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Topics - LoletaEric

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16
General Talk / Anyone dealt with "Chaos Serious Fishing Equipment"?
« on: September 26, 2022, 02:10:45 PM »
Ordered some sunglasses from Chaos Fishing this morning, and three times in a row it said it wasn't taking my credit card.  Then I couldn't get back in to their site.  I called my credit card company and sure enough, there were three charges on my card.  I've disputed two of them, and I'm just hoping I really do get my couple pairs of sunglasses...

Anyone dealt with this company or had a similar experience?

17
Hookups and Fishing Reports (Viewable by Public) / Trinidad - 9/18/22
« on: September 19, 2022, 01:49:07 PM »
Collin and Amanda got an offshore tour at Trinidad yesterday, and we were literally the only boats on the water.  Salmon and Pacific halibut seasons are over, there's been a recent flurry of long tuna days for the fleet, and rain was in the forecast, so I guess everybody was ready to sleep in on a flat and windless Sunday.  It was amazing.

My guests recently relocated to Humboldt from Colorado, and I knew they were outdoorsy types when they were down with executing our trip even with some rain in the forecast.  I would've rescheduled, but the wind and swell forecast were good enough where I thought we should go for it - just like I figured other boaters would.

As Collin and I had corresponded about our plans, I knew that he was eager to check out offshore fishing up here, but he also really wanted to get Amanda on the trip.  I was all about it - the more the merrier, but I advised that it's important to consider that everyone is unique in terms of how they react to being in open water and whether they will get seasickness.  My advisory was for both of my guests.

Being offshore is no joke.  I grew up going out the jaws of Humboldt Bay in my dad's dories - open aluminum boats, less than twenty feet in length, with a couple of built-in benches and sidewalls that prevented proper standing.  You didn't stand - unless it was super flat, and you were my dad, exclaiming "flattest day I've seen in twenty years!", and I was sitting, or lying down, there on the front bench, feeling seasick.

I still get seasick on powerboats - I've exposed my Kryptonite!  I'm worthless on a powerboat unless I'm in a comfortable position, able to orient on the horizon, with my face pointed into fresh, moving air.  I've often compared seasickness to poison oak:  those who don't get it have no idea how bad it is!  I've described the feeling as wanting to die, but I'm a baby about it, probably.

The other aspect of comfortability I learned about in those little dories had to do with the feeling that you're about to die, so it's similar to seasickness, but not as bad!  What I'm talking about is the loss of control over your own safety that is very commonly felt by most people when they're on open water in small vessels.  In the little dories as an eleven year old, I was pretty mortified as we went up the faces of swells that my dad had assured me wouldn't break, and then down the back of the swell in a rush, only to see another, bigger swell that we'd now be ascending.  I remember thinking that I could die, but I quickly decided that I did trust my dad to keep me safe, and that I really didn't have any options other than jumping overboard.  It's character building, they say...

Sunday came, we got introduced, donned our immersion wear, reviewed info about the kayaks and the fishing gear, and I asked about whether either of my guests had taken any seasickness meds.  Nope.  No worries - it's a nice flat day, and a big part of what we're doing is discovering new things about ourselves and the outdoors. 

The most important factor in the moment, from my perspective, was that both Collin and Amanda were obviously engaged - all in, trusting me to put them on the right equipment and to guide them offshore, utterly alone on the water but for our trio, and to catch some fish too.  I think I could sense just the slightest hint of apprehension on Amanda's face for a few seconds right after we met - standing there in the rain, barely light outside, with no one around us, planning to paddle a kayak offshore with a guy your husband met on the internet.  It may sound weird, but the combination of challenges ahead of me in that moment had me so excited - I was thriving on how I would soon initiate a chain of events that could and should lead to our ultimate success for the day.

We were soon paddling through the empty harbor on the way around the Head.  Collin was cruising the Kraken and had recently been on another Jackson Kayaks product in Humboldt Bay.  I had Amanda on the Scrambler XT - perfect for her size, and I assured her that it's a great craft, having been miles offshore on it myself many times and also caught my largest salmon on it back in 2006.

My guests were comfortable and obviously very able on the boats, and as we cleared the moorings I got us hooked up on trolling rigs.  They both picked up the fishing technique right away, and we were off to find a bite and to see how things looked out front.  We rounded the corner at the south tip of Trinidad Head, and I told my guests that this particular spot is right where you start to feel the real swells.  It's a distinctive location where the water goes right from calm like the bay to active with not just a primary swell but also reflective swell coming off the Head.  It's the spot where people basically figure out whether they're going to be comfortable offshore or not.

I check in a lot with my people - it's vital to what I'm doing, especially those who I've just met, and very especially people who don't have a ton of offshore experience on boats.  Collin and Amanda both gave consistent affirmative responses as we made our way to the west, and this meant we could continue offshore to where the best bites are found - another vital part of the process, in terms of the catching part of the success I'd planned for us.

Soon we got our first bites, and all of us managed to land small black rockfish that were released.  "We can do better", the guide said, and I hoped I wouldn't eat my words!  Pulling some fish up seemed to help to lubricate the wheels of pleasure while dampening the demons of potential discomfort, and we were ready to round Blank Rock and work the pinnacles near Flat Iron.  More fish came up, but the bite wasn't red hot, and it seemed that only small rockfish were interested.  I was confident that we would eventually run into some larger model rockies and a lingcod or two, and my guests were having a good time - both catching fish and also discovering the feel of being offshore.  I was feeling pressure to find those larger fish in the moment, but looking back, I really value having been the guy who got to take two people offshore and see them do well in such a new environment.  It was a nice day out there, but it wasn't super flat, and the rain with a slight breeze kept a little edge on it too.  Collin and Amanda were acing the test.

After doing a few laps southeast of Splash 1 and finding only smaller rockfish, we decided to head back to calmer water.  Amanda had felt a slight twinge of the motion sickness, and wisely she anticipated that she could be a liability if it escalated.  This represented another vital aspect of my trips:  clear and honest communication about how my guests are feeling must happen, and my new objectives become getting them feeling better and pivoting in my plans to find the fish - in that order.

I advised that we should start trolling at a bit faster pace, back toward the harbor.  Amanda and I got moving, and I hollered over to Collin, who - being the avid fisherman in the family and the instigator of this adventure - had become pretty independent in his own search for the bigger fish on the pinnacles, "we're heading back toward calmer water".  Collin, on hearing that Amanda had started to feel it a bit, hit the gas, but he got stopped in his tracks by another rockfish.  I confirmed that Amanda was feeling better just from getting that air moving in her face, and I lingered between my guests as Collin dealt with the rockfish.  I could see that Amanda was navigating in past the one wash rock I'd shown them on the way out, and she was obviously aware of it and clear of any danger.  Collin and I pinned on herring and started to paddle hard to catch up to his wife, and, wouldn't you know it, 13 days after the season ended, a salmon slams Collin's bait and shows up on the surface 50 feet behind him with a roll and splash that looked and sounded like a stout fish.  The salmon was soon free of the barbless hooks ("Barbless All Summer" has been extended, because I love fishing that way!), and Collin and I were stoked that he got a taste of what I describe as the pinnacle of our fisheries here, in the fight of a salmon.

We continued on, and I ended up missing another strike that was likely a salmon, and before long we caught up to Amanda and we all re-entered the harbor right as another rain shower came along.  Seasickness, once it gets you, can be very hard to shake off.  I offered that we could scrap the session, or, if my guests wanted to we could get Amanda ashore, put away her gear and continue on with Collin and I.  She'd caught some fish, experienced the offshore environment and done well, and it was raining harder now...  She wanted to stay and fish, and she was feeling better.  This was great news.  I was ready to discount the trip if we had to cut short, and with only four smallish black rockfish retained at that point, I was considering discounting due to the tough bite.  Guides have to resist those feelings of pressure all the time, and they should be resisted.  What I'm doing out there is so much more than what ends up on the stringer - I need to always remind myself of it, and I try very hard to always act like it's my top priority to find the fun even if we don't find the fish.

We didn't re-tool for the harbor.  We'd run bait along the rocks, try to find some rockfish and hope that a lingcod would show up.  I'd already told Collin as we'd planned the trip that the fish generally aren't as big in the harbor, but of course there's always a chance at big fish - it's the ocean.  It's all connected!

It wasn't long before we found a school of small rockies, and the bites were coming regularly.  I think that the effect of having no other boats around helped us get bit, so that turned into a huge boon for us.  I was near Amanda, re-baiting from both of us getting bit, when Collin - the independent husband who was finding his own acre to fish on, totally with my blessing - showed up over by us announcing that he'd had something on that had been ripping lots of line out, and he'd lost it in his attempt to control it and turn it.  The presumed lingcod got away with a hook too, and this lesson learned without the guide there to coach and hopefully modify the outcome was just fine, because I was over with the Guest of Honor, celebrating our own bite as well as the good fortune of Amanda feeling all better from the motion sickness.

We went on to catch sacks full of the plentiful black rockfish, and near the end Collin had a hitchhiker ling up to the top that we nearly captured.  A few minutes later as we started to move toward launch, happy with our catch for the day as well as the offshore experience, a lingcod showed up that stuck to the hooks.  We got one in the bag to add to the blacks, and it was a proper topper to a full day on the water.  With, still, no one in sight but a few beach goers over at Old Home.

We landed the yaks, and I suggested that, since they live nearby, they might go get out of the wet gear and meet me back at launch beach where I'd load my gear and be ready to cut the fish at my Tailgate Fillet Station.  They took me up on this offer, and when Collin came back alone I realized I should've gotten our Stringer Display photos before they'd left.  Amanda had chores to do and family duties, so I'll look forward to next time to get her in the glory shot.

I think Collin was pretty stoked to get the experience of the day, catch lots of fish and learn a new area and new techniques, and I was really thrilled to have him tell me that Amanda hasn't had a fishing day like that in a long time - maybe ever.  The fact that he was so content with how the trip had gone for his lady was one of the best feelings of the season for me too.

I'm not sure how I managed to fall so far in love with the offshore experience when it started out with me feeling like I was about to die out there, between the jetties in my dad's dories, going up and down those swells in the jaws of the bay, but I sure am glad it happened.  I like helping others find out if they're looking for that love too.

18
Hookups and Fishing Reports (Viewable by Public) / Lost Coast - 9/11/22
« on: September 12, 2022, 10:05:18 AM »
Almost 13 years ago I posted this Youtube vid of some huge copper rockfish.



Yesterday David brought one up that looked and felt like it surpassed any of the big ones I've caught in the past.  What a monster this fish was!  I was calling it 12 pounds.  Biggest rockfish I've ever handled.

The giant copper came up early in our session, and David chose to release the big mama, 100 year old rocky - great decision.  David, Erik and I went on to catch scores of fish over about 5 hours on the reef.  We took home lingcod limits and about a half dozen quality rockfish apiece.  Lost Coast Style Tailgate Fillet Station was the bomb. 

Thanks for doing the trip, guys - Good Times!

19
Hookups and Fishing Reports (Viewable by Public) / Shelter Cove - 9/3/22
« on: September 05, 2022, 08:50:26 AM »
Schwegg came back for a late summer trip, and he brought his lady, Celeste, along to check out the scene.  They crashed out in their tent-top over the truck, and the late night launch crew showed up at 130AM, keeping my people up for many hours of the night!

I got there in the dark at 540AM and got all the gear set up for Celeste and I, but by the time it got light and Schwegg was about ready, he told me that Celeste needed to sleep in.  No worries - I packed up her gear, got a new parking spot and Schwegg and I launched.  Half a mile later I realized that I'd left my safety bag in the truck in the midst of the busy morning.  I left Schwegg trolling near some buddies and paddled hard back to the ramp.  Got my gear, re-launched and headed down the coast to find my guy more than a mile away now.  Couldn't have done that with a first time client, and big thanks to Domenic for hanging with my guest for a bit while I worked up the best morning sweat in a long time - ever, probably.

Nothing was happening for the fleet.  There was still some bait by the harbor, but nobody picked anything up in there, and out of all the boats down by the Coast Guard Buoy no one announced a fish.  We did some laps and worked the closer bait after coming back from the south, but nothing was biting at all.  The water was nice, but things were super quiet.

Schwegg and I enjoyed the calm water, and I hoped that Celeste would opt to join us.  We'd landed one keeper lingcod and one short halibut at this point, and we hadn't had many other bites.  Schwegg had been texting with his lady, and she was now ready to get on the water.  We headed to the launch to get Celeste set up and hoped that the tide change would get things going for the bite.

Celeste has kayaked before and has ocean experience, but she didn't want to fish.  Even though I'd brought all the gear and had her boat equipped with sonar in the morning, I was able to leave the rod, net and electronics in the truck - a bit of a bummer that she wouldn't be angling with us, but
this was also a gift to me in that I'd not be training and assisting with the basics. 

We made our way back out of the harbor, and with the point and out front being a bit sloppy we decided to stay nearshore to look for a halibut and hope that the salmon would show.  Celeste did great, and we covered a few miles on clean water with only a slight breeze showing now and then. 

Schwegg and I ran nice baits with a variety of presentations for the entire session, and we did manage to land more fish, but the radio talk as well as any interactions on the water with friends revealed that the entire fleet was having the same luck:  Not Much.  All species were off the chew, and I'd find out later that the bite up the coast was similarly slow.  The fish know more about these things than we do, and you have to be ready for it in this sport. 

Our catch of the day and the fish that really made me happy was when Schwegg brought up a respectable halibut.  I got up on him and the fish was right at his kayak.  As I produced the net, I told him that the fish was due to explode, and then, basically right as I'd said it and showed the net, the fish went apeshit and dove hard.  I thought the barbless hooks would pull out for sure, but somehow it was still hooked.  Schwegg brought it back up, it dove again, and when he brought it up for a third time I was ready.  We got it in there, and the hooks flopped out in the net - happens a lot!

Not long after this triumph of the day, it was decided that we were about done.  My guest couple wanted to grab a late lunch and hit the festival that was happening up at the lighthouse.  We landed on a super busy high tide launch area, got our gear quickly stowed on the trucks, took a few glory shots and then headed up the hill where I'd fillet while my guests cruised the festival and enjoyed a few beers.

I don't mind at all when my people want to do something else while I'm finishing the day's work.  It's all part of the tip-earning!  This vocation has been an awesome practice in being at my best.  I want to be on point, attentive, positive and engaging for our entire time together.  I've said it before:  it's not about the money to me.  It's about practicing in self-control and using the Golden Rule by treating others as I'd like to be treated.  When you're paying for a day with a guide, you want to feel good and be happy - that's what I focus on.  Watch out though, because I'm dialed in on my people, and I may not have much for those outside of our little bubble.

With the fish filleted and iced, I texted Schwegg to finish up our transaction.  We closed out our day with mutual expressions of appreciation, and my guests embarked on the rest of their weekend where they'd check in to their suite at the Inn of the Lost Coast and Schwegg would have options on morning fishing for Sunday and Monday.

I'm pretty sure the loving couple got a much better night's sleep last night!

Salmon season ends tomorrow off of Humboldt.  My body's telling me I'm done for the year!  We'll see...

20
Hookups and Fishing Reports (Viewable by Public) / Shelter Cove - 9/1/22
« on: September 02, 2022, 08:33:38 PM »
John has gone out with me many times.  He and Coho Joe usually do one or two trips a year with me, and salmon is often the target.  My guys have shown up the day after a hot bite on more than one occasion.  We've brought in plenty of nice fish, but John's salmon tally was at two shakers over the years of trips.  With the bite heating up lately (finally), John hit me up for a short notice Cove run.  I had to turn him down at first, as I'm trying to pace myself and meter out my energy over the last several trips I have on the books for the summer.  Salmon closes Monday, and I really wanted to get my guy on another chance at a chromer.

I called John back and told him that we've gotta go.

Yesterday's fleet included a bunch of kayaks as well as several local boats who'd heard about the developing bite right outside the harbor.  John and I got on the water later than my usual, and things were pretty quiet, with a fish here and there coming up.  It wasn't long before I was on a hot pumper.  After a good fight I had about a 13 pounder in the net.  I was stoked, but the main focus of the trip - and of so many previous trips - was to get John on one.

I wouldn't say there was anxiety or tension in the air, but the level of hope was very, very high.  My guy was so due.  He'd done everything I asked of him for so long - years!  "Please, Salmon Gods, throw my guy a bone!"

B - O - O - M

You know how this goes.  My man had a good one hooked.  He worked it gently.  It made spirited runs.  I got in position at his bow, ready to employ the net.  It was all going well, but things can change fast in such situations. 

We'd been working a rip current line with seaweed on it when John hooked up.  Now a big mat of that vegetation was on John's line.  I paddled hard to get in a position to move the weed with my paddle, all while John's fish was still fighting hard.  There was, I admit, just a bit of tension and anxiety in the air now!

With the weed moved and John's fish still firmly hooked, another run or two and it should be ready.  John's lips curled into a smile as he and I could tell that the fish was tiring and allowing just a bit more purchase on turning it back toward John's kayak.  I was waiting next to him, one hand on my net and the other making quick and precise paddle strokes to stay positioned just right.  The fish came up, our eyes lit up as John led it toward my net, and it was done.  We had it.  We had overcome a barrier that hadn't ruled John's life or set him back in any tangible way, but it had been a thing.

John and I celebrated in that moment, and the rest of the day became an extension of that celebration.  Another fish went on the stringer a bit later, and then the bite pretty much died.  We'd accomplished our goal, and the beers that I often describe as the tastiest and coldest on the coast would be that much more satisfying at my tailgate as we processed the lauded catch and soaked in the triumph of our day.

Season's wrapping up soon, and I hope to take part in just a few more happy endings before it's over.  Thanks for following.

*Met through NCKA

21
Hookups and Fishing Reports (Viewable by Public) / Shelter Cove - 8/30/22
« on: September 02, 2022, 08:20:45 PM »
Wrote up a big long report about this day, and the keyboard demons ate it somehow.  I will proceed as if it were meant to be.

David, my good friend, frequent guide client and SAGY - Super Assistant Guide of the Year, linked up with me for a salmon mission at Shelter Cove.  We did well.

This guy is a big reason why I got into guiding, and he's a damn good man who helps me strive for positive flow in my life.  That's what the big story was about, so I tried to cut to the chase.
Great trip, Professor.  Much Love, my friend.

*We met through NCKA

22
David called up recently, looking for a date at the Cove to try out his new Hobie Outback.  Friday the 26th was our day, and, great news:  a few salmon were caught by the fleet the couple of days before our trip. 

I had my gear all ready to go when David pulled down onto the ramp.  Thick fog had the breakwater partially obscured from shore, and the forecast called for sloppy seas out front and a potential SW wind coming on throughout the morning. 

As my guest put together his gear I realized that he literally had never had his kayak in the water.  No worries - orientation on his new platform would become a big part of our focus.  Between the newness of his boat, the fogginess of the nearshore and the sloppy seas out front, it was a no-brainer to stay inshore and head down the coast, hoping to find part of that bite from the previous days.

We got launched just before 7AM and spent some time getting David acquainted with the feel of his Outback and its capabilities, and at the same time I got him fishing with a basic trolling setup.  It wasn't long before we'd landed and released a little rockfish, and soon after that I hooked up on a hot salmon.  This big coho was all over the surface and making spirited runs away from me, and by the time I had it back boatside for the second time, it seemed tired enough for me to leader it up and grab the hooks.  The fish didn't like my plan and ended up thrashing its head and breaking my leader with one hook still in its lip.  I hate to put a big coho in the landing net to get the hooks out, and I think it'll be OK with its new temporary lip ring.

The coho battle and interaction had David and I livened up and ready for more action.  It wasn't long before David was hooked up, but it seemed small.  He reeled in a Chinook that looked like the most beautiful 7" herring I'd ever seen, until I realized it was a mini-salmon.  It got the wet hand release and will hopefully grow to a fat adult like the ones we were looking for.

As we made our way through the fog to the south we could hear the powerboaters on the VHF already scoring some salmon, and there were boats cruising by us headed to the same bite we were.  Pretty soon we were amidst more than a dozen boats in about 70 feet of water, and there were great signs - bait, birds, anglers hollering in the fog when they'd land a salmon.  It was feeling like the good ol' days, as this year has been pretty slow for salmon at the Cove.

Boom!  My guy was on.  I cleared my line quickly and got right up on him as he reacted to what was a big salmon on his line.  The rod that David had purchased along with his kayak was probably better suited to rockfishing - short and stiff, but I knew it could get the job done.  I'd had him keep his drag pretty loose, warning that a hot salmon could just whip its body and break his leader.  That loose drag was now resulting in line peeling off of David's reel at a rapid rate!  Looking at his line counter, he's like "It's 150' out now!"  I definitely didn't want to tell him to tighten the drag, and the fish did slow down.  I coached him on lifting and reeling down on it, and David started getting the fish back toward us - heeding my directive to always keep tension on the line to keep the barbless hooks from slipping out of the mouth of his prize.

Within a couple of minutes he had the fish up to us.  I only got a brief glimpse of it as it rolled sideways and then hid under his kayak - it was big, like 25+.  I told him that when I show it the net it's probably going to run again, and I asked him to lift it to see if it would come out from under the boat.  I showed the net as he lifted, and the fish reacted with an explosive maneuver that wasn't unexpected...  What WAS unexpected though was that this big king was going to get the gear caught in the rudder on my guy's new Hobie.  Snap, crackle, pop!  The fish was gone. 

David was in shock for a minute I think, and I acted cool and tried to make sure he shook it off.  "This kind of shit happens in fishing - nothing you could've done..."  I'd actually been telling him earlier how Hobie guys typically peddle when they get a fish on, in an effort to control and tire the fish.  We'd agreed that he'd better learn that down the line, but now I was thinking of how that very strategy could've kept that really nice salmon from being able to get itself caught up in the works.  Lesson learned, and, really, it's just part of fishing - have to buck up and move on.

Luckily, I'd already determined that David had brought some legit beginner mojo on this trip.  I got him set up with a new leader and another piece of really nice bait, and before long he was on another hot one!  Again, I cleared my line and got up to him quickly.  Now fighting his second nice fish in the last 10 minutes, David got to see how differently two different fish can act and feel on the line.  My guy did great to make any adjustments that I asked him to, and within a few minutes we worked together to get his redemption fish in the net - 22 pounder.

My good friend and long time fishing partner, Domenic, had launched just before us, and I'd been trying to bring him up on the VHF ever since we landed in the middle of the fleet.  Now Dom and I were in contact, and before too long he joined us on the troll.  For the next hour or so the bite seemed to subside, and David and I went our own direction for a bit.  Dom had just paddled back up to us after doing a lap a quarter mile away when he got hammered right by us - now he was on his own hookup. 

It's really fun to watch my bro fight and land a fish.  He sets the hook more aggressively than anyone I know, and his level of concentration and touch with the rod and net are top notch.  I snapped a few pics as he fought and landed the fish - that's always an iffy proposition, as a lost fish in that situation can lead to uncomfortable tension - even between long time bros!  No worries at all though - Dom got the job done, like he has done many times before.  It was cool for my guest to get to see and be involved with it too, and it's not the first time that Domenic has been a cool part of my guided trips.

With the bite really falling off after Dom got his, David and I eventually headed inshore to look for a rockfish or halibut, but nothing was really happening there either.  Another good friend and long time client, John, showed up and joined in with David and I on the troll.  We did a couple more passes through the still-slow salmon fleet and eventually headed toward the point where we'd pick up a few rockfish before calling it a day around 3PM.

The salmon rush had kept us on the water for a bit longer than planned, and now it was time to load the gear, get some photos of the prized catch, spray the scales off and process the fish.  The Tailgate Fillet Station was back in full production mode, with Dom and John hanging out with David and I, enjoying easy conversation and the tastiest cold beers on the coast.

With David's cooler loaded up, we settled up our deal, and everyone was headed down the road for home.  I was feeling the kind of satisfaction that I've grown so accustomed to over the years of guiding at the Cove.  It's about having just helped someone expand their horizons in a way that isn't at all routine, and the learning that occurred, even though it was solid and very thorough, was eclipsed by the joy that was found in that moment of redemption.

Big thanks to David for engaging me for his orientation and angler training.  Also, gratitude to Domenic and John for their friendship and always adding positively to any of my trips they've been around.  It probably shouldn't take the salmon finally showing up to get me waxing proud and grateful, but that's part of the magic.

The Magic of the Cove is hard to beat.

23
Greg and Kerry came back for their second trip this season and fourth overall in the past two years.  This time they brought their friend Scott, and the four of us enjoyed smooth water and a strong bite all day long.

A few salmon showed up for the fleet within a mile or two of launch, but we opted to spend much of our day along the inside where the fish were super active and the water was dreamy.  Greg hit a nice lingcod at the point before we moved in, and Kerry had a legal halibut to the boat, but it decided to grow wings and fly instead of staying in the net!  Scott caught more fish than he's ever even been around and had a blast.

The quality level on the rockfish even right near launch has been outstanding this season, and I'm so grateful for their abundance.  To get my guests on a super active bite, stacking up fat stringers and adding in a few special catches, the story writes itself much of the time.

Salmon season closes in a couple of weeks, and the Californians are still hanging out - probably until temps cool along the coast.  Rockfish and lingcod are open through the end of the year, and watch out for next year - they're talking about curtailing the season significantly due to depressed stocks of quillback and copper rockfish.  The fact is, we really don't know what the future holds in terms of fishing seasons, weather patterns, our own ability to go and do things...etc.  I encourage a go-and-do-now policy.

I'll be resting my hands and back for a few days and then back at it with another first time Cove angler.  Can't wait!

24
Third father-son trip of the season yesterday.  Mark's been out with me a couple of times in the past, and this time he brought his son Jake up for a Cove day.  We spent the first half of the trip in thick fog, navigating in the current on smooth water.  The black rockfish were going off, as usual, and Jake got his first keeper lingcod.  Mark got about a five minute train ride from a thresher that never jumped - must've been a big one because I was paddling after my guy as the shark towed him at around 2.5 to 3 MPH.  Luckily it bit through the line and went on its way - we got everything back but the weight!  I've had them bite weights off before.

We managed to bag the only salmon of the day at the Cove - a puny little 21 incher that will be cherished for its every calorie of goodness.  Four shaker halibut and another little pile of rockies showed up on the inside, and high tide at the ramp had me opting to cut the fish up at the table, where I brought my own salt water rinse and ice cold beers for three.

It was a good day.

25
Schwegg hired me up last year for his inaugural Cove tour.  We had a slow to average day, with a decent stringer of rockfish harvested on a somewhat beefy mid-September swell.  It was a good time, but the big three species of salmon, halibut and lingcod were no-shows.  Schwegg did great in his tricked out Hobie PA14, with both the pedals and a Bixpy trolling motor, but I think that both he and I were feeling a little disappointment at the end of the day due to the lack of success in finding any of the bigger fish. 

This season he got on my calendar more than a month earlier - August, when the salmon bite should be stronger.  Some years back, August was also the time for "Thresher Days".  The thresher sharks show up at the Cove anywhere from May to October, but August has been peak season for them for the past several years.  They're powerful fish - bait eaters with small mouths and teeth but a whip of a tail that's as long as the rest of their body.  When one takes your bait, you usually either get some kind of train ride - short or long - or you feel kind of a frenetic tap-tap-tap mixed with some light tugging before reeling in your gear to find no hooks left on your leader.  The small, Chiclet-sized teeth of the thresher are very sharp, so the tapping and tugging was your leader sliding across a few teeth before cutting off.  My guests and I only occasionally hook threshers, and it's always while targeting other fish, like salmon and halibut.  I'd say that only about 5 to 10% of all thresher bites result in the train ride, and only a few of those result in landing the fish - usually after around an hour of fighting it.

So anyway, Thresher Days got its name when, in my early years of guiding, I landed thresher sharks for my clients for three straight seasons - always on either August 11th or 12th.  The bait-eaters had weighed in at 50 to 80 pounds or so, and I'd landed one weighing about 100 pounds myself the year before the streak of guest catches.  For a couple of seasons after the last thresher coming in on my trips, I joked that the early August trips were part of "Thresher Days".  I guess I actually marketed my trips in social media using that phrase, so it wasn't just a joke.  Although, my marketing IS basically a joke, so there's that!  😆

It's been a few years since I've even had Thresher Days come to mind, but last night, after a super long day with Schwegg, I realized that it was back!

When we spoke a week before our trip, Schwegg made it known that he really wanted a salmon, so it was a bit of a bummer to have to tell him that the bite's been pretty slow lately.  I could also see that the forecast called for the potential for wind, so I was almost ready to offer that he could cancel if he'd rather pursue other options.  The wind forecast could be part of my excuse to myself, and the crappy salmon bite could be the elephant in the room...

WTF?!  Who's putting these thoughts in my head?  I must be tired, and the Salmon Torture is getting to me.

Schwegg and I texted back and forth a few days later, and the forecast looked fine.  I told him that a few salmon had shown up recently and that we'd lost a nice one the day before.  He acknowledged that we'd get the weather and bite that we get, and he was fully committed to the trip.  I was stoked to stick to my guns and buck up for a strong day for his second annual outing with me, and I really wanted to find him a salmon.  Really wanting something in fishing can be a tough spot to put yourself in, but it's part of the game.

Our day came, and things looked good - no fog, ocean not rough but not as smooth as recent outings, wind present up on the ridge as I drove in, but typical summer morning stillness down on the water in the cove.  Positive news on the salmon front as well:  a few participants in Kayak Greg's Fish and Chill had scored one fish apiece the day before.

Schwegg rolled in just on time, and by a few minutes before 630AM we were heading offshore to give our best in fulfilling his salmon wish - and mine!  I'd not hooked one since July 3rd myself. 
We rounded the point to find sloppy seas that reflected the prior afternoon's offshore winds.  It wasn't a great surface for trolling, but it was safe and certainly not uncomfortable.  Schwegg and I got reacquainted as we fished, but our developing conversations were constantly interrupted by a pretty insane rockfish bite.  I learned that my guest had gone on to get into flyfishing since our last trip, and he'd been using his kayak on some great trout streams up around Shasta. 

When I take someone out for a second time, it's great because I know what to expect of their abilities and their gear.  That confidence and familiarity is enhanced when they show up reporting that they've gained significant experience on challenging waters.  I basically log data in my mind about what is available to each individual returning client and I, based on what I already know about them.  This allows for maximizing the potentials in our followup trip or trips, and I've noted many times over the years how often increased success and positive growth in skills and abilities are included in the tangible results of the trips.

So Schwegg and I were trolling the slop, feeding tray bait to the rockfish and lingcod, and all the while I was scanning the horizon for birds and waiting for some word of a salmon bite on the VHF.  Not much was happening, but it was nice out, and within an hour or so the sea surface mellowed.  Whether a salmon showed up or not, I was enjoying the rapport between us.  Schwegg got on a limit of lings to go with some nice rockfish, so I was pleased to have at least raised the bar from last year. 
I was in a good place - happy to have pushed through what has been a lot of fatigue lately, with a sore back, dried out and cut up hands, and that sour outlook on the salmon bite!  Schwegg was having fun too.  The stars were aligning in a way - progress was happening, and I felt relief and joy in my good fortune to be taking people on these adventures with unknown outcomes but such a myriad of possibilities.

The Salmon Gods smiled on me in my moment of healthy resignation.  K A B O O M !  I was on a hot one - only the 8th salmon I'd hooked this season, and it soon became my 7th one landed. 
Schwegg had kept trolling near me as I fought and landed my fish, and I was so stoked to be ending a streak of no chrome in my life, but I really wanted my guy to get one too.  I wouldn't have to wait for long.  Within a minute or two my second year guest on a salmon quest was getting his own chance to fight the king.  As I watched his rod pump and then saw and heard as line peeled off his reel when the fish sounded, I was thrilled.

He did everything right, and after a few runs Schwegg had his salmon tired out enough to lead it into my net.  We'd fulfilled his top objective on this trip, and the day was still young.

Within another 5 minutes I was on a second, and now I'm 8 landed out of 9 hooked this year - with none lost at the net since summer before last.  Who's counting though, right?!  This is part of how salmon fishing is pretty much a total mind-f***.  When you can't get one, you want one so badly, and when you do get one, you want another one so badly!  Salmon fishing becomes an obsession because it's so damn pleasing to challenge yourself in the pursuit and the fight and the net job, and to get the reward of capturing this superstar of the waters of the Eastern Pacific along arguably the most majestic coastline anywhere adds to the power and mystique of the experience. 

With 3 salmon under burlap, we trolled on, hoping to find Schwegg's limit fish, but the school we'd gotten on seemed to have passed along with the current and the bait they were chasing.  Before long we headed back toward the buoy with intentions of getting the fish ashore and iced, and then maybe we'd look around for a halibut closer to launch.  Several more rockfish came up, and then, while Schwegg was climbing up to his front hatch to retrieve a sandwich, his rod was going off in the holder.  He knew it, and we both laughed as it seemed to pump a bit, but we both thought it was surely another rockfish.  Schwegg sits back down, calmly retrieves the rod and easily reels in what isn't a rockfish at all, but a small Chinook.  It was probably right at 20" - it looked legal for retention.  But Schwegg didn't even want to net it.  I leadered it up, lifted the barbless hook from its lip, and it swam off strong.  My guy had gotten his limit, and now my guests have landed 3 this year. 

We're building stats down here at Loleta Eric's Guide Service!  Come on down for The Salmon Have Returned Days!

We made our way in to the ramp, shuffled some cooler contents and scored some fresh ice from up top, and our catch of 10 rockfish, 2 lingcod and 3 salmon was secured in Schwegg's camper shell.  It was time to go look for a halibut, and even though I was feeling it after 6 hours on the water, I knew I had some days off coming and had told Schwegg to start the day that I'd be game for overtime if the conditions allowed.  The salmon stoke was powering me for sure, so it was a no-brainer to at least do another couple of hours.

We re-launched and headed down the coast right before the 130 high tide, and a bunch of the yakkers from Greg's gathering were either heading in or fishing close by.  Right outside the moorings we saw Sky, and he'd continued his list of great catches for the season by landing about a 70 pound thresher shark.  We'd heard of a few being around, and we'd even lost a set of hooks earlier that was likely a thresher.  We congratulated Sky on his catch and continued on our way, and I still wasn't even remembering Thresher Days.

After an hour of trying for a halibut, missing some bites, landing another nice ling and a few rockfish as well as about a 4' smoothhound shark, Schwegg got a screamer on - he was on the train ride! 

The thresher jumped twice about 40 yards to the south, and memories of threshers past flooded my mind.  If the hooks stuck a bit longer, the odds of being able to fight this thing would be decent.  That's what happened, and Schwegg battled this 60 to 70 pound fish for about 45 minutes before it was tired.  I was trying to get a few photos and video clips, but even when one of these predators is tired you don't let your guard down around that tail - it could take an eye out or even worse.

With the fish tired enough to grab the gear and cut the leader, that's what we did.  If Schwegg had wanted it, I would have landed it and put in a whole bunch more overtime getting it to shore and butchering it up into about 40 pounds of very high quality meat, but I was glad when he expressed his wish to release it, not wanting any bad karma related to sharks.  Schwegg actually dives with sharks, so it was a great move to let this one go.

With the shark swimming off to recover, Schwegg's leader cut and the overtime meter pegging for the on the water part of the trip, we headed for the barn.  Got ashore, loaded the gear, jumped in the ocean for a refresh, and it was time to get to work at the Tailgate Fillet Station.

Processing three salmon, three lings and a limit of rockfish while enjoying a cold beer in the sunshine of the Cove is hard to beat - the tide was even going out!  Schwegg and I enjoyed some tunes along with great conversation as I processed the catch.  The rapport we'd developed during our time together, along with the day's amazing catches and releases, added up to the type of joy and satisfaction that I strive to achieve on these trips.  I can derive those feelings no matter what we catch, and I've had to lately!  But milking this day's triumphs at the TFS with Schwegg's cooler overflowing was Level 2 for sure.

Thresher Days is back, and Loleta Eric wants to get you on a train ride!   :smt003

26
What a year it's been at the Cove.  After last year's insanely thick and long-lasting anchovy occupation right in the harbor, where at times nearly everyone who tried walked off with fat sacks of big, blubbery king salmon fillets, this season the bait has been scarce, and the big kings that follow and forage on those bait fish have also been hard to find.  I started the year strong with 5 Chinook landed in May plus one for a guest, and then only one bagged in June.  In July I hooked one on the third, and then there was a two week break in the season - then things were going to blow wide open.  Based on recent history, I was very confident of it.  The past several weeks have proven me way wrong.

As I started lining out dates and filling this summer's schedule of guided trips at Shelter Cove, I was intent on not setting myself up for a marathon of long days with not enough rest to keep me at my best.  I'd put days off between trips as well as watching out for committing to too many days per month, and all of this would add up to having my best energy and focus available when late July and early August came along - these typically being the best times for both the presence of salmon and the calmest winds and seas.  By mid-Spring I had my schedule looking good, with plenty of returning clients looking to find big salmon as well as a host of new-to-the-Cove guests, many of whom also had their hearts set on landing an ocean chromer.  Why on Earth I thought that the ocean, the fish or my body would follow some kind of plan is beyond me!

Dan called me up last week looking to book a day with me, and somehow I'd left a little window in my book that corresponded perfectly to what he was hoping for.  How had I not booked up the 11th of August?  It was surrounded by other blank dates, so it should've been filled in - maybe I'd just figured I'd need a respite after the flurry of salmon madness that would surely unfold the last week of July and the first week of August.  Whatever led to it, I was stoked to be signing him up. 

Dan was coming from Reno, and I could feel his enthusiasm over the phone.  He's geared up with a super awesome platform - the Old Town Topwater Autopilot, and he also wanted to bring his downrigger plus a box full of salmon gear.  I advised that the salmon bite's been slow, and I encouraged him to skip the downrigger for our day, and I'd show him some simpler ways to target the different species available.  Salmon wasn't out of the question, by any means, but lately I've had to focus in on what's more likely to be caught.

When I read in our email correspondence that Dan's boat is the "Autopilot", I figured maybe it was equipped with a motor - no worries, I've taken out lots of folks with motors.  I'm not a huge fan of motors on kayaks, but I have no problem paddling all day next to them.  My main concern would be if I sense that someone is using a motor to do more than their body can handle, as this would pose a potential safety hazard and a liability that I'm not willing to accept.  I was also able to view Dan's Youtube channel showing him fishing up at Pyramid Lake, so I could easily surmise that this young man had the energy and abilities that are needed in order to be safe and ready on the open ocean, motor or not.

Our day arrived, and as I pulled down onto the launch I saw a single truck in the dark, right in the middle of the ramp.  I pulled past it to my regular spot along the breakwater, got out and asked in the direction of that lone rig, "Dan?"  It was him, and even though I'd arranged for us to meet at 6AM, he'd beat me to the ramp!  I'm not used to someone being 30 minutes early, but I definitely don't mind that level of eagerness.  We quickly got acquainted and set to work assembling our gear for the day.

By about 630 we were launched and headed out onto a beautiful ocean.  I took Dan through the usual training modules:  how to enter and exit the harbor, where NOT to go, reading the current, orienting using landmarks, redundant radios and navigation tools, and, of course, how we'd target the different species.  Dan was soaking it up and having a ball - he made sure I knew it throughout our session, and that had me really enjoying our time too. 

Feeding off of each other's positive energy, we were treated to a great bite.  Dan got a nice lingcod for his first ocean catch from the yak, and the rockfish were their usual voracious selves.  Of course I had us on the finest tray bait, and the chance for a salmon was there, but all the more common species were doing their thing, and even if some salmon were present, it seemed that it would be very hard to find one with all of those other biters taking out our every offering.  Remember:  it's a very good problem to have!

We made our way to the Whistle Buoy where I show people some of the nuances of locating different species, and there is also always a focus on taking in the views from out there.  I briefly give some facts and history about the King Range, as it towers above the Lost Coast - its first ridge rising to over 4000', making that the highest first ridge off the sea in the continental US.  And I talk about how, back in the day when there were lots of salmon, the powerboat fleet would typically troll outside the Whistle where they wouldn't catch their gear on the reef, and the thick schools of rockfish wouldn't steal all of their best bait.

I'd just pinned another quality anchovy on Dan's hooks after landing our umpteenth rockfish, and we were right next to each other when Dan's like, "OMG!  Something just took my bait before I even deployed it!"  "It's a blac...  NO!  It's a salmon!!"  What a hoot!  This has happened before, and it's almost always a coho - they're active and bold, smaller salmon that will sometimes put on quite a show.  We're not after coho, but where they show up, there could be a Chinook.  I quickly switched out our terminal gear to something more flashy, baited up the new leaders with more tray bait, and we trolled the area hoping to hook the right kind of salmon.  With the fishfinder screen showing basically nothing but marks near the surface, we trolled shallow.  It only took a minute before I had a hit, and as I retrieved my line another (or the same) coho followed the damaged anchovy right to my kayak, striking at it again very near me.  I told Dan what had happened, re-baited, and within another minute I had a coho right by my yak where I used my pliers to lift the single barbless hook from the corner of its mouth, freeing it to swim away.

We trolled a bit more, but there was still no giant bait ball or large "slashes" on the screen that would indicate a school of kings, so we moved on toward the inside, happy to have run into a salmon after over a month of no interaction with my main target.  Dan was stoked too - even though this was the wrong species, he knew that some potential was there for us to find a Chinook this day. 

We got back to the point, and our status remained the same:  rockfish, rockfish, rockfish, and Dan had also landed his limit of lingcod at this point.  The day was a success, and we were off to try to find a halibut along the beach for our last couple of hours on the water.  We wouldn't make it very far though.

Boom!  Dan's on a hot one.  As I cleared my gear and paddled toward my guy, I saw his rod pumping and his line was moving laterally away from him.  I told him this was another salmon, and it wasn't acting like a coho.  Dan acknowledged this as he held onto his rod and announced that this fish was fighting much differently than the others we'd been connecting with all morning.  I could see in Dan's arms and shoulders as well as his eyes that this fish wasn't giving him a chance to "play" it.  Instead, the presumed large king on the end of Dan's line was dominating the moment.  Salmon can do this - especially big salmon.  Dan's fish was shaking its head and body so much in an effort to get away from the hooks, that my guy could neither retrieve line nor get more purchase on a hookset.  Scenes like this leave fishermen feeling helpless and ineffective, as there's literally nothing that can be done to assure some kind of security in the moment.

Dan held the rod high, the fish continued to whip its body back and forth, and then it was over.  Dan reeled in his gear, minus his hooks. 

Losing a fish - especially a salmon, and especially when even getting bit has been a major challenge for over a month - is always disappointing.  Breaking one off multiplies that disappointment.  I'm a leader-checker.  I train people on it.  Whenever a fish bites or one is landed, or when the gear gets snagged or even touches something, the leader is checked.  That 25 pound Maxima must stretch in my hands, and if it breaks I tie on a new one.  This leader had been checked, and when I pulled on Dan's drag a few minutes later it was OK too - maybe a little tight, but a hooked fish could've easily stayed hooked and ran with the line.  This fish nullified any of the strategies and reasoning that I use in conducting myself as a proficient fisherman and guide.  This king salmon dominated the moment.

Dan was thrilled, and I was pretty stoked too.  This shit happens in fishing - you're ready, you do the right thing, you react well, your gear is sufficient, and a fish comes along that kicks your fucking ass.  It's one of the things that we love about the sport, even though it can leave us crying ourselves to sleep for months.

I tied on a new leader, reloaded with bait, and we hoped to find that fish again - or any salmon, of course, but all there were were those voracious rockfish.  The ones that we are so glad to have when nothing else is biting!

We eventually moved on to look for that nearshore halibut, and even though we caught several more rockies and lingcod, we didn't get in on the limited halibut party either.  No worries at all though - this was Dan's first foray into ocean fishing on his killer platform.  He'd take home about 25 pounds of the freshest fish on the planet, and he'd learned a ton about not just the fishing but the whole enchilada - safety, forecasts, the Cove, the species, and the draw that is having your ass handed to you by fish that earn the respect and capture the imaginations of so many manly men like us!

So, I've been trying to not wear myself out, and this tough salmon bite is making that even harder.  I want the trips to bear out so much success and joy, and that's happening - I'm very pleased with the season.  I paddled around all day - 8 hours this session - leading and following a 30-something on a kayak hotrod with a motor, and he wasn't too proud to admit that his fishing muscles were pretty beat after all that we caught for the day!

When I work myself this hard it can get a little weird.  I sit down to write about it, and a combination of passion, fatigue, angst and joy can lead me to amazing places...  Or sometimes I ramble on and maybe miss the mark regarding the messages I hope to send and the responses that I might've elicited with a different approach.  Whatever happens here though, I am deliberately engaging in a way that makes me feel good about my contributions to my community and the world at large.  Maybe this is what Thoreau was talking about.

Dan's family joined he and I at the Tailgate Fillet Station to end the day.  It was the usual scene where cold beer never tasted so good and joy was in the air all around us.  This culmination that occurs after every trip is also one of my designs and one of the ways that I deliberately shape our day.  My policy is that I will not accept payment until the trip is done and the fillets are on ice in the coolers of my guests.  By this time it's often the case that I've spent about 10 to 12 straight hours - or more - engaged with my people or person.  My aim is to show someone one of the most rewarding days of their life, and the tell comes right at the end.  A really nice tip is something that fills me with pride and joy, but having someone offer a heartfelt thank you and a clear and open statement of their satisfaction - that's the real reward.

A salmon showed up, and it got the best of us.  It was one of the greatest days of the summer so far.

27
Hookups and Fishing Reports (Viewable by Public) / Shelter Cove - 8/8/22
« on: August 15, 2022, 10:06:16 AM »
Annie signed her and her beau, Kent, up for a run through the Oldgrowth Corridor of the South Fork with me back in early June.  They had a blast, and Kent expressed interest in a followup trip to check out kayak fishing offshore at the Cove.  Yesterday was our day, and the forecast couldn't have been better.

I got down to the ramp at my usual time:  O'dark-thirty.  Setting up all of my gear plus full outfitting for my guest means that having a half hour to work alone is my quiet time, as I put together the pieces of our kits and make sure that the details are dialed in.  I love these peaceful moments of anticipation - especially as the dawn reveals a nearly perfect sea surface.

Kent was right on time.  I hooked him up with wetsuit, booties, paddle jacket and PFD, and he topped off the ensemble with sunscreen, hat, glasses and a snack.  After a brief run through the fishing equipment and a demonstration of the trolling technique, we were launched onto a gorgeous ocean along with the day's first powerboaters. 

Over the next couple of hours I went through the usual instruction and assistance routines, and the fish were biting well.  Kent brought great mojo, landing a big vermillion, a legal lingcod and countless black rockfish to start out the day.  In our pre-trip correspondence, Kent had confirmed that he'd never been seasick, and I thought that meant he'd been out on boats enough to know it.  Turns out he hadn't been on the ocean since around 1980!  This was a good day to test whether he was susceptible to the queeze or not - later he'd tell me that just for a moment he could feel something stirring, but it subsided and everything worked out just right.

After enjoying a steady bite out on the reef I suggested that we head in to the beach where we could enjoy fishing along the wild coastline with an eye on finding a halibut.  We stayed barbless (all summer!) in hopes of finding a salmon, but none were announced for the day - again.  No worries - we found some good stuff anyway, and what I saw building in Kent throughout the day was that he was having a blast.  He confided later in the session that the trip had been much better than he'd imagined that it would be.  This wasn't a surprise to me, as I often read in the reactions of those enquiring about such things that they're not quite buying what I'm selling.  That is to say, I try to give it straight when I describe these trips - with true details and genuine emotion - and it seems that people have a natural inclination to disregard some of what's reported, or to figure that embellishment or hyperbole are being used in order to elicit a response.  When I routinely get to see my guests experiencing the joy of the catching, in awe of the grandeur of the Lost Coast backdrop, appreciating the wildlife and the raw elements of the air and the water around us, it brings a smile to my face to think that even after I toil to pour my heart into these reports, that some don't quite fully realize that what I'm talking about is real and attainable.

Many years ago I discovered an incredible dynamic that exists between the experiences that I have and the reporting of those events.  I found that by using media - photos, videos and narratives - I could effectively bring those who viewed my work along for the adventures.  By expressing not just the details and the facts about what I'd seen and touched on my trip but also what I'd felt, I was making connections with others who share the desire to feel, and that turns out to be just about everyone.  I have often written and spoken about how I managed to develop somewhat of a system, where, because I was loving the sharing of the true details of my trip and also the genuine emotions that I was feeling, I was motivated to go find the next adventure and to capture the details as effectively as possible so that I could come back to this keyboard to share it with an audience who would top off my stoke and validate my whole scheme through their feedback.  That feedback is often an appreciation for learning or for beauty, but the best of it - the most heartfelt - is about emotion.  To put it as simply as I can, I discovered that I was thriving on the sharing and the inspiration, and that, in turn, was fueling my next round of adventure.  I was self-actualizing amazing experiences, and the ultimate irony was that I was doing it in order to feel the stoke coming back at me from whoever was reading, seeing, hearing and feeling what I had to offer.

I developed this M.O. on NCKA.

When Annie and Kent ran the river with me I saw the wonder and appreciation in their eyes as we traversed miles of the OG Corridor and visited two virgin creeks.  That experience pushed Kent to enquire and eventually sign up for the Cove trip.  Once I had him in the wetsuit, launched onto the ocean and running the gear the way I wanted him to, all I had to do was react to what I knew was coming.  The fish did much of the rest of the work!  These trips aren't just about fishing.  The catches add so much to the experience, but overall, the feelings that are elicited and the stoke that is attained are about the adventure as a whole.  If all of the elements come together - like what happened for Kent and I yesterday - my job as a guide is done. 

What I'm selling is about way more than a feeling or big sacks of fresh fish.  It's about what my people can take home with them in the form of inspiration in their lives.

We are all going to die.  It's the ultimate truth.  What we do while we're alive can counteract any and all negative connotations of that realization.  There's no one formula for achieving some level of contentedness, inspiration, love, motivation, altruism or soulfulness.  What there is, is opportunity - all around us - to have true details and genuine emotions carry us forward in life.  Everything else is just a place marker.

At the end of our day, Kent loaded me up with a nice tip on top of my fee.  I could feel how much the trip meant to him, and I think he knew very well that money doesn't motivate me to take people out any more than it does to share and to hope to inspire others.  I operate on a level that is designed to fulfill my heart - the money just allows me to develop my craft and to grow in my own goals and my vision for how I can do things to try to make the world a better place.

Peace out, NCKA.  Thank you for helping me find my place and do my thing.   :smt008

28
Hookups and Fishing Reports (Viewable by Public) / Shelter Cove - 8/6/22
« on: August 15, 2022, 09:50:27 AM »
Cove with Joe and John on Saturday.  My guys and I have done lots of trips together.  Over the years we've brought in salmon, halibut, big lingcod and rockfish, ten inch abs...  It's always a blast with these men.  Yesterday's ocean was really nice, allowing for a full day on smooth water, and high tide with cold beers at the Tailgate Fillet Station was all smiles, as usual.

I'm really grateful to have such good friends who support my business like these guys always have.  Pacing myself here - two first time Cove fishers and another returning guest this week.

29
Hookups and Fishing Reports (Viewable by Public) / Shelter Cove - 8/4/22
« on: August 15, 2022, 09:43:08 AM »
Jason did a two day trip with me last year.  We got multiple halibut, a nice Chinook, lingcod and rockfish.  This year he came up to do a one day, and it was a different Shelter Cove this time around.  The forecast looked very good, and the day started out living up to the prediction.  It was flat and glassy as we trolled the point to start the day.  All anyone was announcing were voracious black rockfish, and we were having the same experience as the rest of the fleet - it's a good problem to have, all in all.  We built up our stringers a bit with the higher quality models that came up, and the rest were gently released. 

Before long we trolled southwest toward the Whistle, hoping to find a salmon or at least more variety for our rockfish collections.  We fished out past the buoy for a while, and it felt like a day with the right water and a good enough forecast to let us go with the current down onto the top of the Tolo Bank - it only felt that way for so long though.

A soft breeze from the southeast had been present since mid morning, but that's normal for the Cove.  When there's north/NW blowing offshore, the area along shore south and east of Shelter Cove experiences kind of an eddy, with a light south or SE breeze being common, and the current usually reflects that flow as well.

This day felt no different than many other summer days.  We were enjoying a steady bite and finding a few more species when the breeze began to build up.  I heard captain Jarred over the VHF commenting on how the south wind was coming on strong where he was, a few miles to the south.  Meanwhile, whenever we'd hook a fish, I saw that we were drifting hard to the southwest - even against the breeze.  As the wind picked up even more and solid chop showed up, I told Jason we'd better keep our lines up and move to the inside.  Ten minutes later we were in a washing machine, and progress was slow.  Between the wind, the current and the heavy chop, we were only making about a mile an hour paddling steadily to the east toward the beach.  I figured that since there was some SE to the wind, the nearshore would be the best water to paddle on.  The problem would be getting there - especially if things escalated further.

I'd been checking in with Jason - he felt stable and had plenty of energy.  I told him I needed to ask him to paddle hard for the next 30 to 45 minutes so we could get inside the green buoy and hopefully to better water along the beach.  He buckled down and followed my lead as we worked hard for the next 45 minutes to get to safety.  A small commercial dory with a Cove local came by us in the slop at one point when we were almost to the green can - Lane.  He asked if we were good to get in, and I thanked him and told him we're good.  By the time we hit 30' of water near No-Pass the wind was letting up, but the slop made even beach fishing a mess for the next hour and more.  We scratched out one shaker halibut, a perch and missed a few bites, but the conditions weren't pleasant, and we were both pretty torched from the urgent paddling session to get inshore from that fluke, mid-morning, summer south wind storm.

We landed on the ramp in full sun with the usual crowds of locals and tourists doing their thing in and around the water.  As we put our gear on our trucks, you could hardly tell that there had just been a nasty windstorm offshore.  By the time we were done filleting our stack of rockfish, the ocean looked like a normal summer day again, and a group of paddleboarders from out of town SUP'd right out to the moorings in street clothes.  This is how the ocean works sometimes, and you have to be ready for it - or you don't go.

Jason and I finished up our second annual kayak fishing day at the Cove, and even though we'd faced an unexpected challenge with the weather and not found any keepers in the higher profile species, we were thankful for the experience.  A giant sack of rockfish fillets is sometimes the main ingredient in humble pie, it seems.

I'm looking forward to getting back to the Cove soon.

30
Roy came up from Coarsegold to fish the Cove with me for his first time.  Rockfish bite was on fire, but that was about it, with only a few short lingcod and one shaker halibut located for the day.  I was stoked to introduce another solid kayak angler to my favorite fishing grounds.

I'm pacing myself for a big month coming up and looking forward to opportunities that the ocean may provide for my guests and I.  Every day is different out there, and success is largely measured in degrees of joy and gratitude - no matter what's on the stringer to end the day.

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