when he wasn’t napping.  Laptop in place I worked on inputting transaction data for Tom Blomstrom Insurance Agency.  It had been a while and the detail is time consuming.  For a break I would revisit my notes and make additions or corrections.  There was also info on the web to be updated before returning to TBIA business.

Before I was near finished Onie and Polly returned from their outing.  Jim and I helped them unload the car.  When everything was stowed they each grabbed a rod and reel and headed for the grate.  I stayed tied to TBIA books.

While I was having fun in the coach Jim was busy catching a nice trout while Onie was landing a red.

When supper time came we sat down with another guest, David Matthew.  We had invited him for one of Onie’s good suppers.

David by the Kenai

We enjoyed the fellowship and after eating adjourned to the campfire.  David Matthew was replaced by the football duo, Andrew and Ryan, who set about making samores for all interested parties.   Full of supper and samores I went off to fish.

Ryan, Andrew, and Polly

Jim a little while later

Fish, reds, have been scare for all on the grate but I did manage to eek out one.  Polly and Onie joined me after their appetite for samores was satisfied and they caught a trout and dolly, respectively.  In addition I put a trout and dolly on the stringer.  Even though dark came late we fished until it arrived and then Onie held the flashlight for me while I cleaned the fish.

Back at the campfire the boys, Andrew and Ryan, were having a good time.  I joined them and we talked until I could listen no more.  I was hoarse so I tucked myself into bed.  It was one.

The boys lingered (?) all night, fishing intermittently and then stoking the fire.  Andrew even covered himself with a jacket and dozed on the ground before dawn came.  When it was light they went up the hill to their cabin.

Saturday, July 22, 2006

A LIMIT

The scarcity of fish and the doom and gloom sayers had taken their toll. We got the word this morning that the limit on reds had been reduced from three to one.  This was tantamount to telling a starving man he couldn’t have steak since there were no more crackers.  Only one or two limits of three had been caught since we arrived on June twelfth.  Reducing the limit to one seemed ridiculous until we realized the decision had been made by politicians.  While we still didn’t understand it at least that explained the dumb action.

True to form Jim and Polly were up early, quiet as mice, reading and drinking coffee. 

When the call of the river became too strong Polly yielded and went fishing.

Polly didn't want to make any noise in the coach, but couldn't stay off the fishing grate. She slipped on her rubber boots and away she went. She received a lot of attention around camp, including property owner Chuck Lockner who wants to use this picture in a brochure. He said people are always asking him what kind of clothes to bring.

Ten o’clock saw Onie and me stir and begin our day with the usual coffee and tea.  That was followed by French toast and bacon.

Twenty minutes after breakfast I had my limit for the day, one fish.

After such a successful morning fishing and finally getting a limit Jim and I headed off to Soldotna to take some fish to the processor.  Then it was on to the post office and finally Trustworthy Hardware.  There he contributed to the local economy by buying a new rod, a new reel and having an old reel spooled with twenty pound test line.  He had lost more than one good trout fishing with eight pound test and while he couldn’t keep any trout over eighteen inches he still wanted to be able to land them, take a picture and put them back, hence the twenty pound test line.

Thus equipped we stopped at Safeway to pick up more samore supplies as the boys had gone through them like Grant went through the south.  While we were there we picked up some more specialty coffee for Jim then headed on to Fred Meyer to buy fuel.  The things one has to do to stay retired almost makes one think it would be easier to go back to work but upon reflection that silly thought is quickly laid to rest.

We got back to the coach at six and promptly started a fire, campfire that is.

After supper the threesome, Jim, Polly and Onie headed off to fish.  I was relegated to the laptop to peck and to the fire ring to tend the fire, since I already had my limit.

When they returned from the river to prepare for bed the report was; ladies-no fish, Jim-four trout.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

IN ABSENTIA

It was now routine and accepted as the norm, Jim and Polly were up early, compared to us.  One knows for sure that folks in New Found Land and Maine had been up longer so we can’t say for certain that Jim and Polly are true early risers but with the information we have in hand we will accept it as fact until proven otherwise.

When we did present ourselves the sun was up, casting its radiant glow on the upper Kenai and its residents.  That would be us and others hereabouts.  Our trusty indoor/outdoor temperature gauge said it was fifty seven outdoors.  When we went to get the paper we had no reason to doubt it.

Even Onie needs a break from cooking now and then so this morning I chopped some nuts and put them in the pancake batter before the griddle was heated.  Sausage was boiling before the first pancake was ready.  Onie joined Jim and Polly when the first steaming hotcakes were placed on the table.  While more pancakes bubbled to perfection we began listening to the Sunday sermon that had arrived the day before.  We finished our coffee and tea just as the sermon ended.

A trip to the grate led us to believe that no reds had left these parts four years ago so none were returning. We splashed away though, in hopes we were wrong.

With no fish cooperating we decided to do something we had more control over, empty the holding tanks and take on more fresh water.  With those chores accomplished we returned to fishing.  While no reds were caught on this foray Jim did net a nice trout and a Dolly Varden.  With those successes he handed me his light rod.  After some time a twenty one inch dolly was netted and somewhat later a seventeen inch trout.  The dolly was returned to the water as it, like trout, has a maximum keeper size in the Kenai of eighteen inches.

Ted was taking his cousin, Bob, and his cousin’s wife, Pauline, to the airport in Anchorage.  It would be a long drive there and back and I had volunteered to keep him company.  We left at six thirty to make their eleven fifty flight.  One never knows about traffic conditions on the Sterling and Seward highways and a bad accident can delay a person for hours.  Since there is no other way from here to there, short of flying, one leaves spare time for travel, if possible.  The drive was made in a drizzling rain with moderate to heavy traffic but no real delays so we arrived in Anchorage by nine thirty.

Ted had told us about a waterfall on Ship Creek.  Kings run up the creek from Knik Arm, a bay off Cook Inlet and the creek is right in town.  With lots of daylight remaining Ted took us to see the kings.  We had to go right past the passenger terminal for the Alaska Railroad and from the appearance of it, clean, neat and modern the railroad here still cares about passenger service.  When we could see the creek it was lined with anglers both in and out of the water which seemed to be no more than waist deep at its deepest pools.  We continued to drive until we got to the place where the state had built a dam.  Here we stopped, got out and walked to the dam and the pool below it.  Lying in the pool were a few dozen kings, already red with age.  They appeared to be resting before making an effort to jump the falls, an impossibility but they still kept trying until exhausted they were washed downstream by the fast current, to die.  Some of the kings would not be allowed to exhaust themselves in this manner but would be trapped and placed in the adjacent fish hatchery, stripped of their eggs or sperm, and then allowed to die.  In this manner the fishery is kept alive.  When the number of mosquitoes biting us exceeded the number of fish in the creek we left for more favorable territory

.

That was the airport where we dropped off Bob and Pauline, said our goodbyes and headed back toward the Kenai Peninsula. 

On the way we stopped at Girdwood for fuel for the Jeep and us before continuing on in the cold rain.  We got back to the campers at one thirty. 

It looked like everyone was still up in the Marlin.  They were.  When I opened the door the stories began.  Each had their own, with different details but they were all the same in the end, everyone had caught a red while we were absent. 

Jim's Sockeye (Red) with trout catch

Whoopee!  Perseverance pays off.

Onie and Jim with her catch.

In addition Jim had caught another trout.  When the story telling had subsided we went to bed happy.  They had caught fish and I had helped Ted get back safely.

It had been a good day.

Monday, July 24, 2006

ALL QUIET ON THE KENAI

After the good news of the catches last night we received news this morning that dampened our spirits.   Due to lack of fish in the river and faith on the part of fish and game people who make decisions about same the Kenai River was to close at midnight Monday, that is today, to all fishing for reds.  This decision was made in the face of objections from merchants who depend on the tourist trade to keep their businesses going.  Tourist will evaporate quickly with this decision.  In addition airplanes flying over Cook Inlet had reported a huge glut of fish lying offshore waiting to come into the river.  Like most politicians these folks were unwilling to listen to any source but their own, the weir counter at the mouth of the river and it was showing small numbers, too small to make the escapement.  The escapement is the number of fish that is believed to be required to ensure enough spawn to maintain a healthy fishery.  So the river was to be closed.

Jim and Polly, the model of consistency rose at their normal time, early, and so did we, nine thirty.

Coffee and tea was enjoyed by all while the oatmeal and sausage cooked.

Outdoors the sun blazed down and by ten o’clock had raised temps to a suffocating sixty

Jim and I took it easy, resting for what we all knew would be a big day tomorrow, halibut fishing. Onie and Polly opted for a 4-mile hike up the Russian River trail with neighbors Marvin and Ardith and Marv's cousin Arlen.

The Hikers--Arlen, Ardith, Marvin, and Polly

The other hiker, Sylvia

The red salmon are pooled all along these waters. I assume they're resting for the climb

up these falls and on into the Russian Lake for spawning. It's amazing that any can make it.

The beautiful Russian Lake

We did manage to get down to the grate for one last shot at the reds before the dreaded closing.  One more fish was strung for each of us and then it was off to the packing plant with the four fish.

While in town we went to the post office and Coldstone Creamery, an ice cream parlor.  Jim and I figured we needed something to take out minds off the river closing and good ice cream was the trick.

Back at the park we ate our supper and got ready for the big trip tomorrow.  Rain gear, rubber boots, cameras, binoculars, clothes for layering and snacks we gathered and put in the Subaru.  The girls would leave at three so they could eat breakfast in Homer.  Jim and I would sleep an hour more, leave at four, eat boiled eggs and sausage in the car and meet them on the dock at five forty five.

At ten o’clock all was ready.  We turned out the lights and tried to sleep.

Tuesday. July 25, 2006

220/191

Onie and Polly got up promptly at 2:45am.  They picked up Andrew and in a flash they were gone to Homer for breakfast on the Spit.  Jin and I got up at 3:45am and left at four fifteen in a cold mist.  We drove pretty much in silence as the miles accumulated on the odometer.  Soldotna was just a memory as we rolled through Clam Gulch and then Ninilchick.  The final hill was climbed and then we were looking at mountains in the mist on the far side of Katchemak Bay.

On the Spit we parked, unloaded our gear and took it to the Solitude where Larry and Larry were waiting.   It was a quarter to six.  We waited and visited.  Little Larry left to get some bait.  When he returned we were still waiting for our fishing mates.  We could only assume their breakfast was taking a little longer than they had planned.  At ten after six we saw their smiling faces come out pier H where the Solitude lay with her twin diesels idling.

When their gear was on board little Larry cast off the mooring lines and Big Larry eased Solitude out of her slip and we were on our way.  Adventure lay just ahead.

Polly on board.

No sooner had we left the confines of the harbor than Onie spotted a sea otter lying on his back.  He barely glanced our way as the Solitude rose to meet the small ripples as more power was applied to her twin screws.  The otter's relatives were laying farther out making them outcast otters I suppose.  They seemed to be enjoying the calm cool water they lay in as well as that that was falling in their upturned faces.

Now the Solitude was up on plane riding smoothly on gentle swells, no more than a foot or so.  To our left or as old tars like to refer to it, our port side, the end of the mountain range trailed down to the sea.  Sometimes we could see small waterfalls cascading into the calm morning tide.  Other places rocky beaches showed a line of kelp littered there from the last high tide. Higher up on the sides of the mountains lights winked on in houses and cabins as their owners rose to face another Alaskan morn.  The sharp eye of Big Larry, from the vantage of the flying bridge, espied a black bear foraging for his breakfast on the beach.  He quickly throttled back and alerted us as he swung the bow about to give all of us an opportunity to get a good look at the bruin.  Eyes strained and camera lens clicked while binoculars brought the image up close.

The diesels gulped more fresh morning air as Larry fed fuel into them, put the wheel over and once again we were on our way to the halibut fishing grounds.  The seas were cooperating, staying flat, and we slipped over them effortlessly.

Some days it is hard to get to the fishing hole for all the distractions.  This was such a day.  We had just settled in again for the two and a half hour ride out when we saw a humpy.  To the un-informed that would be a humpback whale.  Well of course we had to stop and look.  After all, we are tourists.  More eye straining took place as well as using cameras and binoculars and then we were off again.  Polly, looking at the snow capped mountains falling away to port remarked that the trip was already a big success.  We agreed but were still hoping to get a little fish smell on us before going home.

Rain continued to fall.  No one mentioned it but if big girls, like little girls, are made of sugar and spice and everything that’s nice, it was fortunate that Polly and Onie stayed in the cabin.  The fishing deck was wet and cold but very bracing as Jim and I strained to see the islands looming on the horizon.  Perhaps we would fish near them.

Sure enough the boat began to slow as Larry searched for a hump on the bottom.  Once he found it he let go the anchor as young Larry began passing out rods and reels and then began baiting them.  Soon lines were over the side and ere long we were feeling the tap tap of halibut bites.  The natural urge when one feels the tap tap is to jerk but that is a sure way to miss the fish.  Halibut bite slow and when they have taken the bait exert a steady downward pull.  At that time one lifts the rod tip and pulls back, not jerking.  The hook sets when the halibut pulls back.  Then the fun begins.  If you have a small fish, under twenty pounds, it will be fairly easy to reel him in.  On the other hand a larger fish will be apt to take a little line and a good fish will take a lot of line.  Today we were fishing in one hundred twenty five feet of water with one pound weights.  The pound is necessary to get to the bottom where the halibut feed.  Andrew, Onie and Jim were all bringing in good fish though some went back to grow up.  Polly, who had enjoyed the ride out, was now beginning to look a little peaked as she suffered from the effects of a boat at anchor, rolling and heaving with the waves, even though they were small.  And the rain fell and the cold cut through clothes but we were having fun.

Jim bringing in a halibut. Captain Larry netting.

David Matthew and Andrew had saved some salmon heads to use as bait in addition to the herring and octopus normally used.   Big Larry got out a head and put it on my line after I had lost a bait.  Quite some time passed and I had pulled up the head and pound weight from the ocean floor one hundred twenty five feet below a couple of times just to see if it was still there.  It was.  Larry and I discussed it and decided to let it stay down a few more minutes before switching back to herring and octopus.  The decision turned out to be a good one.

A few minutes later a halibut came tap tapping on my line.  He seemed a little bashful so I waited for a more pronounced announcement of his arrival.  It came with a more persistent tapping and finally a good tug.  I tugged back.  He tugged back.  I pulled back.  He pulled back.  He was there a hundred twenty five feet below me, all wet.  I was standing on a rain soaked deck getting wet from the inside out, I had on a slicker suit, as he pulled and I tugged.  The line was too short for him so he took some.  Being part Scotch I took it back.  Being bigger than I am he took it back again.  Well, we had a good tug of war going on there and it looked like a standoff for a while.  I couldn’t get any line back but he couldn’t get any more.  Big Larry suggested that I lower the rod tip as I retrieved line and then lift up and repeat as necessary.  He said the halibut was just lying down below using his weight against me.  Well, I certainly wanted to get the guy in the boat but the lower, crank, raise, lower, crank, raise routine was only getting me about thirty inches of line on each repetition.  I had started out with a hundred twenty five feet of line out and he had taken quite a bit more.  I didn’t want to do the math even if I could have.  The rain came down but it got hot inside my jacket.  Andrew unzipped my rain jacket then unbuttoned my shirt jacket.

The fight's on!

I was still hot but pumped the rod as Larry suggested.  At one point Jim grabbed the rod to let me shift my grip before cranking on.  Sometime later we could see a brown shadow in the water.  Big Larry yelled to young Larry to bring the shotgun and get the short handled gaff in addition to the long handled one.  Now the sweat was coming pretty fast and my back felt like it had been squeezed in a vise for a while but at last the fish was visible.  Early on Larry had said it was a good fish and now he said it was a really good fish.  Seeing it gave me a new burst of energy and I reeled and pumped quicker to get it close enough to the surface for Larry to get a shot.  He said there was no way he would try to gaff it and bring it on board without shooting it.  The fish wasn’t ready to quit yet and when he saw the boat he took off again but with less vigor.  A little more coaxing brought him close to the boat and near the surface.  Holding the muzzle of the rusty single shot four ten close to the surface Larry pulled the trigger.  The shot struck the fish squarely between the eyes.  Now he exhibited somewhat less energy and it was much easier to bring him close enough to gaff.  Big Larry got the short handled gaff, I call it a flying gaff, and Little Larry had the long handled one.  Big Larry struck first quickly followed by Little Larry.  With a Larry tugging on each end they managed to slide the big fellow up over the rail and onto the deck.  I gave a sigh of relief that he was on board and that I  could catch my breath.  I had already caught the fish.

It's in the boat.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

It had been quite a tussle, one I thought had lasted about five minutes but the official time keeper, Jim, said it was about twenty.

Little Larry got a tape measure and it was laid head to tail.  The tale of the tape was seventy four inches, six feet two inches to be exact, my height.  Little Larry consulted the guide book that gives fish weight based on length, the reading, two hundred twenty pounds.  Hearing that drained the rest of my energy and I took a seat in the cabin where a ten minute rest was enjoyed.  Then the fishing resumed.

From beginning to end the halibut fishing lasted two to two and a half hours.  When it was over we had ten fish in the box, a limit for the five fisher folk on board, and had returned probably twice that many that were deemed too small.

It was still early and Big Larry asked me if we would like to try our luck for some silver salmon.  We certainly would and just as I was telling him that Little Larry yelled “Look Dad, silvers jumping.” And sure enough five hundred yards off the starboard stern silvers were jumping.

Big Larry jumped to the engine controls and started the diesels while Little Larry scrambled to handle the anchor when it started in.  With the anchor shipped we were under way to the silvers and Little Larry quickly began breaking out the down riggers, light rods and reels and the teasers and lures.

By the time the tackle was in place we were among the silvers.  Now the scramble continued to break out two sea anchors and attach one to the port amidship and the other to the starboard amidship.  These would make us go even slower than idle speed but still fast enough to troll for the silvers.  While the sea anchors were being deployed and secured a line was put out preparatory to attaching it to a down rigger.  Before that happened a silver hit it, on top of the water.  Andrew grabbed the rod and the first silver was hooked and fighting, dancing his way across the waves then diving for a run before resurfacing for more acrobatics.  It was exciting to watch even as we got the second rod ready to attach to the downrigger and put it down to thirty five or forty feet.  Before we were finished Andrew brought his fish alongside and Larry netted it, bonked it, bled it and put it in the fish box.

Now the fishing for silvers really heated up with Jim, Andrew and me learning how to operate the downriggers so we could keep at least one rod in the water while a fish was being fought on the other.  More than once we had fish on both rods and then it was a mad scramble to keep the lines from tangling.

Jim with Silver

How many more?

All the while the rain came down and south of us heavy weather was brewing.  In addition the tide had turned and was starting to run, fast; perhaps three or four miles an hour.  With the increased rain came a gathering wind which began pushing the rushing tide into growing swells.  Big Larry announced we had another ten minutes before we would head for harbor, running with the wind and tide.  The ride would be quick and smooth but if we stayed things could get nasty.  Ten minutes later the rods and downriggers were stowed.  The sea anchors were retrieved, the bow turned toward the distant harbor and we started our run in.  The fishing was over but it had been one swell day.  We had boated a limit of halibut, ten silvers and four pinks.  Everyone had caught fish, except Polly who slept through most of the day.

When the engines reached their cruising speed their sound and the motion woke Polly.  Bright eyed and rested she took up her post again, watching for whales, birds, mountains or whatever else hove into view.  Halfway in she was rewarded.  Off to port several Orca were feeding.  They cavorted through the water like jumpers going over hurdles and with each jump the black and white markings were clearly visible.  Binoculars that had been stowed were quickly unlimbered and pressed into use.  Again Larry lingered so each of us could get a good look at these handsome killers of the sea.  Jim, Andrew and I knew that with each leap and each circle of the Orcas some marine life was becoming the eaten instead of the eater.  We were watching the food chain in action.  The ladies were watching beautiful mammals playing in the ocean.

Orca dorsal

The viewing over once again we headed for our slip on floating pier H.  On the way in we saw lots of flotsam and jetsam pushed in by the incoming tide.  A few sea otters floated among it but we didn’t tarry to have a close look.

Little Larry busily cleaned tackle and stowed it as well as washing down the bulkheads around the fishing area as well as the deck.  For a lad of thirteen he was a hard worker who had already learned much about fishing and keeping the paying customers happy.

Deckhand Larry Croft, Jr. with dad, Captain Larry Croft

At the breakwater Larry throttled back and brought us into the harbor with no wake showing.  He bypassed his usual slip and took us right up to the pier where the Buttwhackers would meet us and unload our catch.  Then it would be dollied up to their cleaning station where we would take pictures and have an official weighing of “the fish”.

When the fish were removed from the fish box a generous helping of capelin was left in the bottom.  These were food fish for halibut.  The small halibut retain theirs when they are caught but the larger fish begin regurgitating as soon as they are hooked.  We saw this with my fish when I caught a hundred pounder a few years ago and we saw it again today.  When we posed for our pictures it was very evident.  The smaller fish had nice little pouches for stomachs but the big fish had a stomach that was not only flat but concave.

The Halibut Trip Crew with catch.

No caption necessary.

When the fish was put on the scales the official weight was one hundred ninety one pounds.  Take your pick of weights, either one represented a good sized fish and would yield a lot of halibut filets.

The Buttwhackers reduced our catch into filets quicker than I can write about it.  Then it was placed in large plastic boxes for transport to Coal Point Fish Packing where some would be cut into serving size portions, vacuum packed, flash frozen and shipped to David Matthew.  The balance we took to Custom Seafood in Soldotna for the same process except Jim and Polly would take it with them when they left, in lieu of luggage.  We would save the shipping costs.

Onie and Polly left in the Subaru as soon as the fish for Custom was in the cooler and ready to travel.

Jim, Andrew and I waited until the shipping orders were correct for the fish to be shipped to David then three very tired guys loaded in the rent car and turned towards home, almost.  A big sign on a shop on the Spit had an alluring message we couldn’t pass up, ice cream.  We stopped just long enough to get some to go and then headed out in the rain.

Along the way we stopped to buy fuel.  We were low and Andrew had conked out as soon as his ice cream was gone.  If we ran out of gas he would be no help pushing.

 In Soldotna we met the ladies at Custom where the fish were unloaded, instructions given for processing and pickup time.  Then both cars headed for home.

Rain continued to fall as five tired, very tired, bodies looked for the coach and refuge from the wet and cold.

Snug at last inside the Marlin our thoughts were only of bed but some heatups appeared.  Each of us turned to as though we hadn’t eaten in a week, everyone that is except Andrew.  He really was very tired.  We dropped him at the cabin where he went in and went to bed.

Tired, bleary eyes registered on the clock.  It read ten.  We turned out the lights.  Soon the only sounds were those of tired bodies resting.