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Topics - LoletaEric

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31
Nick got ahold of me several weeks ago looking for a salmon date at the Cove.  As our day got closer I let him know that the forecast looked great, and it actually held for us!  Nick added in his buddy Hector, and the three of us burned it down for 10 hours on really nice water.  The salmon bite has been the shits, with only a few fish being caught by the entire fleet lately, and most of those miles from port.  We gave it our best and stayed barbless all day, hoping for a chromer to show for us, but it wasn't happening.  Luckily the rest of the species showed up - we compiled a stack of rockfish, released scores of blacks and other bait eaters as well as three shaker halibut, found one legal lingcod, and rounded out nice stringers with two respectable halibut around 29-30 inches.

After wrapping up 12 hours together with my guys, I got a text from an old friend from Nor Cal Kayak Anglers - Dylan Taube.  He encouraged me to show up in their camp where Kiet was celebrating his birthday with a week-long fishing party.  The killer food and good vibes were so outstanding.  I was able to spend a little time with several of my old buddies, get some top-notch grub and enjoy a little downtime before my drive home to clean gear and get to bed.  I had been pretty torched after the 530AM to 530PM fishing day, and I might've forgotten Kiet's earlier invitation to join in the party.  Really appreciate Dylan for reaching out to get me on an hour of fellowship and nourishment with the old clan.

If you've never checked out kayak fishing, I need to tell you that the community around this sport is amazing.  I've always put it like this:  kayak anglers are good friends to make, because they're people who have their shit together enough to be on their own boat!  It goes way beyond that. 

A big thank you to Nick for setting up a great trip with me, and thanks also to Hector who also brought a strong game and fantastic attitude.  Much love to Dylan and all of my old NCKA chums, and a heartfelt happy b-day to Kiet - one of our very best.

I'm a lucky guy for sure.   :smt001

32
Scott signed up for a two day trip with me back in the Spring.  He was interested in salmon but also just looking to get more experience fishing offshore on his Viking Kayaks "Profish Reload" - a really sharp boat from New Zealand.  Look this yak up - it's hot!

As our trip window approached I was of course following several forecast pages, and all of them showed light winds and low swells for our days - it was looking ideal.  This being the summer of the upside down, late to revise, moving-target forecast, I should've known that the predictions for calm water could be off base.  Literally, the day before our trip the call went from flat with no wind to messy with a breeze - Sunday would have leftover wind slop from previous days' blows further offshore, but Monday was to be better. 

So we meet up early Sunday morning at the launch.  As we got acquainted I saw right away that Scott was super pumped for our trip.  He had all the right gear - killer boat, fishfinder, nice rod/reel setups, safety gear, immersion wear, radio...  Combined with his attitude, Scott was basically decked out and looking like the ideal guest who was ready for some sweet water and a hot bite.  Remember though, that I focus on controlling whatever variables that I can, and the two that are beyond my influence are the weather and the catching.

When I'd arrived at 530AM and set up my own gear there was a high ceiling and a few miles of visibility, but by the time we launched the fog had moved up the coast and pretty quickly obscured the viz to where we could only see a couple hundred yards at best.  No problema - I know my way around and have plenty of redundant navigation tools.

We set out on the water, and I started showing Scott how we'd fish.  As is my custom, we headed SSE through the fog toward the Bell Buoy, and before long we turned onto the reef to troll near the point.  The slop coming in from the open ocean was a mess, but Scott was really solid on his Profish.  We got into some black rockfish pretty quickly, and Scott and I were stoked to be finding some early success.  I had a few friends around who'd headed a bit further west to Bread and Butter, and they were soon on the radio advising that the water was really bad out there, with no salmon biting and steep swells tossing them around.  They were soon heading inshore, and Scott and I made the same move.

We'd spend the next few hours in the calmer water along the beach east and southeast of the harbor, hoping for a salmon but also looking for a halibut or whatever would take our bait.  At one point my buddy Josiah appeared out of the fog bank with his partner Dennis right behind him.  Jo announced that Dennis had just had a Great White Shark following him around - didn't touch him, but it was close and curious.  They were throwing in the towel for the day.  I'd find out later that it was the second day in a row that the Landlord had followed Dennis' kayak, and later I'd learn that friends Chris and Max had seen the Taxman too.

I am constantly gauging my guest's comfort level and stability on the open water, potential for seasickness, and, sometimes, their reaction to the news of a Great White being in our general vicinity.  Scott seemed undeterred by this news from Josiah, so we wished them well and continued down the beach to the southeast. 

We were maybe a mile southeast of the launch when what had otherwise been a pretty quiet radio all day came alive with someone having seen a kayak up on the rocks at the point.  The reporting party then announced that he could see the kayaker on the rock too, with a flare burning and using his whistle to bring attention to his crisis.  Soon there were several people responding - a dory got up to the guy, but the kayaker was hypothermic and couldn't get to the boat.  Shelter Cove Fire Rescue had been called, and the USCG checked in too.  It was soon determined that SC Rescue could get him, and that's what went down within about 20 minutes of the original report.  We heard all of this as we fished the nearshore - too far down the coast to have responded.  Sounds like the guy got his kayak back - who knows about other gear, and he was OK after some warming I think. 

There have been a few different groups of kayaks that I've seen or heard of this summer who have paddled around the breakwater and right toward the point.  It's the worst place to go - out of anywhere offshore of the launch!  Waves break over there all the time, and I teach everyone that I take out how it's hazardous to paddle west of Pilot Rock.  As a guide and someone who takes safety and responsible boating very seriously, this incident and other recent moves by boaters who are obviously unfamiliar with the Cove definitely leave me shaking my head. 

The balance of day 1 yielded several more rockfish that were released, and one legal halibut that was highly cherished.  We missed some other bites that felt like the right ones, but in all it was a great first day.  I commended Scott on his comfort and smooth running on the nasty water outside the point, and I acknowledged that his gear was top notch - all centered around that beautiful kayak.  He was stoked to have caught some fish and learned a lot about Shelter Cove and some of the ways that I target the different species. 

Our day 1 session at the Tailgate Fillet Station was really laid back, because I'd brokered a deal to crash for the night on the couch of a buddy down there.  The three of us ended up doing dinner together, and then it was off to dreamland where I'd try to get some decent hours of rest - something that can be challenging for me while away from my own crib!

Up at 5 and back down to the ramp just before dawn, I could feel a south breeze coming off the water.  At dinner the night before we'd looked at the latest forecasts, and pages like NWS, Windy.com and Magic Seaweed had gone from "Hunky-Dory" to not-so-good in day.  When it got light I could see a corduroy surface on the water, as the south wind was affecting everything right into the harbor - it's only "Shelter" Cove in regards to the usual north and NW influences of the season.  Even with the nasty looking chop, the ocean looked fishable and safe enough for at least nearshore trolling.  The concern on water like that is if the current conditions escalate, you don't want to be far from being able to bail out at port, and you're always best to have safety downwind of your position.

Scott arrived, I had my bowl of cereal as he assembled his kit, and we were soon on the water to begin day 2.  Right outside the breakwater we were immediately cutting through small wind waves, and our troll to the south over the next hour or so was a constant exercise in swiveling the hips, bracing for occasional bow splashers, and generally being fixated on our own safety and ability to fish. 

I checked in with my guest often to make sure he was feeling safe and having fun.  Check and check.  Scott was loving it out there.  On every part of our trip he displayed enthusiasm and positivity that brought and kept a smile on my face.  With the tough fishing conditions on that up and down surface, the bites were hard to come by.  Scott had one anchovy bit in half trolling mid column over sand, and that gave us hope, as it was likely a halibut or salmon.  We worked the area, felt how the paddling was at different angles to the swell, and were just getting ready to settle in to making this our day when the wind came up.   

We made our way to the northwest and into the harbor, and conditions were bad.  There were 3 foot breaking wind waves over the wash rock just past the end of the breakwater.  The only other kayaks - locals Dave and Harold - bailed out at the same time that we did, and a few of the powerboats called it as well.  The bigger boats stayed out, but it was no place for a kayak for sure.

We visited with Dave and Harold before they rolled out of town, and I told Scott that I'd stay all day if necessary to give us a chance at relaunching into better conditions.  For the next hour and a half to two hours we had some snacks, went over some of the different tackle that I use, and we'd occasionally walk over to the inside end of the breakwater where we'd get blown in the face by the south wind as we looked out and saw whitecaps coming from the open ocean and right into the harbor.
By just before the 11:15AM high tide conditions started to improve.  The whitecaps were gone, and the surface was looking about like it was when we'd first launched that morning - not very good, but do-able.  We gave it just a bit longer, knowing that the wind would have to die before the surface showed the change a bit later.  Once I was happy with the improvement, we launched again with a new plan.  We'd head for the point to find whatever we could and hope for conditions to allow us out further and to stay longer.

Right away we were going over very short period wind waves that were coming uncomfortably close to dunking my bow.  I thought about turning us around, but Scott was doing fine - he was thriving even.  His kayak was cutting the swells, and he assured me that his comfort level was high and his stability felt great.

Once we got to the point the conditions continued to improve, but the fish were pissed - they don't like south swells!  "When the wind blows from the south, the fish close their mouth."  It's a well known fisherman's saying, and it's especially applicable to the Cove. 

Several of the powerboats that had stayed out through the worst of the mid-morning wind and slop were now trolling for salmon right outside our position a few hundred yards.  Nothing was happening for anyone on the salmon front, so I tried to dial us in to some rockfish and hopefully a lingcod or two.  Eventually we found some blacks, but the south breeze was still blowing and on top of a south current, so much of our time was spent fighting the current to stay on the school.

I was asking a lot of my guy.  Day 1 we'd started right out in the nasty slop off the point, in thick fog, with Great White sightings and a kayak rescue nearby, and now we'd had to re-launch after waiting out bad winds on what was supposed to be a nice forecast.  Through it all, Scott was upbeat and eager - always attentive to what I was showing or asking of him.  Now I found myself in a little bit of a Drill Sargent Mode - somewhat curtly telling my guest that we needed to step up the pace or we'd be going backward in the current.  Scott did what I asked, and as the conditions got better I could see that he was excelling in the challenge of the moment.

With a little pile of rockfish strung up and the conditions almost approaching "flat", I told my man that I thought we should head outside toward the Whistle Buoy.  The Red Can, as it's known by some, is about a mile and a half from launch, and lots of magic has happened out there over my years of fishing the Cove.  Scott was all about it. 

We trolled our way out, pointing our bows to the left of the buoy so as to counteract the strong current pushing us to its right, and about an hour later we were there.  By this time it was nice out, but we were still up against that current.  I was hoping to find a first lingcod for the two day trip, but it wasn't to be - the slow ling bite of 2022 continues.  Another hope was that a vermillion would show up, but alas, it was just black rockfish for us, and we are fortunate to have such problems.

After hours of battling the current and enjoying many fish played and a fair amount put away for filleting, we started trolling our way back to the harbor mid-afternoon.  The fog that had been up all day was now descending on the Cove again, and we got off the water just as it was enveloping the view.  Stretching our legs after getting up off the kayaks at launch, we were both pretty beat, but for any weariness we felt, the joy of having executed a successful day in the face of nature's challenges had us both holding onto well-earned grins.

After two days of tough fishing, a night on a buddy's couch, unpredictable forecasts and all the rest, putting the gear away in preparation for our final act felt really rewarding.  We'd fillet the fish, enjoy a cold beer, and wrap up the mission.  I could tell Scott was tired - so was I.  We'd paddled hard for a lot of hours, especially on day 2.

With Scott's cooler filled up with about 20 pounds of halibut and cod, we were coasting in to the finish line.  Scott expressed what a good time he'd had, and I apologized for how the conditions turned out and the fact that the salmon and lingcod weren't biting well.  He dismissed my sorries and assured me that he'd fulfilled his goals for the trip and then some.  "I caught so many fish!", he exclaimed, and my own perspective was, once again, wrenched back down to Earth by one of my guests who just had a really good time on our trip together.

33
Second Father-Son offshore trip in a row yesterday - hell yeah!

Keith contacted me a couple months back looking to book a day at the Cove for he and his son Ben.  It would be Ben's 30th b-day present.  We'd originally set up our day for Friday, July 1st, hoping to avoid the crowds that always descend on the Cove for the Fourth.  Wouldn't you know it though, the forecast didn't look great for Friday, so we switched things up to Sunday with its much nicer looking predicted wind and swells.

Enjoyed some family time Friday with my house full of college kid and recent graduates, and Saturday I had the place to myself as my crew headed to the cabin in Phillipsville for the night.  I got some chores done, prepped my gear, ate a good dinner and tried to get to bed as early as I could.  Getting up at 3AM with a very full day ahead of you is no joke, but the ability to get to sleep while it's still light out is no easy task either.  Ended up waking just after 2 o'clock, and I knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep before the alarm went off.  Lying there in comfort after only a bit more than 4 hours sleep, I tried to meditate on my plans and hopes for the day.

Soon I was up and executing my ritual activities for all trips:  ice in the coolers, food and bait loaded, move the car, lock the gate, go.  It's an hour and a half from Loleta to the Cove - about half of it on the 101 and the other half over the winding rural road that leads from Redway to the best kayak fishing port on the west coast.  I know all of it by heart.  I love all of it.  The driving presents another opportunity for meditation.  I'm not phased out at all - just rehearsing and visualizing; building my focus for how I want the day to go.

In fishing, you are engaged in an exercise that has so much to do with control.  Everything from the time you arrive at the launch, the quality of your bait, the readiness of your tackle and gear, your own fitness and your chosen locations and targets, to your demeanor and your chosen fishing partners are largely under your control.  The big things that aren't under your direct influence are the weather and the bite - with those, you must take what you can get.

I arrived at the ramp at 430AM, and my guests weren't due for another hour.  They'd bring their own kayaks and gear, so I was looking at an easy routine where I'd only have to assemble my own boat and seat and all the tackle, rods, bait and other tools for the day.  This hour in the dark with the ramp to myself is a familiar time and yet another opportunity for meditation.  Now it's about feeling a calm readiness in my preparations.  The kayak is unstrapped from the rack and laid in the sand first.  Then the seat, a half gallon of water, my net, my stringers, burlap, tackle, bait and tools - all set in the places where they go on every trip.  The electronics even got fired up before dawn, and I can't ever remember it being so dark out while I ate my bowl of cereal - Wheat Chex with about 100 wild blackberries has proven to be amazing fuel, BTW. 

In those moments of preparation my meditation is about the routine and how being ready and controlling every detail that I can will ensure that I am poised to achieve not just the best outcomes for my own day but also that of my guests - especially that of my guests.  As the light came and my gear lay ready on the launch ramp, I had nothing standing in my way but those things that I do not and cannot control.  Long ago I learned how working in the dark to prepare for going on the ocean can be intimidating and how that pressure and apprehension is alleviated as the landscape and the sea are illuminated by the dawn.  Later I found that ritualizing my gear assembly and being ready early were ways that I could accentuate that confidence that builds with the light of day. 

I don't show my tackle in these reports, and I don't discuss specific methods - even though I love sharing true details and genuine emotion, some things are proprietary to my way.  If you ever wanted to hear a guide secret, that last paragraph contains about the most valuable nugget I can offer, and I thank you for helping me create a space here where it feels so good to share it.

Keith and Ben arrived right on time.  We met, got my guide paperwork quickly completed, and they were set to work putting together their own kits for the day.  It didn't take them long, and we were launched along with the first boats.  The few miles of visibility that had been present on the water when I'd arrived was now obscured by a thick fog bank, but the ocean was calm and there was no wind at all.  I got my guys hooked up with our first trolling rigs, and we started making our way to the SSE toward the Bell.  With powerboaters whizzing past us in the fog like they were in a race to exercise their own control over how their days would go, my guys and I plotted along and went through another one of my rituals where I get to know my guests while at the same time assessing their comfort level on the open water and their abilities as well as their gear.  Thick fog can be a good thing - it makes people feel more like having a guide is a good idea, and it helps the guide to assess the true comfortability of the guests.  My guys were solid, and we were all lined up to achieve the success that we were after.

It wasn't long before Keith was on a fish.  I quickly cleared my line and got up to him as he brought a respectable lingcod up.  My net was out fast, and the fish was soon bled and stowed.  We were on the board.

We turned the corner at the point and found Domenic and Max trolling on their chosen tacks.  They were aiming at the same target as most everyone:  salmon, and while my guests had stated their desire to focus on rockfish and lingcod, they were in agreement that we should give the chrome pursuit some time to start the day.  Soon Max passed by us and announced he'd gotten one right off the bat.  Domenic too confirmed some good strikes, so our hopes were high to hook up as well.

Over the next hour or more we had dozens of hookups with mostly rockfish, and the stringer building got going strong - so did the bait depletion!  I'd told the guys that I had about 10 pounds of bait with me, and they'd laughed.  Now we were laughing about how it was looking like we'd need all of that due to the voracious bite going off.  I kept pinning nice choves and herring on my guys' hooks, and I couldn't even fish for a while because I was sprinting back and forth between Ben and Keith, bleeding fish and re-baiting hooks like a hyperactive waiter handing out beers at a crowded Happy Hour.

Eventually the bite cooled a bit, and I got a chove out behind me.  Boom!  I was on a pumper.  I got my crew's attention and pointed out the action on the rod.  This was a hot fish that wouldn't stop shaking its head.  At one point it swam right at me, setting up a familiar scene where I reel as fast as I can to take the slack out of the line.  The fish stopped about 25 feet from my yak, turned sideways, shook its whole body back and forth giving me hot flashes of chrome from a few feet below the surface, and it was gone.  That's how fast they can spit the hooks. 

The excitement was over, but hopes were high that someone in my trio would hookup again soon.  Here's where some control comes into the picture though.  My guests were going to be stoked to take home a salmon, but they'd already expressed their desire to target and retain the more sure thing catches in the bottom fish.  When it became apparent that getting a salmon would be contingent on trolling with a specific focus for likely the rest of the session, I diverted us out toward the red can where there should be a consistent bite and a variety of quality rockfish were more likely to find their way on to our stringers.  The control was about my own desire - the salmon obsession is no joke.

As we approached the Whistle Buoy in the fog using only my compass, we got stuck on a school of canary rockfish that had our bite going pretty much WFO for half an hour or so.  It was a blast, but the fish were short-biting, and my bait inventory was dwindling more than it should for a guide who's taken to carrying two coolers full of fin fish.  It was time to use strategies to preserve our bait while still keeping our day productive and our potentials maximized in terms of a salmon showing up.

Mid morning a buddy from Shasta area came on the radio and announced a Pacific halibut in pretty shallow water - an amazing catch considering that his son and he just boated one within the past two weeks!  Domenic and Max were also hooking up on more salmon inside of our position, but they're local experts and were working for them.  My group was right where we needed to be.  My new strategy had us still catching while making progress to the spot where I'd meter out the last of the herring in hopes of finding more lingcod.

With our rockfish stringers built up almost to limit-capacity, we were down to my last few herring.  I'd saved some anchovies for the last part of our session, but this would be our last best chance to find the big toothy predator that we were looking for.  I was near Ben when Keith got my attention from about 150 feet away.  I saw his rod bent, and there was no play in it that would indicate a rockfish.  It also didn't show much of a fight - it looked like Keith was reeling up a bag of potatoes.  A big bag.  This is how a hitch-hiker acts.

I paddled hard, but Keith got the sack of taters up to the top before I could get in position to wield my net.  I watched from 40 to 50 feet away as the father on this Father-Son trip bagged a grand-daddy blue ling that was latched onto a fat vermillion that probably went six pounds itself.  I always prefer to net the fish on my trips, but this was a great moment. 

I got up on Keith as he was subduing the ling with his legs since his net wasn't quite big enough for this fish - especially as it was holding onto the stout vermillion.  We worked together to get the big hitch-hiker secured, bled it and the verm and got them stowed away.  Before this big fish had come we'd already caught enough fish over enough hours for the day to be a success, and the lingcod topped our day off.

We made our way in over the next hour, and even though I'd saved some of the best choves for the end, we didn't end up needing them.  A few fish came as we passed the point on the way back to the launch, but the lingcod smiles were firmly set.  We were ready to exit the ocean, put away our gear and complete the final portion of the trip where we celebrate our day with cold beer at the Tailgate Fillet Station.

Backed my truck down to my yak, got most of my stuff put back in the places where it goes on every trip, and then I SUP'd out into the harbor on the big guide yak, washed the blood and brine off my deck and took a quick dip that does an amazing job of rejuvenating me for the fillet session.  My guests got their gear stowed and joined me at the tailgate, and we proceeded to cut and bag about 25 pounds of the freshest and most gratifying ling and rockfish for their cooler. 

That time with my guests at the end of the day at my tailgate - backed up to the ocean and viewing the entire Cove full of happy beach goers playing in front of us like some kind of Sports and Nature TV show - it is precious.  It is a time that reflects how, by using what skill I have to control whatever variables that I can, my guests and I were able to achieve success that is unique to every trip while also being part of those meditations that I employ in the dark back at home, along the road and alone at the ramp while the light is coming.

With firm and authentic handshakes and direct eye-to-eye expression, my guests and I finished our day and parted ways.  They thanked me for the trip, loaded me up with a bonus that I work very hard for, and they were rolling up the hill and out of the Cove.  This is another precious time when I'm able to exhale after being up since 2AM, driving, prepping and assembling, meeting, showing, catching, bleeding, stowing and celebrating, photographing, cutting, bagging and completing the mission.

In all of this - and in all of my attempts to analyze and understand it - I know that I lack control over something that I should actually have a hold over.  It's my salmon obsession.  I'm OK with that though, because I know that my desire is so strong in that area that it fuels everything else in my life.  It's OK to have that kind of force that may be out of your total control.  That's the paradox that can lead to a philosophy, and I'm running with it.

Keep your eyes on the prize, folks, and don't forget to really feel it.

34
I've taken a number of father-son teams out over the years.  I learned all about fishing, the environment and how to be a conscientious sportsman from my dad, and he's been gone for almost 15 years now.  Having the opportunity to take a father and son out is always a special time for me, and I try to make sure that it is for my guests too.

Omar contacted me several weeks ago, looking to book his third trip with me in the past year.  He was stoked to be getting his dad, Jose, out with us, and so was I.  As our day approached, I let Omar know that the forecast looked good.  With how bizarre this Spring's weather has been, it wasn't much of a surprise when a weird south wind picked up a few hours into our session.  What's more, the usual SE to NW current has returned and was doubling up with the breeze, so we spent most of our time battling pretty extreme drift that was taking us up the coast from the point.  Luckily the fish were biting pretty well, but whenever we'd hook up it meant that we'd have to work to get back to our desired spot on the reef.

After a few hours of hard work paddling against the treadmill of wind and seas, the fog came in to the point, the sea surface degraded further, and it was time to wrap up our mission along with most of the fleet.  We'd managed to bag several rockfish, a lingcod and a nice 13 pound Chinook, so the fishing was pretty good to us, considering the conditions.

It was really neat to watch the interaction between Omar and Jose, both on the water and back at the ramp.  My guests excelled in the challenging seas and did well to fish effectively while boating safely.  At the end of the day I asked Omar to let his dad know that he's now an official Offshore Badass and that I'd take him out anytime.  That might've induced the best simultaneous father-son smiles of the day.

Another chapter is in the books, and I'm looking forward to peak season coming up soon.  Thanks for following.

35
Kerry and Greg came up from Lakeport to fish with me for their third season running.  If you're seeing a theme in the past several posts, thanks for following!  I cherish the opportunity to meet people through my business, and building on those relationships with further correspondence and followup trips allows for the potential for great friendships to bloom.  Whether we hit it off due to similar outlooks on the world or just as a result of embracing a shared desire for fellowship and joy on our day together, the connections made with 'my people' are really the foundation of what I'm trying to accomplish as a guide.

Having knocked out two years in a row of really wonderful trips with these two where we managed to land salmon and halibut along with the rock species, I looked forward to seeing how we could top the past outings with maybe a limit of chrome or a bigger flatty.  Maybe more than looking forward to it, I actually imposed that level of expectation on myself to raise the bar, as it were.  There's nothing wrong with that, and I hope and fully expect my guests to have similar aspirations for our time together.

So our day was approaching, and I could see that the seemingly endless Spring winds of late were dominating the forecast.  10 to 20 knots with gusts to 30 from the north or NW has proven to be fishable most of the time at the Cove over the years, but last Saturday's trip with Evan had a little better forecast than that, and the wind had come on strong by noon.  Seeing that a Small Craft Advisory was now up for our day, with the call at 15 to 25 knot winds and all of the forecast pages indicating that a calm morning window looked brief and maybe even not in the cards, I felt like Kerry, Greg and I should consider postponing our annual fishing adventure. 

I called Greg and let him know that the forecast had bumped up to not looking so good.  He was understanding, but as we talked about potential dates later in the summer and all they have scheduled with family and work, it was sounding like we might not be able to get together this year.  Cancelling a trip isn't something that I enjoy or take lightly, but I never want to push the limits of safety or abuse the guest relationship by using a strategy of just crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.  I had to offer to forgo the trip due to the likely potential for unfishable weather.  I did suggest that we could float the South Fork of the Eel as an alternative, but K&G were all about the fishing opportunity - they were all about getting offshore at the Cove.

Other than fishing desire, there was a reservation at the Inn to consider too.  My guests got married in late 2019, and we did our first outing together in the Fall of 2020.  By the time we went out for our second trip together in the Summer of '21, Kerry and Greg still hadn't been able to have their delayed wedding reception due to covid.  So earlier this month they got that done with like 200 friends and family, and even though it was a no-gifts affair, some of their closest besties had sprung for their stay at The Tides Inn when we'd do our trip in 2022.  This reservation was already paid for, and by the time the forecast bumped up to looking shitty, it was too late to change their dates.

Early on Saturday Greg texted me with their decision:  "we're gonna roll the dice and go for it."

This was a gift to me, and I felt very fortunate to be receiving it.  I've not had to cancel or alter a late Spring/Summer date at the Cove many times at all over 9 seasons of guiding down there, so putting someone in a position of either having to take a hit by paying a cancellation fee or going on a Shelter Cove weekend without being able to go fishing as planned isn't something I'm accustomed to.  I'd given my best advisory and opened the door for doing something else for the day or nullifying the trip altogether - it was all I could do, and I wasn't thrilled about it.  Now though, Greg had basically taken some of that weight off of me by accepting the fact that we might only get an hour or two on the water before the wind came, or we might not fish at all.  Even if the morning air was calm, the call of 9' at 9 seconds meant that there'd likely be some nasty slop out front of the point, and that's where the fish have been biting lately.

The plan was set.  I got everything ready on Father's Day - my only day off for the week.  This was a fully outfitted trip - kayaks and gear, fishing equipment and partial immersion wear.  Sunday evening I considered whether we might pivot to Tuesday since both they and I had that open, but Tuesday's forecast looked just as marginal.  Monday was our day, and if I got down there with all the gear and the wind didn't let us on the water maybe I'd crash on a couch somewhere at the Cove and we'd go Tuesday.  The sanctity of the trip - any of my trips - means that much to me for sure, and the relationship with my guests hangs over all of it.  It may not be good to create and maintain that kind of pressure on oneself, but another way of looking at it is that it may be the best thing for you.  From a paradox can emerge a philosophy, I once said, late at night in a thread about who knows what on Nor Cal Kayak Anglers, many years ago.  I'd embrace that notion to help me through this - not just to get through it, but to find a way to triumph in my efforts to make good for my people.

325AM:  my alarm woke me from a deep sleep.  Last Summer my alarm barely ever went off - I'd wake up before it almost every time.  I was tired yesterday, and I knew part of it was due to worrying about how this trip wasn't fitting into my ideal setup.  I'd been given that gift though - the chance to take my guests out to try to accomplish something great on an ocean that might fight us and with wind that might defeat us.  They'd chosen to allow me to take them in less than ideal conditions, and I can only do that with people who have been out with me before.

As I came over Paradise Ridge there were a few fir boughs on the pavement, and the trees were waving in the darkness of just before 5AM, like they were there to keep me keenly aware of what I was headed for - it was all about my responsibility to do the right thing.  If the wind was on right from the get go, I'd cancel the trip and hang out with my guests for the day to try to help them have fun on their wedding-gifted stay at the Inn.  There'd be no business transaction - only an earnest attempt to keep the relationship good, so that we could aim for another date in the future and hope for the best in the meantime.

Once I saw the flag hanging limp at the SCVFD up on the hill above the launch, I knew that we'd at least be able to get on the water.  Now the concern would be finding a fish without pushing too far out front where the slop would be waiting to test us.

Kerry and Greg arrived at the ramp right on time at 545AM, and I had all the gear out and ready.  After a quick refresher on the fishing setups and the paddling platforms we were pushing off by just after 6 o'clock.  A charter boat soon followed - it was Jarred on his big Boston Whaler.  We greeted each other on the radio, and Jarred said he'd probably be staying local - the water was really snotty out front with that 9' @ 9 seconds coming through as an unorganized mess of peaks and occasional riffle-tops that aren't as bad as breaking waves but still bad enough.

I'd gotten the three of us hooked up on the best tray anchovies available, and I was just hoping that any species would bite our trolled offerings before having to venture out too far into the messy seas.  My primary concern though, as always, was whether my guests were comfortable on the kayaks.  Any seasickness would mean an immediate retreat back to the protection of the cove where we'd hope to find a halibut or any other biter in the nearshore area.  That prospect didn't seem likely or at all desirable though, with the 49 degree sea temp and nothing happening in that zone lately.

Kerry and Greg were great - very comfortable on the overstable kayaks that they'd paddled on two previous trips, and they weren't overly concerned about the nasty water.  This was another gift to me.  Like I said, I don't push the limits of safety, but fishable water is sometimes on the gnarly side - that's why I use the boats that I do.  The confidence that my guests had in both the equipment and my judgment in that moment is a guide reward that is crucial and highly valued - now we just needed to find some fish.

With barbless gear, high quality bait and strategies that I've learned and honed for decades, our hope was to find a salmon near the point.  The kings started strong at the Cove in May, but lately it's been slow for all who've been trying.  A few fish had been caught the day before, and the schools we dream about could arrive any day.  Greg got us on the board first - nice black rockfish to the yak.  We'd found a little school and managed to pick a few off.  I kept adjusting our position, checking to make sure my people were feeling safe and having fun, and over the course of the next couple of hours the ocean managed to go from shitty to surprisingly clean.  Magic Seaweed's call of winds below 10 knots at 9AM (and ONLY 9AM) panned out.  Our mid to late morning turned out to be gorgeous! 

The catching wasn't the best ever, but we managed to put up 4 lingcod and a pile of rockfish for my guests.  When the whitecaps started showing out past the Whistle I advised that the 'sheep' could be in on us in 10 minutes, or I've also seen them stay outside all day - even on marginal forecasts like this day's call.  We stayed near the point, scratched out a few more rockfish and eventually headed back to the inside where Jarred had announced a bunch of murres and pelicans outside the moorings as he'd landed to finish what had to be a rough half day for his guests.

We finished our session with an hour on the inside water trolling those high quality anchovies through baitballs with birds - all the signs that we want to see to find the salmon.  But even with the water warming up to 53-54 degrees by midday near shore, the shiny predators that we were looking for hadn't yet arrived in numbers. 

Content with the hours we'd spent and the fish on our stringers, we headed for the launch where we captured stringer display photos and cracked cold beers that were rewards for our efforts as well as celebrations of our good fortune for having been able to fish on the rough seas.

With the midday sun blazing and the north wind blocked by the point, the launch beach was alive with locals and a few tourists playing on the sand and in the water.  Kerry, Greg and I took some time to appreciate the moment before I sent them to the Inn to freshen up while I loaded all the gear back on my truck.  We met back up at the fillet table since I'd forgotten my tailgate board, and the next couple of hours were spent taking care of the fish, visiting with local friends and basking in the satisfaction of having pulled off a successful fishing day in the face of uncertainty.

Kerry and Greg are a joy to be around, and they're the type of people who are in good enough physical condition and have a strong thirst for adventure that allowed them to meet the challenges that came from the circumstances of our trip.  If something had gone wrong in the messy seas, we were equipped to deal with it, and if the fish didn't bite for us, I'm sure they were likely ready to handle that better than I would have!  The bottom line is that my guests, my people - my friends - had come into this trip with more than just readiness for challenge.  Through their attitudes, their posture and knowing their own abilities they'd displayed positivity and resilience that armed them to overcome obstacles or setbacks that we might have faced.  As a guide, I try to always be ready with those attributes, and I know that part of my guests' confidence and joy is based in my own display of those qualities.  We feed off of each other in that way.

In life we are given many choices about not just what to do when the forecast looks shitty but how to act and how to think when faced with adversity.  A great test of who we are and how our lives will play out lies in our reactions when the pressure is on.  It's all part of a balance that not only takes special energy to create and maintain, but it also gives special energy as we work toward finding our way and hopefully achieving our triumphs.  What I'm talking about is way more related to spirituality than it is to fishing, kayaking or enjoying beer in the midday sun with grins that grew from catching lingcod while riding rodeo swells. 

It was getting near the dinner hour when Kerry, Greg and I completed our business deal and said our goodbyes.  My guests and I were in a very good space - so exhilarated to have faced the challenge of the ocean for the hours that we wanted to and to have brought home some nice fish as our rewards.  It couldn't have mattered less that they weren't trophies. 

I do this for pay, and I hope to earn a fat tip too, but that will never mean that the friendships and the spiritual nature of these activities are any less genuine.  On the contrary - the transactional nature of these unique adventures has allowed me to focus very acutely on providing something much deeper and more valuable than what I thought that outdoor guiding would be like when I started this gig.

Thank you, Kerry and Greg, for choosing to roll the dice and to tap into the passion that makes meeting a challenge make us feel so alive.  I can't wait for our next trip together.

36
Evan came up from Gold Country to fish with me for the 3rd straight summer.  We've had some epic sessions, so the bar was set high going in to today's trip.  Us along with several other kayaks and powerboats went looking for salmon for the morning, but none were announced today.  A halibut has been hard to come by too, but we did talk to father and son friends Sky and Trevor who teamed up to land a 36 pound Pacific from their kayaks yesterday.  We put in some hours on the troll today and lingered on a few productive reef areas in the end to put together a nice stringer of rockfish.  The wind ushered us and the rest of the fleet off the water just after noon, but not before we'd completed a pass through the usual spots and found some fish to send home with Evan and his family.

I'm thankful to have abundant returning customers who trust me to provide a high quality fishing day along with an engaging interaction that is geared toward learning, appreciation and inspiration.

Thank you, Evan, for supporting my business and being a great friend.  Congrats on further salmon success at HMB and best of luck with your upcoming school year.   :smt001

37
James came up from Fort Bragg to fish the Cove with me on June 8th.  Several other kayaks and a handful of powerboats were also on the hunt for the number one target this time of year:  salmon.  I got James up to speed on a few techniques and different kinds of gear, but the fish didn't cooperate.  No kings were announced around the Cove, and the powerboats got only a few, south of us.  We had plenty of action with the rockfish and settled for a modest stringer holding a few quality blacks.

The Chinook will show up again soon, and I look forward to seeing a report from James later this summer where he cashes in on his investment in learning the salmon game.  Hooking, fighting and landing one of these amazing animals is a thrill that takes offshore angling to another level, and a big part of the challenge is just being equipped and ready to give your best to the pursuit.

Who will be the next to earn their Offshore Kayak Salmon Angling Expert patch from the Loleta Eric's Guide Service School of Trolling?  Maybe you.  (I don't really have patches, but it would be cool!   :smt005)

38
Eric from Reno engaged me for a Cove trip several weeks back.  As our date neared, he let me know that he might bring a friend - Pat.  A few days prior to the trip I called Eric and we moved from Sunday to Monday due to the storm over the weekend.  My go-to forecast pages all indicated that the weather would clear up by Sunday afternoon, and Monday was looking very good for both light winds and low swells.  On the same call, Eric confirmed that his fishing buddy Pat would indeed join us.  They'd travel on Sunday from Reno, land in Redway and stay in a hotel there, planning to drive over the King Range to meet me at the Cove at 530AM on Monday.  Sunday morning came, and Eric called right before they were to leave Nevada en route to the Cove.  I had just checked the latest forecast, and, as has periodically occurred just about every spring since the late 80's when I began following forecasts, they'd bumped up the call to a Small Craft Advisory with winds 15 to 25 knots and gusts to 35 accompanied by a messy 6' swell at 6 seconds.  I assured Eric that I've seen this happen many times, and that the Cove has come through with great water and light wind on many occasions when the forecast gets big and ugly like that from the north.  Eric took my word and trusted my professional judgment, and I was only a bit nervous about having my guys come from out of state when we could potentially be sidelined for the day by Mother Nature.

As I drove Shelter Cove road in the dark yesterday I watched for the trees up on Paradise Ridge to be swaying in the wind and for newly broken off fir boughs on the pavement - I've seen these things before on many such drives.  I was greatly encouraged when the air was still and the road was clean, and as I pulled down onto the launch ramp at 515 I could feel my eyes widen and my lips curl a bit at the sight of a smooth ocean as far as I could see.

When my guys arrived I had my gear all laid out and ready.  I helped them unload their gigantic kayaks, and they quickly and efficiently put together their kits and were ready to launch by about 630.  Both Eric and Pat have motors on their yaks - powered by lithium batteries the size of car batteries!  I've had a couple of guests over the years who had propulsion other than paddles or pedals, and I'm probably a bit biased against such things.  Kayaking is meant to be a people-powered pursuit, in my opinion, but I'm trying to be more tolerant!  My main concern is whether the boat and the person on board will be able to get back to the launch if conditions deteriorate or a gear issue arises.  What I could tell from watching them prep themselves for the day though was that these men were ready and eager.  They had proper immersion gear and appeared fit for the challenges that we might face on the water.  All systems were go.

We launched before any of the powerboats, and I was pretty amazed at how flat and glassy it was even as we made our way past the point and out front.  I'd had the guys keep it aimed toward the Bell Buoy before we turned on to the reef, and very soon I realized that the usual SE to NW current was upside down - we were being pushed toward the southeast this day.  Must've been the after effects of the storm; no worries - assessing the current is part of the checklist and the training on every trip.  Soon though I could see that this wasn't just an average current.  I had us aim toward an area north of the Whistle, and half an hour later it was apparent that we were only progressing straight toward it.  I kept the guys aware of how different this was from the usual, and we stayed with the plan.  The water just got better and better, and by the time we got to the red can my main concern was how we'd get our gear down in the current.  A half pound of lead can seem like a little bag of feathers when it's up against a rip like this, and sometimes the only way to get down is to go with the flow, which results in ending up way down current in no time flat.  If the wind came up from the northwest on top of the current, we would need to work to get out of a major tractor beam situation.

I had told Eric on the phone that with the two of them having motors I would be paddling around chasing them all day, and Eric had suggested that they could tow me anywhere that we wanted to go.  I scoffed at such a notion!  As we approached the Whistle though, I was sweating harder than usual just from battling the current in a 'power slide' toward the can even though I was aimed well north of it.  I was becoming more interested in that tow job now, but only to facilitate the fishing day - I am resolute in my dedication to not surpassing my own abilities in terms of situations on the water. 

So we drop gear, and I'm instructing the guys on how to work the tackle without letting it get caught up on itself in the current.  We'd drift-troll with the flow toward the southeast and then go back 'up the hill' to do it again.  Luckily the fish were biting, so any difficulties with conditions would be alleviated by getting some keepers on the stringers.  With the water somehow glassing off even more, my guys having a ball on their first kayak outing on the ocean, and the King Range looming above the northern horizon, ablaze in vibrant green shades of having just been watered by a few inches of rain, our time out there was awesome!

I was comfortably able to paddle against the current to get back up the hill for several drifts that we did, and I did take Eric up on a tow job here and there.  The guys put together nice stringers with several different species, and by midday the wind was still absent.  We were working our way inside the buoy aiming to gradually fish our way to the point when Captain Mitchell on the Sea Hawk hailed me on the VHF - "looks like the whitecaps are coming..."  I looked up and saw them a mile or more west of us, and I knew from years of fishing the Cove that the sheep could be on us in a matter of minutes, or they might stay out there.  You don't bet on that - you play it safe, especially with the current that the wind would be on top of if it came.

We trolled our way toward the point, stopping only briefly to string another couple of black rockfish and quickly re-bait, and by the time we entered the harbor the wind was just arriving off the point.  We landed at the sunny launch with an early afternoon crowd of beach goers building.  The tide was still low enough to have plenty of space to put the gear away, capture the traditional stringer display photos and set to work processing the catch at the Tailgate Fillet Station.  Ice cold beer combined with the fishing success and compounded by the relief felt by all of us regarding our good fortune with the morning conditions led to long-lasting afternoon smiles and a feeling of genuine contentment that hung in the air around us like a halo.  We'd been blessed with the gifts of the Cove, and our anticipation had metamorphosed into pure joy.

With the last of the boneless fillets of lingcod and rockfish Ziploc'd up and stowed in a cooler bound for Reno, my guests and I settled the day's deal, shook hands and parted ways.  Eric and Pat both expressed what a great time they'd had, and even though that's my goal and what I expect from every trip, I was especially glad on this day to have helped them achieve success while fishing in that current.

I've been working on myself and how hurt I am about some things in our country.  I don't want to be bitter and projecting any negativity.  I know that one of my special powers is rooted in how I am able to find the half-full part and to tap into a positive flow in my life.  I aim to continue to hone the skills that enable me to provide inspiration to others and to help bring as much joy as I can.  Guiding can be like therapy in a way, and I'm looking forward to another session soon.  Thanks for sitting in.

39
Right at this time of year Domenic and I make an extra effort to fish together - it being both of our birthdays, after all.  In the 13.5 years that we've been friends, we've enjoyed a long list of amazing days doing everything from abalone diving to clamming to steelheading to midnight crabbing to remote fishing from the rocks, but the pinnacle of our adventure time together has to be the ocean kayak salmon hunt.  In years of trips out of both Shelter Cove and Humboldt Bay, we've worked as a team and found great success on many occasions. 

Friday, May 27th started out promising with the nicest forecast of the season so far coming through with a flat ocean and no wind as we met in the dark and prepped our gear at the ramp.  We got on the ocean just as a long list of powerboaters were being tractor-launched, two by two and dispersing across the water.  A few boats took advantage of the conditions and headed north to Punta Gorda, and Jarred's charter joined a few others in a codding focus to the south, but the vast majority of the fleet spread out near the Cove to look for the king salmon that have been on a consistent bite within a mile of either of the buoys.

Along with a few of the early powerboaters, we worked thick bait near the harbor to start off, but the 48 degree water may have had our target fish snoozing - no one reported any action.  The fish bite when they want to - when a combination of factors tells them to; exceptions to this natural rule may best be discovered only through persistence of pursuit and diligence in presentation.  What I've just described IS fishing, and when the bite's easy, the entire endeavor may not even be as rewarding as you want it to be.

Soon we'd moved on toward the Bell, over to the point, up through B&B...  We covered all the water that we could as the fleet did the same, and by just before high tide there hadn't been more than one or two fish reported.  The boaters' numbers grew as the morning pushed on, and the horizon was dotted with sub-groups of the greater fleet.  I can remember days off of HBO in my dad's boats, where we'd count around 100 or more boats on the horizon around us - all looking for the same thrill.  This day, we were all in waiting.

Ka-Boom!  Domenic had a strike that felt like the right kind.  Paddling 20 yards to his left, I took a 90 degree turn toward him as he re-baited and then veered right behind his position.  "Nice marks!"  I announced, seeing large slashes high in the water column on my fishfinder screen.  Then I'm on!  A solid pumper, I resisted the potential curse of announcing that it felt like a 10 pounder, proceeded to play it for the typical 3 to 4 minutes, and then it was tired enough to slide into my waiting net. 

In the time that I'd played my fish, Domenic stayed up-current - it was ripping pretty good to the NW.  I got my fish bled and put away, fixed my leader up, re-baited and headed toward my man.  I was ready to sheepishly apologize for instantly jumping his strike zone after he got that bite!  Wouldn't have to though - I saw from a couple hundred feet away that he was cleaning his net out as I approached.  We'd both bagged 10 pounders to get on the board.  The smiles were as real as it gets, and they would persist for the entire day.

We worked the area for the next hour and missed a few more strikes from those high slashes.  Catches were starting to come in on the VHF, but nothing was breaking open enough to make the fleet respond.  As Dom and I trolled together we reflected on how we'd almost doubled a bit ago - hooking and landing our fish just minutes apart.  In all of our trips, we've never doubled and landed both - we've rarely hooked up at the same time.  The odds of it happening are long, but we've put in lots of hours over lots of years - it seemed due.

Boom.  Domenic was on, and I turned hard to get closer to him so I could get a photo of him in the fight.  I'm heading right at him watching his rod pump, thinking I will clear my line in a second so I don't jeopardize his chances with gear in the water near a hot fish, and, as I thought, "maybe our double comes right now"...  You know how this goes - Yeehaw!  I'm on!! 

Now we're only about 80 feet apart, and both fighting hot fish that are running.  Once we could see that our fish were going different directions and not about to cross, we were able to hang close and see and feel the fight of our teammate going on right next to us.  This was one of the most outstanding moments I've ever experienced on the water!

I got my fish into the net first, cleared my line and turned to one-handed paddle toward Dom as I held my net in place with my limit fish in there, still un-bled.  Watched as Dom soon had his fish up and to the net, and got photos as he closed the deal.  We'd bagged a double, limited early on a scratchy bite, enjoyed a great forecast after being alone in the dark at the ramp, and brought to fruition our plan of working together to enjoy this pastime that seems to permeate the spirit like not much else can.

I can't really describe it any better in this many words, and letting it flow out of me in front of this keyboard feels as natural as hooking an anchovy and fighting a Chinook.

Thank you, Domenic, for being such a great friend and for joining me in pursuit of adventure and fulfillment.  Happy birthday, brother!

40
Saw a decent forecast coming - 5 to 10 knots off of Eureka with 5' swells every 10 seconds.  They switched it up and called for 5' every 5 seconds, which would be kind of a mess, but the buoys this morning had 5 @ 10.  I got up late and ended up getting on the water right after the low tide - an extreme minus, at more than 2 feet negative.  Launched at Gil's and saw people clamming as I rounded the corner toward the entrance channel.  As I'm cruising in like 3' of clear water right off the clamming area I see a big Dungeness on the bottom, so I stop and put my paddle down there to lift it out of the water.  Second try I had it - easily legal, but I didn't have a measure and didn't want to leave it on my yak all day.  That was cool! 

So I continue on, and as I'm nearing the end of the clamming area I am right next to the mud flat still, looking down into that unusually clear water for a minus tide, and right in between the Eel Grass I see a halibut swimming along about a foot under the water!  I'm like, "HOLY SHIT!"  Reached back for my net and by the time I brought it out in front of me the hali had bailed.  Beautiful fish - easily 30 inch plus.  OK, this feels like a good sign for my day!

I head for the Jaws knowing that the tide is about to start coming in against me.  It's two miles to the outside from King Salmon, and the super glassy conditions were just starting to get a breeze showing.  Undeterred, I paddled northwest toward the open ocean.  By just after 10AM I was leaving the bay.  The ocean was nice, and a regular stream of boats was heading out.  I'd surmised from the radio talk that the bite wasn't red hot, and the boats were still out in more than 200' of water like last week.  With about 5 hours before high tide, I could paddle offshore to try to get to 200 (it's 3.3 miles out), and once there I could determine how much time I had to fish before getting back - re-entering the bay with the tide coming in is the way it needs to be done.

An hour or so later I was a ways past the Whistle, and when I dropped my weight to the bottom I thought I was in near 200'...  I'd worked my way toward a couple of boats out there, but I couldn't see the fleet - they were way too far out.  So I'm considering what my next move is when the glassy conditions go right to breezy with chop.  OK - time to go back.  I fire up my GPS to mark where I was, and I see that in the time it took me to haul my line in and look at the GPS, I've drifted like 100 yards to the south.  This isn't just the breeze - it's a strong current.  And I wasn't in anywhere close to 200 feet of water - the current had my line.

For the next hour and a half I paddled hard to the north and east, but my line on the GPS just said east.  It was sufficient to get me back to the entrance, and I had plenty in reserve if I'd needed to push it.  Today was a good reminder though of how wide open the ocean is outside of Humboldt Bay.  The currents out there can be brutal and unforgiving, and there's nowhere to bail out and land - just open beach for many miles.

I towed around the same anchovy all morning and into the afternoon.  On the way in I was just about to the Bell Buoy, which is just outside the South Jetty a couple hundred yards, and a couple of the charters were heading in.  One called to the other on the VHF - "watch out for the kayaker near the Bell".  Good looking out, fellas.  They talked me up a bite it turns out!  I was on a pumper after all those miles.  I worked the fish to me quickly, knowing that I was now flying along in the current to the south.  Once I had it to the boat I could see that it was a nice 10 pounder and appeared to be hooked well.  With confidence in my fresh leader and the need to get the job done and get paddling again, I got my salmon in the net, bled it out, put it on my stringer and under burlap, and got going again.  The adrenalin of the moment had me trying another pass right by the Bell where I'd hooked up, but there was nothing doing - it was time to head in.

Made my way up the channel in the 'tractor beam' of the incoming tide, and my day outside the bay was wrapping up.  What great fortune to have found that fish at the end of a hard few hours of paddling.  I grew up fishing outside of Humboldt Bay in my dad's dories, and I've caught lots of salmon paddling out there too.  We call it HBO - Humboldt Bay Offshore.  It's a unique and exhilarating adventure out there for sure.

41
Friday, June 3rd was the day that David and I were going to find some salmon - until we didn't!  We overcame some equipment issues and a subsequent re-launch and went on to fish a full day, but we just couldn't locate the chrome.  The ocean was beautiful though, outside of a somewhat robust southwest swell that was turning the launch into a surfing scene at times.  We got in and out without incident, and while offshore we enjoyed riding some of the 5 @ 13 haystacks that were moving through and picking up on the reef, feeling more like seven to eight footers.  When a longer period swell hits the nearshore without obstruction, as a true southwest will do at the Cove, places like the lighthouse point, the gut chute, Deadman's and even the pinnacles out near the Bell will lift up in sometimes dramatic fashion.  I've even seen cresting waves out there just inside the green can on days that we fished!  These are good things to know about when you decide to kayak on the ocean.

David and I enjoyed our time on the water, rounded up some of the usual suspects, and spent some extra time at the tailgate doing a fish fry at the end of a long day.  I try to provide added value whenever I can, and that's especially true when I'm out with the professor.  A big thanks to my good friend and most regular patron - we'll get 'em next time, and we'll continue to raise the bar for epic adventures offshore and back at the launch too.   :smt001

42
Got out with Chris on Wednesday, June 1st.  He's local and had some flexibility for our date, so we'd switched from Tuesday which looked extra rough.  The salmon weren't biting for us, so we settled for a selection of quality rockfish and a couple of lingcod.  Chris did great with gear that was new to him in less than optimum conditions.  It was totally fishable but sloppy, and that's a hard part of the guiding gig - I want everyone to be able to fish on a flat day.

A very cool part of our trip was that we opted to carpool - one of the first times since Covid showed up in early 2020.  Going from the lower Eel Valley to Shelter Cove together in my truck allowed for time to get to know each other a bit, and it was nice to feel free to execute that plan after such a long ordeal of isolation and distance.  Luckily for both us, we share some viewpoints on current events and have compatible interests as well as similar hopes for the future.  I don't know that I'd have described or even thought of a client interaction in those terms prior to a few years ago, and I think that's an important thing to consider, moving forward.

Thank you, Chris, for engaging my service.  I hope that we can share time on the water again.

43
Took my largest fishing crew ever out on Friday, May 13th - 5 guests, with two on kayaks supplied by the guide, and two were on their tandem.  Omar, who went out with me last year and set this trip up, was on his newly acquired yak.  I'd spent the night at a house that Omar rented at the Cove - great time getting to know the crew a bit, but I didn't sleep well away from my own bed and routine.  No worries though - I was totally stoked to be taking this group out, and they were super excited to discover the offshore adventures available around Point Delgada.

Up before 5AM, I headed out from the rental house early to get to the ramp in the dark, as is my custom.  There was a light rain falling and a south breeze that had a little chop coming in to the launch.  With everything totally fishable and the forecast telling of improved conditions through the day, I kept my hopes high and my mind focused on assembling the gear and prepping for being busy on the water.  My guests arrived, assembled their own gear, and we went over the layout of the reef, do's and don'ts, inventory of safety and navigation equipment, and a check of everyone's knots and drag, and we were ready to head out.

We started fishing right away, but I had my guests keep their offerings up and away from the rocks so we could get oriented on the water and avoid any hazards like snags that would cost us time and foul the early coordination of the group.  I needed to be sure that all participants were comfortable on open water, not feeling seasick and getting the hang of the kayaks and any other gear that I'd provided.  It's imperative that this gauging is done early and inshore, and my people checked off all the affirmations that I was looking for in terms of their readiness and their interest in following the plan that I was laying out.

Soon we were more than a mile offshore, and after not having many biters on the way out there, I started directing the crew to lower their baits a bit.  Boom!  We were on a large school of black rockfish.  As much as I love to get everyone a variety of different species for their stringers, loading up on blacks to start a group trip like this is optimum for building not only their catch bags but also their confidence and their understanding of the methods and strategies that I was showing.  It wasn't long before everyone had landed legal fish, and we did manage some different species with a few lingcod, a few vermillion and a greenling that came up.  I enjoyed not being able to fish much because I was so busy sprinting from boat to boat, netting fish, removing gills, re-baiting hooks and stowing the catch.

A few hours in we had amassed some tonnage of the white-fleshed fishies, so I pitched the group on heading a bit farther out to where the powerboat fleet was trolling for salmon.  The water had flattened out nicely since we'd launched, the rain had ended, and everyone was stoked to go for it.  It wasn't far to go, and the rockfish were still attacking what were now our best baits, but we did manage to get two nice salmon to the net.

It was getting to be early afternoon, so we decided to head for the launch where we'd get the gear put up, capture the traditional Stringer Display Celebration photos, crack a cold beer and get to work at the Tailgate Fillet Station.  I encouraged my guests to head back to the rental house to freshen up and grab a bite to eat, and by the time they got back I had my gear put away and about two dozen blacks filleted.  They helped me with the rest of the fish, and the salmon were the last to get processed.  Some other friends/past clients arrived to share in the community of the moment, and we were all smiles through an afternoon of sharing stories and sipping the most satisfying beers on the planet. 

With all of the fish filleted and stowed in my guests' coolers, they headed back to the house, and I put the final touches on my gear load for the highway.  I pulled up out of the cove, visited with another old friend at the fillet table and then headed to the house to pick up a few things I'd left there while we fished.  Omar and his buddies were a hive of busy, buzzing workers, with fish getting further processed and stowed, gear being cleaned and readied for the next day, and dinner in the works.  I had to turn down their gracious offer to feed me before I hit the road, and we all said our good-byes.  Omar hit me with a stack of Franklins to settle the bill as well as providing a generous tip, and I was off to scale the King Range in my loaded-down truck and head back up 101 for home.

Running on not much sleep and having just executed one of my busiest days ever as a guide, I was torched, but the lingering smile that I enjoyed all the way home was powered by appreciation and gratitude for my ability to have such good fortune in this challenging vocation that is guiding people on kayaks for fishing on the open ocean.  Everything that I aim to accomplish out there with my guests isn't as much just about the kayaking and the fish as it is about living right, making connections and providing as well as receiving inspiration and love.

That's why I guide.

44
First Cove client of the year back in May.  Tom has gone out with me a few times over the past several seasons, and we've had good luck with salmon - I think we've landed keepers on every trip.  Last summer Tom was fishing with another one of my multi-trip clients, Gary, when Tom brought in a 37 pound king - beautiful fish and a stout limit that day for him. 

I really appreciated getting the call from Tom and having the opportunity to take him out again and show more of what I know about the places and the things around the Cove.  The bite wasn't red hot, but Tom managed to get a keeper salmon and we also brought up a little pile of quality rockfish.

I've filled up my calendar with similar trips - lots of repeat clients looking to tap back into the Cove magic with me.  I also love to take people out who are looking for an introduction to the offshore pursuits and all that comes with the overall commitment to kayaking on the ocean.  Thanks for following.   :smt001

45
Hey - I have the Noco Genius G750 charger, and it's been great for years.  I've gone through a number of 12V/9ah lead brick batteries over the years - figured they can only take so many charges.  Now though it seems that all of my half dozen or so lead bricks will charge for a bit with the orange light slowly flashing, and then it'll go to error mode - alternating the orange a red light below it.  When I plug the batteries in to my FF everything works.  What's up with not getting the green light on my charger that should indicate full charge?  Did the Genius finally go bad?  I've seen links for resetting a charger's memory, but I can't find info on why that would be done - could it be what I need?

Thanks for any hive help that's available.  First World problems, right?!

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