It is hard to keep a blog about Kayak fishing updated with fishing reports and such when you aren’t out on the water. Since the beginning of this month, I have been travelling, and that puts a little bit of a damper on getting the boat out and trying for fishes. That, and the fact that when I have been in town for long enough not to be sleeping off a plane flight the ocean conditions are too rough for me (and everyone else). Gale force winds and 16 foot+ seas aren’t too friendly for a 30+ ft boat, let alone little old me.
But there was a brief, really pleasant window at the beginning of this week on Monday. I apologize in advance for the lack of pictures – I upgraded my Iphone from a Gen1 to the latest 3Gs – which means I can shoot videos and take better pictures, but the waterproof housing that I had for my Gen1 doesn’t fit the latest Apple offering. Oh well.
Got out to PC at about 7am - had a late (430) start. Weather across the Coast range was fog and rain, and then as I came out into Tillamook the rain stopped and the sky lightened up. Got down to PC and put the drysuit on. Drove down onto the beach, and realized that I should probably park in the lot instead - tide was out but the high water mark was almost to the ramp.
So back up in to the lot I go, and took my time watching the surf and gearing the boat up. Dragged the boat down the beach to the north end for launch, and stood in the surf to get an idea of what was going on.
Tide was out, water was a funky tea color with alot of foam. Waves were breaking at about chest high, with not much of a lull between sets. I pulled the boat into the surf and dropped the drive in, and dropped the rudder. Started pedaling in knee deep water, and made it into the break. Which was pretty darn exciting. Hit several waves as they were breaking apart into whitewater, and then sliced into a series of waves right as they were starting to curl. The bow of the kayak cut through the face of the wave, and then the hull got lifted, and up and over. The last one in the set I hit right as it started going vertical, and slammed down on the backside of the wave. Pretty cool. Hitting a wave and riding up the face of it is a great feeling, although once the boat goes past 25 degrees off horizontal you begin to worry a bit about going ass over teakettle.
Got out past the impact zone and started setting up the boat. I only took one rod with me yesterday, knowing that conditions going out and coming were probably going to be a little rough. Got the rod setup, and went to tie on the shrimp fly dropper. Poked through the tackle box, and realized that the pre-tied loops I had set up were in another box. So I ended up just tying on a jighead/swimbait.
Pedaled out to the zone inside and north of the haystack, and started fishing. Tap, Tap, YAAAANNNK!. Hauled back on the rod, and started reeling. Whatever was on the end of the line was pulling hard. hard enough to get the rod tip into the water, and strip out line. Excellent. Heavy pull, some headshakes, more stripping. Finally got the fish to the boat - 25"+ in Cab, with a nice greenish-blue hue. I didn't bother measuring it, since I didn't want to know - can't keep it, no heartache.
Headed out to between the haystack and the buoy. The surface swell was choppy and erratic, but there was almost no wind and very little drift. Felt a couple of bumps on the jig, reeled up and got hit on the way up. Set the hook, and kept reeling. Brought a nice little Ling that was just keeper size. No sense in tossing the first keeper back, especially since I wasn't sure whether I was going to stay out much longer in the washing machine.
I decided to stay out until at least 10, and see what I could bring up. The next was another 22" ling, which I CNR'd, and then a 24" Ling. I thought about keeping it after measuring it, seeing how it was a bigger fish than the first one, but I wanted an upgrade. Since I had already pulled the gills on the first one, mister 24" got CNR'd. I would have gotten an shot of the fish, but no camera. Oh well.
Bumped around for a bit, and the chop subsided. The swells started to smooth out, and by 10am the sun was peeking out from between the clouds. There was almost no wind, and at some points it felt like I was on a lake. I was bumping around in the east lee of the haystack, and there was about a half a mile of completely slick water the width of the rock, edged on the north side by very small wind chop (more like ripples) and on the south side by a mile long line of foam that was 15 feet across. I played in that section, getting the occasional hit, some fights, and alot of the “halfway to the boat, a headshake and let go”. Pulled up a couple of respectable black rockfish, a female Kelp Greenling that I CNR'd, and then headed a little north of the buoy. I managed to snap my mono topshot at the albright knot connecting it to the braid on either a snag or a really hard strike (I just know I felt a tug, and I hauled back to set the hook, and felt the leader give way). Fished around on an area that was 100'+, and brought up a bunch of underlings, as well as two more largish black rocks. headed back into the zone between the haystack and the buoy, and brought up a small cabbie, a couple more underlings, and then the last fish of the day, which was a slightly larger just legal ling. I caught a glimpse of another ling that had followed that one all the way to the surface (right as I dipped my net into the water). I started back in around 1:30.
Got back into the impact zone after stowing everything, and sat and watched the shore break for a while. There were a couple of good lulls between the sets, and I stowed the mirage drive and rudder. Grabbed the paddle, and waited for a set. I managed to get into the tail end of the set (I think), and rode the back of one wave, got picked up by another (and got to lean back), which then turned me broadside to another, and I got to try my hand at a low brace. I got myself turned back perpendicular to the beach, rode one more wave, and hopped out of the boat into what I was hoping was hip deep water. I figured I might as well just walk the boat in, since I was pretty sure the next set was going to hit me and exceed my skill level. The water was just deeper than my hip, and then the next wave came in an lifted me off of my feet. I managed to hang onto the boat through another two waves, and then lost my grip on it. Which of course, meant that the boat broached and rolled over. At some point the waves or sand pulled the rudder out of its stow position, and snapped the shear pin. Which, I guess, technically did its job (breaking before the rudder does).
Got out, packed up, and headed home.
Four black rockfish, all at least 16", and two keeper lings, one of which has that cool mint green color to it. All in all, a great day.
The rudder pin is a $3 part, and Next Adventure has them (somewhere in a box, they just opened a new paddlesports wing). So I'm off the water until next week.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Soap Box next to the Washing Machine.
Fishing priorities.
The Pacific Ocean off of the coast of Oregon is a mighty thing. Full of tides, waves, water, and fish. You know, ocean stuff.
Anyway, Triton/Neptune/Pacifica/Mami Wata has been building up on the anger recently. Or, going back to how the Pacific Ocean behaves off of the Oregon coast. Cold water. Big waves. Lots of wind. Not inviting in the least for little old me on my 11 foot long plastic boat. Even wearing a drysuit. Nope, things are a little rough out there. It doesn’t help that the long range forecasts will regularly throw a patch of hope in the mix – a day with small swells, long periods and low winds. And then, three days before, change its mind and bring out the 12 foot swells with 4 foot wind waves at 10 seconds apart with 20-30 mile an hour winds. With means that the shorebreak is basically just a continuous washing machine. And not at all conducive to fishing from a very, very small boat.
The good part of all of this is that, as there is a change in attitude/weather on the ocean, the salmon runs in the bays and tidewater areas are picking up. Autumn is when the seas get rough again, and the Fall runs of Chinook and Coho (as well as some Pink and Chum) Salmon start running up the bays and then rivers of Oregon.
Salmon are sort of the iconic fish here in the Pacific Northwest. When Lewis and Clark came out here, the tribes that they encountered weren’t bottom jigging for cabezon and rockfish. No, they were netting Salmon as they made their spawning migrations upriver. There are tales of schools of migrating salmon so thick that one could cross a river without getting their feet wet. Of fish larger than 100 lbs.
Like most everything else, those are tales of yesteryear. Believe it or not, Johnson Creek in SE Portland used to be home to an annual run of Steelhead and other salmonids. Humans change the landscape, and what was once a rushing, cold stream became a lazy, warm, slightly septic body of water. Same goes for the Tualatin river, Gale’s Creek, Dairy Creek, etc., etc. The Mighty Columbia was a completely different river before the dams went in.
Most of what is gone is gone for good. But we can turn back the clock sometimes. The Sandy river is home to a pretty good run of native Chinook, as well as hatchery Coho and Steelhead. The Marmot Dam was breached a couple of years ago, and streams and creeks that no longer had spawning runs were open to them again. And just days after the Dam removal, salmon were spotted in the waters above where it once stood. Recovery can happen. We can’t bring back the past, but we can improve our future.
The Pacific Ocean off of the coast of Oregon is a mighty thing. Full of tides, waves, water, and fish. You know, ocean stuff.
Anyway, Triton/Neptune/Pacifica/Mami Wata has been building up on the anger recently. Or, going back to how the Pacific Ocean behaves off of the Oregon coast. Cold water. Big waves. Lots of wind. Not inviting in the least for little old me on my 11 foot long plastic boat. Even wearing a drysuit. Nope, things are a little rough out there. It doesn’t help that the long range forecasts will regularly throw a patch of hope in the mix – a day with small swells, long periods and low winds. And then, three days before, change its mind and bring out the 12 foot swells with 4 foot wind waves at 10 seconds apart with 20-30 mile an hour winds. With means that the shorebreak is basically just a continuous washing machine. And not at all conducive to fishing from a very, very small boat.
The good part of all of this is that, as there is a change in attitude/weather on the ocean, the salmon runs in the bays and tidewater areas are picking up. Autumn is when the seas get rough again, and the Fall runs of Chinook and Coho (as well as some Pink and Chum) Salmon start running up the bays and then rivers of Oregon.
Salmon are sort of the iconic fish here in the Pacific Northwest. When Lewis and Clark came out here, the tribes that they encountered weren’t bottom jigging for cabezon and rockfish. No, they were netting Salmon as they made their spawning migrations upriver. There are tales of schools of migrating salmon so thick that one could cross a river without getting their feet wet. Of fish larger than 100 lbs.
Like most everything else, those are tales of yesteryear. Believe it or not, Johnson Creek in SE Portland used to be home to an annual run of Steelhead and other salmonids. Humans change the landscape, and what was once a rushing, cold stream became a lazy, warm, slightly septic body of water. Same goes for the Tualatin river, Gale’s Creek, Dairy Creek, etc., etc. The Mighty Columbia was a completely different river before the dams went in.
Most of what is gone is gone for good. But we can turn back the clock sometimes. The Sandy river is home to a pretty good run of native Chinook, as well as hatchery Coho and Steelhead. The Marmot Dam was breached a couple of years ago, and streams and creeks that no longer had spawning runs were open to them again. And just days after the Dam removal, salmon were spotted in the waters above where it once stood. Recovery can happen. We can’t bring back the past, but we can improve our future.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Big FIsh
August was an awesome fishing month for me. Several beach launches from Pacific City, a couple of them solo, a couple of them with friends. I landed my first keeper ling cod (and only keeper so far), Quillback and China Rockfish in addition to the Blacks and Blues, and loads of Cabezon.
One of my most recent trips out had me hooking up with my NWKA bud Yaknitup. I had launched into Netarts bay early in the A.M. to catch the slack high tide for some crabbing action, which put me in the water at PC about an hour after Yaknitup had launched. He has scoped out most of the area around the haystack at PC, and so once I was on the water I basically just followed him around. We were fishing a nice steep dropoff – were the water went from 80ish feet to over 100 in the course of a couple of yards. I had a basic rig on – two shrimp flies and a 3 oz. jighead/swimbait body, bumping the bottom and not targeting anything specifically. Yaknitup was out for Lingzilla, and so he had a heavy rod and reel combo with him loaded with a pretty large jighead. I bumped around on the bottom for a bit, and brought up a double – a black and a quillback. That was pretty cool. I got the fish put away, and turned my head to spot Yaknitup with a bent over rod, pumping and reeling.
I turn my boat to get a little closer – it looks like he is dealing with a big fish. I ask him what he has on the line. He said that he nearly got the fish to “color” (where the fish is close enough to the surface that you can make out the color and general shape of the fish), and then it had sounded on him. You can generally see the fish when it is within six or so feet of the surface, depending on water clarity. A lot of the folks out there who fish from kayaks are using spectra or other braided nylon lines as the mainline on their reels, and then a “topshot” made out of monofilament or fluorocarbon line. Modern braided fishing lines offer very little mechanical stretch. When a fish strikes a lure hard, or when the fisherman goes to make a hookset, the lack of stretch in a braided line can sometimes mean that the hook or lure gets ripped out of the fish’s mouth. No stretch means you only need to move the rod tip a few inches to set a hook – but most of us who learned to fish using monofilament make a hookset that is like we are swinging for the fences. Monofilament has a tremendous amount of stretchiness available, and requires much more movement to set a hook. Because of this stretch, mono absorbs shock better, and so allows for really hard hits. Putting a short, say, 10 foot monofilament “topshot” on the end of a spectra line adds a small amount of stretch to the rig. The mono acts as a shock absorber, as well as a safety break-away. 20lb test Spectra braid is about a quarter the diameter of 20lb monofilament, and you end up splicing the lines with an Albright or Bimini twist knot. You can feel it when the knot hits the rod tip, and if you are watching your line, you will see braid and then mono. This gives you and idea of how much more you have to reel in before getting ready to actually land the fish. 10 feet of topshot, and then maybe another 2-8 feet of leader. So, seeing the line splice allows you to know you almost have the fish to color.
Yaknitup’s fish had sounded before he managed a glimpse of it. So he really had no idea of what he had on the line. Only that it was big and strong. I got out of his way, and started bumping my rig around again on the bottom to see if I could come up with some more fish.
The fish that can get big enough to fight that hard, within a mile of shore, are Ling Cod, Cabezon, Salmon, Pacific Halibut, and some Rockfish.
A thought crossed my mind – wouldn’t it be a shame if Yak’s fish ended up being a halibut? Pacific Halibut can grow to be enormous, they fight hard, and they are some of the most dangerous fish that you can bring on a boat, short of a shark or a really big pelagic fish. Pacific Halibut are mostly muscle, and the business end of them is loaded with very large, very sharp teeth. Landing them in a powerboat takes some planning, and on a yak a lot of planning and some nerves. People who have caught them from kayaks let the fish wear itself (and them) out before they attempt to land it. Which means they let the fish run against drag a few times, and fight the fish back to the boat a couple of time. And then they gaff the fish, and kill it in the water by bleeding it out. Most of the guys that I have talked to who have landed halibut on their kayaks had a helping hand. I have caught Pacific Halibut from a charter boat, and so I know how much of a fight they put up, and how much they thrash. Kayak fishermen kill the big fish in the water for safety sake.
I was thinking that it would be a shame if it was a halibut, because the season had been closed for a week, as the quota had been filled. I was going to make a snarky comment to Yaknitup about that, along the lines of “wouldn’t it be a shame if it were a ‘butt?” Instead, I kept my mouth shut.
Yaknitup got the fish to color. And wouldn’t you know it – it was a Pacific Halibut. Evidently this is one of the fish that Yaknitup has been wanting to catch from his kayak since moving to the PNW. I am also excited by the prospect. Catching one less than a mile from shore is unusual. Catching one a week after the season close absolutely sucks. I pulled my line in and pedaled over to see if I could help. The fish was still fighting, and Yaknitup was trying to figure out how to unhook the fish, as the hook had penetrated pretty deeply into the fish’s mouth, and jigs as large as the one he was using aren’t cheap. If it had been in season, the fish would get gaffed, bled, and then tied up. But this fish had to be released. While trying to figure out what to do, the Halibut got impatient and decided to go back to the bottom. This happened at least three, maybe four times. Which meant that Yaknitup spent at least 30 minutes fighting this fish. Finally he gets it up to the boat, and gaffs it through lip. This allows him to pull the fish into his lap. Which allows him to unhook the fish, have me snap a couple of pics, measure it, and then slide it over the side. As its face hit the water, it smacked its tail against Yaknitup’s boat a few times, and was gone.
Here is a link to the video that Yaknitup recorded. That's me in the green and yellow.
One of my most recent trips out had me hooking up with my NWKA bud Yaknitup. I had launched into Netarts bay early in the A.M. to catch the slack high tide for some crabbing action, which put me in the water at PC about an hour after Yaknitup had launched. He has scoped out most of the area around the haystack at PC, and so once I was on the water I basically just followed him around. We were fishing a nice steep dropoff – were the water went from 80ish feet to over 100 in the course of a couple of yards. I had a basic rig on – two shrimp flies and a 3 oz. jighead/swimbait body, bumping the bottom and not targeting anything specifically. Yaknitup was out for Lingzilla, and so he had a heavy rod and reel combo with him loaded with a pretty large jighead. I bumped around on the bottom for a bit, and brought up a double – a black and a quillback. That was pretty cool. I got the fish put away, and turned my head to spot Yaknitup with a bent over rod, pumping and reeling.
I turn my boat to get a little closer – it looks like he is dealing with a big fish. I ask him what he has on the line. He said that he nearly got the fish to “color” (where the fish is close enough to the surface that you can make out the color and general shape of the fish), and then it had sounded on him. You can generally see the fish when it is within six or so feet of the surface, depending on water clarity. A lot of the folks out there who fish from kayaks are using spectra or other braided nylon lines as the mainline on their reels, and then a “topshot” made out of monofilament or fluorocarbon line. Modern braided fishing lines offer very little mechanical stretch. When a fish strikes a lure hard, or when the fisherman goes to make a hookset, the lack of stretch in a braided line can sometimes mean that the hook or lure gets ripped out of the fish’s mouth. No stretch means you only need to move the rod tip a few inches to set a hook – but most of us who learned to fish using monofilament make a hookset that is like we are swinging for the fences. Monofilament has a tremendous amount of stretchiness available, and requires much more movement to set a hook. Because of this stretch, mono absorbs shock better, and so allows for really hard hits. Putting a short, say, 10 foot monofilament “topshot” on the end of a spectra line adds a small amount of stretch to the rig. The mono acts as a shock absorber, as well as a safety break-away. 20lb test Spectra braid is about a quarter the diameter of 20lb monofilament, and you end up splicing the lines with an Albright or Bimini twist knot. You can feel it when the knot hits the rod tip, and if you are watching your line, you will see braid and then mono. This gives you and idea of how much more you have to reel in before getting ready to actually land the fish. 10 feet of topshot, and then maybe another 2-8 feet of leader. So, seeing the line splice allows you to know you almost have the fish to color.
Yaknitup’s fish had sounded before he managed a glimpse of it. So he really had no idea of what he had on the line. Only that it was big and strong. I got out of his way, and started bumping my rig around again on the bottom to see if I could come up with some more fish.
The fish that can get big enough to fight that hard, within a mile of shore, are Ling Cod, Cabezon, Salmon, Pacific Halibut, and some Rockfish.
A thought crossed my mind – wouldn’t it be a shame if Yak’s fish ended up being a halibut? Pacific Halibut can grow to be enormous, they fight hard, and they are some of the most dangerous fish that you can bring on a boat, short of a shark or a really big pelagic fish. Pacific Halibut are mostly muscle, and the business end of them is loaded with very large, very sharp teeth. Landing them in a powerboat takes some planning, and on a yak a lot of planning and some nerves. People who have caught them from kayaks let the fish wear itself (and them) out before they attempt to land it. Which means they let the fish run against drag a few times, and fight the fish back to the boat a couple of time. And then they gaff the fish, and kill it in the water by bleeding it out. Most of the guys that I have talked to who have landed halibut on their kayaks had a helping hand. I have caught Pacific Halibut from a charter boat, and so I know how much of a fight they put up, and how much they thrash. Kayak fishermen kill the big fish in the water for safety sake.
I was thinking that it would be a shame if it was a halibut, because the season had been closed for a week, as the quota had been filled. I was going to make a snarky comment to Yaknitup about that, along the lines of “wouldn’t it be a shame if it were a ‘butt?” Instead, I kept my mouth shut.
Yaknitup got the fish to color. And wouldn’t you know it – it was a Pacific Halibut. Evidently this is one of the fish that Yaknitup has been wanting to catch from his kayak since moving to the PNW. I am also excited by the prospect. Catching one less than a mile from shore is unusual. Catching one a week after the season close absolutely sucks. I pulled my line in and pedaled over to see if I could help. The fish was still fighting, and Yaknitup was trying to figure out how to unhook the fish, as the hook had penetrated pretty deeply into the fish’s mouth, and jigs as large as the one he was using aren’t cheap. If it had been in season, the fish would get gaffed, bled, and then tied up. But this fish had to be released. While trying to figure out what to do, the Halibut got impatient and decided to go back to the bottom. This happened at least three, maybe four times. Which meant that Yaknitup spent at least 30 minutes fighting this fish. Finally he gets it up to the boat, and gaffs it through lip. This allows him to pull the fish into his lap. Which allows him to unhook the fish, have me snap a couple of pics, measure it, and then slide it over the side. As its face hit the water, it smacked its tail against Yaknitup’s boat a few times, and was gone.
Here is a link to the video that Yaknitup recorded. That's me in the green and yellow.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
And Yet more fish!
In case you were wondering, the trip out with Yaknitup was pretty good for me as well.
Six black rockfish, a Quillback, and a Ling Cod.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
So Much Fish. Something about time.
So it has been a little while since I last made an entry. Ah, the well known joy of trying to keep up with yet another thing in your life. When I last left, dear reader, we were going to talk about a Sunday afternoon trip on the 8th of August. My second semi-solo, off of Pacific City (PC).
We will pick up where we left off.
Steelheadr, another member of the ever growing NWKA flotilla and I met up at PC around 8am. The tentative plan was that steelheadr would be going after lingzilla, and I would follow him around. We launched into some choppy water, and it was choppy for most of the morning.
We got everything unstowed, and I discovered that my basically brand new Shimano Cardiff wasn't working - very little drag resistance and it wouldn't retrieve properly. I was not going to catch a fish with that, so I switched over to the spinning reel/rod that I used on Wednesday.
My goop job on my transducer puck worked, and so I could read bottom and pickup fishy signals. That was cool. Not truly helpful, but cool none the less.
We started out on the NE edge of the haystack, and worked our way a little towards the buoy. We both hooked up at about the same time, and I reeled in a double of blacks - first double, wooohooo, and one of them was the biggest rockfish that I ended up catching today.
We scooted over to the west side of the haystack, and promptly got blown southbound by the wind. Between the wind and the current it was difficult to accurately target anything, drifting too fast.
After a couple of minutes, I snagged up something fierce. I think I spent about ten minutes (maybe more) trying to get unsnagged. I finally did after getting southbound of the snag, and building up a head of steam going northbound. Which snapped the line. And I had just put on a fresh swimbait body. Oh well.
I think steelheadr hooked up a couple of rockies while I was losing my gear, and then he snagged as well, and ended up breaking off. There is something about 500 yards westbound of the haystack that didn't appear as structure on the sonar, and was 90 feet down. Whatever it was, it now has at least two shrimp flies and a 3 oz. jighead as part of it.
We futzed around a little more, and then started north in the general direction of the buoy. I had a couple of hits, but everything shook off. Then I got a solid hookup, and it turned out to be an underling. Back in the water it went.
Steelheadr packed it in around noon, and I decided that 2 fish wasn't going to cut it, so I stayed out. I drifted over to the zone in between the buoy and the haystack, and about 5 minutes after steelheadr headed in, I hooked up a third black rockfish. Kinda on the small side, but I ain't complaining. The next one that came up was a bit bigger. And then I snagged, and started driving northbound to see if I could unsnag. I felt the jig unsnag, and then it felt like I snagged again, but this time there was a headshake. Reeled in another underling, and this one was only just (21 1/2"). So close.
I picked up two more rockfish before I decided I should probably head in. Packed everything up, and got about 100 yards offshore. Solid wall of breakers - the northerly end of the beach included. And the breakers where 20-30 yards off shore. Crap. Surfer I am not.
I picked a line that would take me near my car, and into what looked like smaller water. Well, it wasn't. I tried to follow a wave in, as is the general advice on surf landings, but since the Outback tracks like a pig while under paddle, I decided to go in with the rudder down to help with some control. It helped me track, but having to adjust the tiller meant I wasn't paddling as hard as I should have to stay on the back of the wave. I lost momentum, and then heard the crash behind me.
I got flipped somewhere between 15 and 20 yards offshore. I held onto the yak for a split second, and then thought better of it. The wave took the yak towards the beach, and I got stuck in the breaker zone - my PFD was doing its job, which meant my feet couldn't stay on the bottom, and I suck at swimming in waves. So I did my best to keep my cool, and duck under the breakers. When I was about 30 feet from the shore I tried to flip my kayak over. No dice, and I was still in the impact zone. So I let it go again. everything that wasn't bungeed or tied down had taken off. I had spotted my gaff right as I popped up the first time, and no way was I going to let that go. So I grabbed that and the paddle. The DFW checker who was waiting for me on the beach grabbed my yak and flipped it over. When I got up to her, the only things missing were my hat and net. My hat was on the next wave in, and the net came in about 10 minutes later. I was very, very happy that the mirage drive was still attached by its bungee when I got up on the beach. The last 30 or so feet, that was all I could think about.
And then I realized that I purchased my drysuit yesterday. If I had been wearing the wader/mountaineering jacket combo, this report would probably be very different.
All in all, a pretty rocking day. I caught fish, I had fun, and I huli'd with no loss. Unfortunately, no one on the beach was taking photos or videos, so we cannot see what exactly happened to me. Which was probably pretty funny to watch.Next time.
More soon,
M.Yng
We will pick up where we left off.
Steelheadr, another member of the ever growing NWKA flotilla and I met up at PC around 8am. The tentative plan was that steelheadr would be going after lingzilla, and I would follow him around. We launched into some choppy water, and it was choppy for most of the morning.
We got everything unstowed, and I discovered that my basically brand new Shimano Cardiff wasn't working - very little drag resistance and it wouldn't retrieve properly. I was not going to catch a fish with that, so I switched over to the spinning reel/rod that I used on Wednesday.
My goop job on my transducer puck worked, and so I could read bottom and pickup fishy signals. That was cool. Not truly helpful, but cool none the less.
We started out on the NE edge of the haystack, and worked our way a little towards the buoy. We both hooked up at about the same time, and I reeled in a double of blacks - first double, wooohooo, and one of them was the biggest rockfish that I ended up catching today.
We scooted over to the west side of the haystack, and promptly got blown southbound by the wind. Between the wind and the current it was difficult to accurately target anything, drifting too fast.
After a couple of minutes, I snagged up something fierce. I think I spent about ten minutes (maybe more) trying to get unsnagged. I finally did after getting southbound of the snag, and building up a head of steam going northbound. Which snapped the line. And I had just put on a fresh swimbait body. Oh well.
I think steelheadr hooked up a couple of rockies while I was losing my gear, and then he snagged as well, and ended up breaking off. There is something about 500 yards westbound of the haystack that didn't appear as structure on the sonar, and was 90 feet down. Whatever it was, it now has at least two shrimp flies and a 3 oz. jighead as part of it.
We futzed around a little more, and then started north in the general direction of the buoy. I had a couple of hits, but everything shook off. Then I got a solid hookup, and it turned out to be an underling. Back in the water it went.
Steelheadr packed it in around noon, and I decided that 2 fish wasn't going to cut it, so I stayed out. I drifted over to the zone in between the buoy and the haystack, and about 5 minutes after steelheadr headed in, I hooked up a third black rockfish. Kinda on the small side, but I ain't complaining. The next one that came up was a bit bigger. And then I snagged, and started driving northbound to see if I could unsnag. I felt the jig unsnag, and then it felt like I snagged again, but this time there was a headshake. Reeled in another underling, and this one was only just (21 1/2"). So close.
I picked up two more rockfish before I decided I should probably head in. Packed everything up, and got about 100 yards offshore. Solid wall of breakers - the northerly end of the beach included. And the breakers where 20-30 yards off shore. Crap. Surfer I am not.
I picked a line that would take me near my car, and into what looked like smaller water. Well, it wasn't. I tried to follow a wave in, as is the general advice on surf landings, but since the Outback tracks like a pig while under paddle, I decided to go in with the rudder down to help with some control. It helped me track, but having to adjust the tiller meant I wasn't paddling as hard as I should have to stay on the back of the wave. I lost momentum, and then heard the crash behind me.
I got flipped somewhere between 15 and 20 yards offshore. I held onto the yak for a split second, and then thought better of it. The wave took the yak towards the beach, and I got stuck in the breaker zone - my PFD was doing its job, which meant my feet couldn't stay on the bottom, and I suck at swimming in waves. So I did my best to keep my cool, and duck under the breakers. When I was about 30 feet from the shore I tried to flip my kayak over. No dice, and I was still in the impact zone. So I let it go again. everything that wasn't bungeed or tied down had taken off. I had spotted my gaff right as I popped up the first time, and no way was I going to let that go. So I grabbed that and the paddle. The DFW checker who was waiting for me on the beach grabbed my yak and flipped it over. When I got up to her, the only things missing were my hat and net. My hat was on the next wave in, and the net came in about 10 minutes later. I was very, very happy that the mirage drive was still attached by its bungee when I got up on the beach. The last 30 or so feet, that was all I could think about.
And then I realized that I purchased my drysuit yesterday. If I had been wearing the wader/mountaineering jacket combo, this report would probably be very different.
All in all, a pretty rocking day. I caught fish, I had fun, and I huli'd with no loss. Unfortunately, no one on the beach was taking photos or videos, so we cannot see what exactly happened to me. Which was probably pretty funny to watch.Next time.
More soon,
M.Yng
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Fish on Wednesday
The past week has been pretty eventful, in terms of my kayak fishing experience. Fish, fish, and more fish, along with a drysuit and a huli.
First, fish fish.
Last Wednesday I headed out to Pacific City/Cape Kiwanda to try my hand at ocean fishing once again. Now that I have been out and about on the water (the first trip being the uneventful one with Wali), I decided to give it another go. I was hoping for some company in the form of other kayakers, but no one was up for a Wednesday morning jaunt. So I went out alone. Which sounds ominous, but I made sure that I left a float plan and a specific check in time at home, and PC is dory city – there seems to always be a dory in the water near by. The added security of a VHF radio and knowing that I wasn’t going out farther than the haystack rock just offshore made it that much safer, in my mind.
I managed to get down to PC at about 7:30. I had packed most of the necessary gear in the car the night before, and so I just had to grab a few things on the way out the door. It is amazing how smooth a launch can go when things are in place. I actually did not forget anything – which is amazing given how distracted I can get.
I parked the car at the north end of the beach, next to a bunch of trucks with dory trailers. Tide was on the way out, and so I would have a nice outbound current to help with the launch. The car almost got bogged down in the sand, and I realized that my rear wheels were just at the high tide mark.
I geared up, turned the radio on, and poured water into the sonar transducer cup inside the hull. The fishfinder that I use, a Lowrance/Eagle 350, has a small sonar transducer that either needs to be firmly in contact with the hull of the boat, in the water, or, as many kayakers before me have found, will work if in a foam “puck” with water at the bottom. I used marine Goop to attach the foam to the inside of my kayak, and unfortunately, I was unsuccessful at making it hold water. Oh well, no worries, fish finders are not a necessary thing.
I dragged the kayak down to the water’s edge, and then walked it out to knee deep – the outgoing tide and small swell size made for an easy, smooth launch. I paddled out a bit, dropped the drive in, and headed towards the haystack. About 300 yards out I stopped to set all of the gear up. I had brought along a level wind reel and casting rod combo that I used for the first time on the trip out with Wali, and realized as I was threading the line through the eyelets that there was something wrong with the reel. It would freespool fine, but clicking off the freespool into retrieve showed me two things. One, the drag wasn’t working, and two, the retrieve wasn’t working correctly. For those of you who are keeping track, 1=0. I had brought along a second rod to rig up alternate gear like a Sabiki herring jig or larger single jigs. It turns out that it would be the only rod I would use, so it got the triple – two shrimpflies on dropper loops with a 3oz jig head at the end. I decided to use a dark brown/blue colored 6” swimbait , as the morning was overcast. Dark lures on dark days.
I settled into a spot, drifting between the haystack rock and the buoy just north of it. After a bit, I felt a bump on the line. Fish on! I reeled in, and had a minor fight with the fish, but nothing amazing. Turns out it was an “underling,” a Ling Cod that was too small to retain. The minimum retention size for a ling cod in Oregon waters is 22”. This one was probably 18”. But it was my first ling cod, and the second fish that I have caught on the boat. Off the hook, back into the water you go.
I kept drifting, and hooked up again. I brought the fish all the way to the boat, and saw that it was another underling. Away with thee, small fish!
I moved a bit closer to the buoy, and realized there was a sea lion in the water close by, as well as one up on the buoy. The one in the water was spyhopping me – popping up from the surface about 30 yards away, eyeballing me. Neat, and a little unnerving. Sea lions are known to get aggressive/playful with kayaks, and I really was hoping that it wouldn’t with me.
Another bump, and fish on! This one was bigger, and pulled harder. I reeled it up to the surface, and brought a toad of a Cabezone onboard. It was a good 22 inches, and heavy. Definite keeper. Onto the stringer, and stringer into the rear tankwell. The first keeper fish on the kayak. Hooray!
Drifitng back and forth between the buoy and the haystack, I snagged up a few times, and then dragged up a black rockfish. Nice. Second fish on the stringer, and in the first hour or so of fishing.
I sort of just sat around for the next 30 or so minutes, and watched as a dory came in and passed by. I had the line out and rod in a holder, just sort of sitting around. Right as I turn to wave at the passing dory, I here the reel on going crazy, spitting out line. Grab the rod out of the holder and start pumping and reeling. Big fish. Strong fish. Strong enough to strip line while I am reeling, and strong enough to move the kayak. I pump and reel, and bring a 30+ inch Ling to the surface. OMG. Awesome. Now I need to get it in the boat. I try netting it. Net is too small. I have a gaff. I’ll use the gaff.
Now, a little bit about conservation of resources and fishing. While I am not a fan of Catch and Release (CNR) for sportfishing, I understand it. If you catch something too small to keep, throw it back gently and hope it survives to get bigger. I don’t practice CNR for fun – I don’t think that putting a fish through the trauma of being hooked is necessary. With conservation in mind, let us consider the Ling Cod. Minimum size for retention of a Ling Cod is 22”. Which means that all of the small juveniles get tossed back. Lings can get in upwards of 60”. Most of the fish/marine biologists/ fish nerds that I have talked to about lings say that the ones that get that big tend to be females. Over 36”, most likely a female. Bigger fish tend to be older fish, and also tend to be wormier fish (you know, parasitic worms). So retaining a large female will potentially impact the overall breeding stock.
So there I am sitting with the fish on the hook, and a gaff in hand. If I knew that I was going to retain the fish, I would have slipped the gaff up under its gillplate. Which can be pretty damaging to the fish. Since I wasn’t sure I was going to keep the fish to start with, I hesitated, and put the gaff hook through the upper lip. Much less damage to the fish. Also much harder to retain.
All of this thought process probably took a second.
And then I had a 30+” angry Ling cod in my lap. I know it was at least 30 inches, as it was at least ¾ the length of my outstretched leg. It had managed to spit the hook right as it got into my lap, and in the frenzy of trying to keep the shrimp flies and jig head from stabbing me, I let up on the gaff a little bit. And the Ling took advantage of that, slipping off of the gaff, and giving me a couple of good whacks with its tail before flipping out of the boat.
The biggest one is always the one that got away. It was a brief, exhilarating feeling. A tiny bit frustrating, as I did not have a chance to measure the fish, but I have a feeling I would have tossed it back. Next time, Lingzilla.
Shortly there after I scooted around to the west face of the haystack, and managed to bring in another largish cabezon and another black rockfish. And then I drifted back over to the haystack. At about 1pm I decided to call it quits. I dropped the line in one more time, and reeled up a nice fat black rock. And headed in. My approach was easy, the landing was easy, and I was satisfied.
More to come soon, as I went out this past Sunday.
M.Yng
First, fish fish.
Last Wednesday I headed out to Pacific City/Cape Kiwanda to try my hand at ocean fishing once again. Now that I have been out and about on the water (the first trip being the uneventful one with Wali), I decided to give it another go. I was hoping for some company in the form of other kayakers, but no one was up for a Wednesday morning jaunt. So I went out alone. Which sounds ominous, but I made sure that I left a float plan and a specific check in time at home, and PC is dory city – there seems to always be a dory in the water near by. The added security of a VHF radio and knowing that I wasn’t going out farther than the haystack rock just offshore made it that much safer, in my mind.
I managed to get down to PC at about 7:30. I had packed most of the necessary gear in the car the night before, and so I just had to grab a few things on the way out the door. It is amazing how smooth a launch can go when things are in place. I actually did not forget anything – which is amazing given how distracted I can get.
I parked the car at the north end of the beach, next to a bunch of trucks with dory trailers. Tide was on the way out, and so I would have a nice outbound current to help with the launch. The car almost got bogged down in the sand, and I realized that my rear wheels were just at the high tide mark.
I geared up, turned the radio on, and poured water into the sonar transducer cup inside the hull. The fishfinder that I use, a Lowrance/Eagle 350, has a small sonar transducer that either needs to be firmly in contact with the hull of the boat, in the water, or, as many kayakers before me have found, will work if in a foam “puck” with water at the bottom. I used marine Goop to attach the foam to the inside of my kayak, and unfortunately, I was unsuccessful at making it hold water. Oh well, no worries, fish finders are not a necessary thing.
I dragged the kayak down to the water’s edge, and then walked it out to knee deep – the outgoing tide and small swell size made for an easy, smooth launch. I paddled out a bit, dropped the drive in, and headed towards the haystack. About 300 yards out I stopped to set all of the gear up. I had brought along a level wind reel and casting rod combo that I used for the first time on the trip out with Wali, and realized as I was threading the line through the eyelets that there was something wrong with the reel. It would freespool fine, but clicking off the freespool into retrieve showed me two things. One, the drag wasn’t working, and two, the retrieve wasn’t working correctly. For those of you who are keeping track, 1=0. I had brought along a second rod to rig up alternate gear like a Sabiki herring jig or larger single jigs. It turns out that it would be the only rod I would use, so it got the triple – two shrimpflies on dropper loops with a 3oz jig head at the end. I decided to use a dark brown/blue colored 6” swimbait , as the morning was overcast. Dark lures on dark days.
I settled into a spot, drifting between the haystack rock and the buoy just north of it. After a bit, I felt a bump on the line. Fish on! I reeled in, and had a minor fight with the fish, but nothing amazing. Turns out it was an “underling,” a Ling Cod that was too small to retain. The minimum retention size for a ling cod in Oregon waters is 22”. This one was probably 18”. But it was my first ling cod, and the second fish that I have caught on the boat. Off the hook, back into the water you go.
I kept drifting, and hooked up again. I brought the fish all the way to the boat, and saw that it was another underling. Away with thee, small fish!
I moved a bit closer to the buoy, and realized there was a sea lion in the water close by, as well as one up on the buoy. The one in the water was spyhopping me – popping up from the surface about 30 yards away, eyeballing me. Neat, and a little unnerving. Sea lions are known to get aggressive/playful with kayaks, and I really was hoping that it wouldn’t with me.
Another bump, and fish on! This one was bigger, and pulled harder. I reeled it up to the surface, and brought a toad of a Cabezone onboard. It was a good 22 inches, and heavy. Definite keeper. Onto the stringer, and stringer into the rear tankwell. The first keeper fish on the kayak. Hooray!
Drifitng back and forth between the buoy and the haystack, I snagged up a few times, and then dragged up a black rockfish. Nice. Second fish on the stringer, and in the first hour or so of fishing.
I sort of just sat around for the next 30 or so minutes, and watched as a dory came in and passed by. I had the line out and rod in a holder, just sort of sitting around. Right as I turn to wave at the passing dory, I here the reel on going crazy, spitting out line. Grab the rod out of the holder and start pumping and reeling. Big fish. Strong fish. Strong enough to strip line while I am reeling, and strong enough to move the kayak. I pump and reel, and bring a 30+ inch Ling to the surface. OMG. Awesome. Now I need to get it in the boat. I try netting it. Net is too small. I have a gaff. I’ll use the gaff.
Now, a little bit about conservation of resources and fishing. While I am not a fan of Catch and Release (CNR) for sportfishing, I understand it. If you catch something too small to keep, throw it back gently and hope it survives to get bigger. I don’t practice CNR for fun – I don’t think that putting a fish through the trauma of being hooked is necessary. With conservation in mind, let us consider the Ling Cod. Minimum size for retention of a Ling Cod is 22”. Which means that all of the small juveniles get tossed back. Lings can get in upwards of 60”. Most of the fish/marine biologists/ fish nerds that I have talked to about lings say that the ones that get that big tend to be females. Over 36”, most likely a female. Bigger fish tend to be older fish, and also tend to be wormier fish (you know, parasitic worms). So retaining a large female will potentially impact the overall breeding stock.
So there I am sitting with the fish on the hook, and a gaff in hand. If I knew that I was going to retain the fish, I would have slipped the gaff up under its gillplate. Which can be pretty damaging to the fish. Since I wasn’t sure I was going to keep the fish to start with, I hesitated, and put the gaff hook through the upper lip. Much less damage to the fish. Also much harder to retain.
All of this thought process probably took a second.
And then I had a 30+” angry Ling cod in my lap. I know it was at least 30 inches, as it was at least ¾ the length of my outstretched leg. It had managed to spit the hook right as it got into my lap, and in the frenzy of trying to keep the shrimp flies and jig head from stabbing me, I let up on the gaff a little bit. And the Ling took advantage of that, slipping off of the gaff, and giving me a couple of good whacks with its tail before flipping out of the boat.
The biggest one is always the one that got away. It was a brief, exhilarating feeling. A tiny bit frustrating, as I did not have a chance to measure the fish, but I have a feeling I would have tossed it back. Next time, Lingzilla.
Shortly there after I scooted around to the west face of the haystack, and managed to bring in another largish cabezon and another black rockfish. And then I drifted back over to the haystack. At about 1pm I decided to call it quits. I dropped the line in one more time, and reeled up a nice fat black rock. And headed in. My approach was easy, the landing was easy, and I was satisfied.
More to come soon, as I went out this past Sunday.
M.Yng
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Not from a kayak, downtime
I haven’t been able to take my kayak out at all over the past two weeks. Between what I do for work, 100+ degree weather and an uncooperative ocean on the days when I am free, fishing from the kayak hasn’t been happening.
Of course, before the heatwave rolled in last week and before I went off on a work related retreat, I went out on an albacore tuna charter with the F.V. Siamez through Depot Bay Tradewinds.
So the seas were kinda bumpy on the way out, and there wasn't much to see - ocean, clouds, the sky. I didn't have the camera out during any of the action, or for most of the trip - between trying to hang on, fishing, having my hands coated in saltwater and tuna gore, I really didn't think handling either my phone or my camera was all that great of an idea.
We had to go about 40 miles offshore to get to where the water was the correct temperature, and that took about four hours. Once we were out there, as soon as the lines were in, we were basically on fish. Most of the action was one at a time, but there were several points where we had doubles and triple hookups. Then things got exciting, as we had eight lines in the water at any given moment.
There were six customers fishing, and we brought in 35 fish. We would have brought in 36, but miscounted. I think the miscount was due to the shark that we reeled in - small 3 foot Blue that got tossed back.
In addition to the tuna, we got to see a few whales (Gray or Humpack - skipper said they were Humpbacks), a small pod of Orcas, a dolphin or so, and loads of different seabirds.
We finished fishing around 2pm, and started heading back in. We got back around 650pm, exhausted. I got home around 11pm that night.
Schooling Albacore are juveniles, and the biggest we brought on the boat was probably a hair under 40lbs, most were in the 15-20lb range. Depoe Bay Tradewinds has a couple of guys working their filet station that know how to get the most out of the tuna, as far as the more desirable white meat. A 15 lb fish dressed out to about 5 lbs of loin and belly meat. The rest is guts, head and spine. Like any good Asian kid, I convinced the guys to let me have a few of the heads as well. I probably could have taken all of them, but I don't have a chest freezer yet. Next time I go out, I'll make sure I have access to one.
10 lbs of meat is at the smokeshop right now - gonna can most of that, another 20 went in cans without smoke, and the remainder got frozen or grilled the next evening.
So here are the pics.
Step one, put your fish in a box.
Step two, make the deck hand open that box.
That's my fish in a Box!
Here is what 35 albacore look like lined up on a dock
Albacore are some of the most beautiful fish that I have seen. Right out of the water their backs are this amazingly vibrant blue/green. Such streamlined footballs. There is a passage right at the end of The Old Man and the Sea where Hemingway describes the amazing colors of a billfish, and then how quickly it fades. You can't put that in a can, and I doubt I have the camera skills to show that off.
FWIW, I picked up on a few things while heading out and coming back that helped me understand a little more about fishing from a kayak on the ocean. Going out on a boat bigger than 11', where I was standing up, gave me the opportunity to really watch the interaction between swell size and period, wind waves, and interacting currents. Crossing over the bar out of Depoe Bay was interesting - the bay opening is basically a big funnel, and so there were breakers that rolled in right up to under the bridge. I can see why this is potentially the most hazardous part of a trip out of Depoe Bay - it looked like you would want to time it like a surf launch to get out of the funnel in between sets.
And then once out on the ocean, just offshore, I was watching the whitecaps and swell/period. It was choppy and the period was pretty short - it all started coming together. And then we got about 10 miles out, and I could really watch the swell and period, as well as experiencing it as the boat crashed through. All the way out, at the height of fishing, the skipper had the boat riding the swell - we could watch the wave come up to use, ride the up the face (stern facing the wave), and then the wave would pass under us. There were a couple of points where we could actually watch the tuna hit the lures - a flash of blue and silver, and then the rod would go bendo.
On the way back in it was interesting to observe the speed of the swell. The boat was holding 9kts, and we would get overtaken be the swell. Again, we would ride up the face of the wave, and then it would pass under us. The speed at which it happened means that the swell itself was probably moving around 20+ knots. I had to watch carefully to see it happen, otherwise it would just feel like we were on rough oceans.
Now that I have a kayak, I can’t really see going out on a charter boat off the Oregon coast for anything less than Tuna or possibly deep water Halibut – and if I start catching nearshore halibut, then the only Charters will be for Albacore. Which means if I save my pennies, I can probably fit in two or so trips in a summer.
The weather/ocean forecast for tomorrow looks just about ideal for my skill level – similar if not calmer than the first time I went out. Hopefully I will have an awesome fishing report tomorrow afternoon.
M.Yng
Of course, before the heatwave rolled in last week and before I went off on a work related retreat, I went out on an albacore tuna charter with the F.V. Siamez through Depot Bay Tradewinds.
So the seas were kinda bumpy on the way out, and there wasn't much to see - ocean, clouds, the sky. I didn't have the camera out during any of the action, or for most of the trip - between trying to hang on, fishing, having my hands coated in saltwater and tuna gore, I really didn't think handling either my phone or my camera was all that great of an idea.
We had to go about 40 miles offshore to get to where the water was the correct temperature, and that took about four hours. Once we were out there, as soon as the lines were in, we were basically on fish. Most of the action was one at a time, but there were several points where we had doubles and triple hookups. Then things got exciting, as we had eight lines in the water at any given moment.
There were six customers fishing, and we brought in 35 fish. We would have brought in 36, but miscounted. I think the miscount was due to the shark that we reeled in - small 3 foot Blue that got tossed back.
In addition to the tuna, we got to see a few whales (Gray or Humpack - skipper said they were Humpbacks), a small pod of Orcas, a dolphin or so, and loads of different seabirds.
We finished fishing around 2pm, and started heading back in. We got back around 650pm, exhausted. I got home around 11pm that night.
Schooling Albacore are juveniles, and the biggest we brought on the boat was probably a hair under 40lbs, most were in the 15-20lb range. Depoe Bay Tradewinds has a couple of guys working their filet station that know how to get the most out of the tuna, as far as the more desirable white meat. A 15 lb fish dressed out to about 5 lbs of loin and belly meat. The rest is guts, head and spine. Like any good Asian kid, I convinced the guys to let me have a few of the heads as well. I probably could have taken all of them, but I don't have a chest freezer yet. Next time I go out, I'll make sure I have access to one.
10 lbs of meat is at the smokeshop right now - gonna can most of that, another 20 went in cans without smoke, and the remainder got frozen or grilled the next evening.
So here are the pics.
Step one, put your fish in a box.
Step two, make the deck hand open that box.
That's my fish in a Box!
Here is what 35 albacore look like lined up on a dock
Albacore are some of the most beautiful fish that I have seen. Right out of the water their backs are this amazingly vibrant blue/green. Such streamlined footballs. There is a passage right at the end of The Old Man and the Sea where Hemingway describes the amazing colors of a billfish, and then how quickly it fades. You can't put that in a can, and I doubt I have the camera skills to show that off.
FWIW, I picked up on a few things while heading out and coming back that helped me understand a little more about fishing from a kayak on the ocean. Going out on a boat bigger than 11', where I was standing up, gave me the opportunity to really watch the interaction between swell size and period, wind waves, and interacting currents. Crossing over the bar out of Depoe Bay was interesting - the bay opening is basically a big funnel, and so there were breakers that rolled in right up to under the bridge. I can see why this is potentially the most hazardous part of a trip out of Depoe Bay - it looked like you would want to time it like a surf launch to get out of the funnel in between sets.
And then once out on the ocean, just offshore, I was watching the whitecaps and swell/period. It was choppy and the period was pretty short - it all started coming together. And then we got about 10 miles out, and I could really watch the swell and period, as well as experiencing it as the boat crashed through. All the way out, at the height of fishing, the skipper had the boat riding the swell - we could watch the wave come up to use, ride the up the face (stern facing the wave), and then the wave would pass under us. There were a couple of points where we could actually watch the tuna hit the lures - a flash of blue and silver, and then the rod would go bendo.
On the way back in it was interesting to observe the speed of the swell. The boat was holding 9kts, and we would get overtaken be the swell. Again, we would ride up the face of the wave, and then it would pass under us. The speed at which it happened means that the swell itself was probably moving around 20+ knots. I had to watch carefully to see it happen, otherwise it would just feel like we were on rough oceans.
Now that I have a kayak, I can’t really see going out on a charter boat off the Oregon coast for anything less than Tuna or possibly deep water Halibut – and if I start catching nearshore halibut, then the only Charters will be for Albacore. Which means if I save my pennies, I can probably fit in two or so trips in a summer.
The weather/ocean forecast for tomorrow looks just about ideal for my skill level – similar if not calmer than the first time I went out. Hopefully I will have an awesome fishing report tomorrow afternoon.
M.Yng
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