Heading to Islamorada, just west of Key Largo, for a wedding soon.  Anybody got recommendations for must-see/must-do kind of stuff down there?

TIA   

I was so pleased to close out the nearshore rockfish and lingcod season at Shelter Cove with a couple of return guests who brought strong skills and all the right gear.  David's a frequent participant on my trips, both as a client and sometimes filling the role of Super Assistant Guide of the Year.  Rodney has been out with me on one other trip several years back, where he and a second guest that day, Skye, joined me for steelheading on the Mainstem Eel.  That day turned out to be the coldest outing ever for my guide service, as we got snowed on while kayak fishing below Dyerville!  Catching a wild steelhead that day managed to help us stay warm.

Saturday's forecast was excellent for a closing day at the end of November, and it was actually one of the best calls of the entire year for wind and swell.  The predictions came true, as we enjoyed slick water and no wind through early afternoon.  A light breeze did kick in around 130PM, but by then we'd put together a diverse list of catches and loaded our stringers with a selection bound for home.

We made our way in with the tide dropping toward a sunset minus, and even with cool late Fall temperatures the locals were out in force, enjoying the beach in the shelter of the cove - I've said it so many times:  the place is aptly named!  We got the traditional Stringer Display Photos taken, and the Tailgate Fillet Station saw its final session of the year while we enjoyed warm conversation and a cold beer to cap our day.

Big thanks are in order, for my guests, David and Rodney.  It was a great season-ending outing, where we enjoyed good conditions and great company on an adventure to be remembered and cherished.

In the coming weeks I'll be fleshing out the details and announcing the schedule and format for the 19th Annual Gimme Shelter event to be held in May of 2025.  It's a family event where many aim to get there a day or two early and make it a long weekend of fun with the community and activities for all to enjoy.  I have long had a goal of developing more of a festival that honors the fishery that has been so good to us, along with the usual tournament with special harvests, shared food and drink, and focus on diversity and inclusion.  Reverence for the fish, respect for each other and the locals, and maintaining priorities of generosity, compassion and committing ourselves to envisioning and supporting a strong future are what I have in mind - not just for Gimme Shelter, but also on every trip that I guide.

Thank you for your love and support - that's what this gig is all about.

Coming off a recent series of trips with returning longtime guests which were great, I was stoked to meet some new clients for a Shelter Cove run yesterday.  Tillie contacted me a couple weeks ago looking for a date for her husband Tony and their son Luciano to get some experience on their new Hobie Revo's.  She was super enthusiastic about getting them out with me, and as we corresponded, she indicated that she might join in too.  Soon we had a date, and Tillie would come along, with outfitting of sonar-equipped kayak, immersion gear and some of the other basics by me.  The guys would be on their new Hobie's, and they were very well setup with the fishing gear, as they have a strong tradition of long-range fishing out of Southern California in their family.

As our date approached I went through the usual moves - review the forecast, confirm the trip, plan for our date.  The forecast a week out didn't look ideal, but it was well within Shelter Cove Summer Standards.  With a call of NW wind at 10 to 20 knots and minimal swell, also from the N/NW, I wasn't at all concerned about the fishability of the forecast.  I cemented in our date, and my guests set about to secure some accommodations.

A few days later, after the forecasts were looking even better, suddenly all of my usual predictors for wind and swell had things blowing up!  I checked around and double-checked, and there was no denying it - the forecast was now looking shitty.  I contacted Tillie and Tony and advised that I still felt that our date would be fishable, but I warned that it looked like we'd be fishing in wind, and I even speculated that we could be prevented from launching.  This was a tough development for me, as I've hardly ever had to change a Summer Cove date due to wind.

Tillie and Tony let me know that it was too late to cancel their rental, and they were up for it even if we got blown off early.  We'd execute the trip, and I was certainly all in.  Saturday came, and I dedicated the hours needed to assemble all the gear for me and Tillie, and I'd bring immersion gear for the guys too.  They're new to kayak fishing, so training on dressing for immersion, multiple navigation types, VHF importance and redundancy of potentially life saving equipment were part of the focus from the beginning.

I got the truck loaded and all the details seen to, and the forecast Saturday evening had backed off just a bit from the really crappy outlook that had me so concerned on Thursday.  I was optimistic and ready - not just because I have to be, but because I want to.  There's something to that - that your confidence should be based on readiness and planning, yes, but also that the power of being positive can transform any and every detail of an experience.  The importance of this goes way beyond practicality - it's ultimately a survival instinct.

Our day came, and I was up early - haven't needed the alarm clock much this summer.  I packed up the last items in the truck, got my ice, food and bait loaded, and I was on the road early at 4AM sharp.  A check of the forecast had things looking decent, but nothing had changed in regard to the especially heavy wind forecast early - it wasn't looking like it would drop below 10 knots at all, where usually there's a 4 to 6 hour break every morning from those north winds.  As I got closer to the Cove driving over Paradise Ridge I wasn't surprised to see the trees moving in the breeze and fir boughs on the road, and when I got down into the launch area in the dark at 540AM the wind was there too.  It wasn't horrible, but there's almost never wind at that time of day - especially on a fishing day.

I got to unloading the kayaks and putting together full kits for myself and my guest that I'd fully outfit, Tillie.  I had it all ready while it was still dark, and my guests weren't due for 20 more minutes.  I finished my cereal before dawn for the first time since a past salmon season outing, and even though I was a bit apprehensive about how the day would go, I was primed to do my best to show my new guests a good time on their foray into a new kind of adventure for them.

Tillie, Tony and Luciano arrived right on time, we shared warm introductions, and I worked right with them to help get them ready to launch.  We had lively exchange while they assembled their gear, as I filled them with information about safety, strategies for security and success and the focus of being a kayaker first and then an angler.

By the time we launched there was one powerboat on the water - Captain Jake on the Seahawk had a small group out for a quick trip.  On the radio, Jake commented that he was surprised to see me there with that forecast.  "Yeah, it was too late for my guests to cancel their VRBO", I told him.  "Oh, I know how that goes", Jake replied.  I told him I'm glad he'd be out there in case we got blown down the coast and needed a rescue!  Haha...

So we got launched right before 8AM - a bit later than I'd hoped, but there were kinks to work out since my guests are just getting into the sport.  The wind was coming and going - always there, but not too heavy to start.  The intell regarding the bite had a few Californians still being caught, so it was a no-brainer that we'd head to the left and work the shallows to start our day. 

As we got started there were a few Hobie-specific issues to work on, and once we adopted work-arounds for drive and rudder issues we were ready to fish.  With four sets of gear in the water and constantly working against the wind, I was stoked that we found a few early bites.  Nothing hooked up, but this was progress toward really important victories that would ramp this day up from an enthusiastic level to a successful one.

An hour later, after helping my guests get the hang of the gear presentation and how to compensate for the wind, we were pretty efficiently combing the area with our multiple trolled offerings.  I'd fed my people much info about how the halibut bite would very likely be light, and if you didn't let it munch you'd probably pull the bait out of its mouth - I swear the flatties are literally evolving right before our eyes into creatures who are skeptical of nearly immobile herring and anchovies.  I've never experienced so many soft bites and gumming of the bait as I have from this year's halibut crop - both at the Cove and in Humboldt Bay.

After the early bites, not much was happening.  With the random gusts coupled with little calm periods, I didn't feel that we should venture out to the reef, so catching a halibut in close was definitely about the best thing that could happen to us. 

BOOM!  I got a knock.  It was a little thud - a thump.  I said, "Oooh!  There it is", as I gently lifted my rod and pointed it back at the bite, drifting slowly forward as I stopped my slow troll.  I described my thoughts and intentions as I waited, and within 5 to 10 seconds I felt just a little pressure - not a pull, but something was there.  An actual munch occurred, and as my guests watched from around me, I set the hook and it was on!  I soon had a clearly legal Cali up top, and it was in the net right away. 

This development was, as I said, the best thing that could happen in that moment.  The level of belief instilled in my patrons by seeing me land a quality fish while doing the exact same thing that I have them doing is a guide's best friend in a tough bite situation - especially since the wind could scale up and boot us at any time.

Energized by the catch and the hope that it brought, we trolled on for the next hour or more.  The wind continued to be hot and cold, but my guests were doing great on their boats and even better with the fishing methods.  No one was getting snagged for too long - didn't even lose a leader for the day - and I could just feel how primed they were to hook up.  As we trolled around, I tried to take time to get to know each member of the family, and as I fished next to Tillie and we shared family stories, suddenly she stopped talking and dropped her paddle, gently lifting her rod and pointing it back toward what I knew was her perceived bite.  I stopped trolling too, reeled my line up a bit and waited with her.  I was ready to coach, but I ended up just observing and being ready to assist.  She didn't need the coaching, as she'd already listened intently to the instruction and advice I'd offered, seen me hook and land a fish, and she was so ready.  What was happening in this moment was so much about the value of taking people out who have been around serious fishing!  Tillie knew her way around a setup that was rated for tuna or wahoo, and that's what she was running with.  When she finally set the hook - maybe 15 seconds after getting the bite and stopping to cultivate it - she was dialed in like an assassin!

I watched with pure stoke and pride as Tillie took her time to fight her fish.  I was right in position as she had her gear showing right at the surface, and as she lifted the fish to color I had the net coming in from the side.  I told her that she would have to lead the fish to the net and that I couldn't swing for it, and she executed that like it was putting butter on toast.  I had her fish, and I had the advantage of being able to two-hand the net frame immediately upon capturing it - this being a distinct contrast from when I net my own fish and have to drop the rod and grip the net all at once.  Getting a big halibut in the net and keeping it there is nothing to sneeze at, and being there with two hands ready to secure the guest's catch is a moment that every guide aspires to master.  It's a guide's advantage and true privilege to be able to come up on another kayaker, grab their bow, coach where needed and then to net and subdue the catch that is the ultimate focus of not just that moment but really the whole day and the week and even the summer.

This fish was green, having been coaxed up so smoothly and patiently by Tillie, so once the major splashing in the net ended I got Tillie's hooks free, confirmed the integrity of her leader and re-baited her hooks so she could get to work finding another bite as I quickly gilled and bled the catch, brained it and got it stuffed deep in a wet burlap that I put in her tank well.

As she was feeling the moves of this halibut while it was still out of sight below us, Tillie had said, "This is so fun!"  and I'd quickly but playfully warned, "don't curse it, Tillie!!"  Once that fish was in the net, the level of fun was rightfully peaking, and as we trolled on, I knew that there was no question that Tillie's day had been made, as she proudly tossed a little water on that burlap behind her now and then.

34 and a half incher!

Another hour passed and other than one more missed bite, things were pretty slow.  I got the group together, confirmed that they were doing really well on their boats even with a few glitches to deal with, and we made the decision to move out toward the reef since the wind seemed to have leveled off at just mildly shitty.  We'd hang the bait over the rocks out near the lighthouse point, and if the current was too much or the wind escalated again, we'd retreat.  My people were all about it, and it wasn't long before we were hooking plenty of lingcod.  Never saw a rockfish, but we released at least half a dozen short lings while working a circuit of hooking fish, blowing toward the Bell Buoy, trolling back up current and repeat.  We ended up with 3 legal models, and everyone ended up catching fish - always an important characteristic in a successful group outing.

It had been a challenging day, and just after noon as the wind escalated again, it was clearly time to at least get back on the inside.  Tillie and Luciano cut across the faces of the wind waves toward the moorings, and Tony knew the plan too.  He had the Fever though, Tony did - I could see him milking it for all it was worth, and nothing reeks of success like seeing the client so excited about continuing what we're doing and what we'd done to make the day great.

We contemplated one more pass over the halibut grounds, but the wind looked to be kicking in for the afternoon, as the forecasts had so clearly indicated.  We'd accomplished a lot in a session that was dense with focus, instruction and some legitimate triumphs.  We headed for the launch, got all the gear packed up, executed the traditional Stringer Display Photos, and I got to do my thing with the lings and the flatties at my Tailgate Fillet Station while we enjoyed more great convo and a cold beer.

As we wrapped things up and my guest family packed away coolers full of freshest fillets, I got a hug from each of them as we completed the trip and they were off on their way.  I was feeling a level of joy and contentment that I hadn't quite anticipated coming in to the day.  Yes, I had been optimistic, and, yes, for sure I know that I have the tools, the skills and the wherewithal to beat the odds and the averages and to help my guests excel in a pastime that is demanding even on a flat day with no wind.  It isn't just getting paid and earning a fat tip that motivates me - far from it, although those aspects of this gig are amazing.  What I really thrive on is the combination of all factors playing out in these situations.  Between the planning, the gearing, the effort, the attitude, the meeting and getting to know, the sharing, the caring and the optimizing, there is something about this vocation that brings out the best in all involved, and it's not ever just about that day on the water.  These trips are little microcosms of life itself, and there's nothing like going on these epic journeys of the heart with others who are open to being guided through it. 

Much Love, and thank you!

Ben and Paul engaged me for a Cove day this week.  Like so many of my guests, the guys have been out with me on a number of occasions - the first being out of Trinidad, years ago.  This time around we'd planned to go out on Wednesday, but Thursday's forecast looked a bit better as we started the week.  So we shifted our date, and that's always a gamble! 

The sometimes funky south winds of late August can throw a wrench in the works, as typical Summertime patterns of easy mornings and increasing afternoon north and NW winds start to give way to a new weather regime with the approaching change in seasons.  There's an old fisherman's saying that relates to this:  "When the wind blows from the south, the fish close their mouth."

I've experienced this phenomenon before, and it's not just about the bite.  Shelter Cove is aptly named, but its protection from the elements is extremely prejudiced toward the prevailing north winds.  When it comes to south wind or swell, the Cove can be directly in the line of fire.  This means that instead of a slick ocean and tiny little ankle-lappers in the harbor and at the launch to start the day, we are faced with not just a cold breeze in your face as you launch, but all that wind fetch over many miles to the south is adding up to sloppy conditions and sometimes even a hazardous sea-state.  It can all result in a discouraging start or even throwing in the towel and cancelling the trip.

Yesterday's ocean wasn't as bad as I've intimated with my opening here, but the south wind was present right from the start, and the offshore waters looked anything but inviting.  My guys though, having fished on their own on Wednesday and having had some new experiences verging on catastrophe on some levels(!), showed up right on time, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  I'd been at the ramp since o-dark-thirty, and setting up the gear while hoping the wind backs off and the ocean chills out isn't my ideal mindset.  My spirits were lifted by the readiness of my guests, and this circumstance is as welcome as it is familiar.  You see, we feed off of each in that way in this business of fishing.  There are no guarantees with the ocean, the weather, the wind, and especially with the fish.  So we do our best to plan, using forecasts and assembling the right gear, and it can be easy to slip up on one of the most important tools in the kit - the half-full outlook.

After getting reacquainted at the ramp first thing in the morning, I was stoked to read in Paul's and Ben's attitudes that they were energized by their current position, which was right in the middle of an ocean adventure trip!  My guests shared with me how the previous day had south wind as well, and even though they'd caught some fish, the catching wasn't as good as they had hoped, and the ocean had brought unexpected challenges.

For me, not knowing that they would fish on Wednesday anyway after we changed our date, my first thought was "we should've just stayed with Wednesday!"  But I was wrong.  The fact that the guys had been out without me the day before was only adding to the hype and expectation for our day.  The south wind and ugly sea surface that we'd launch into had me feeling like I didn't know if I could pull off an epic Day Two for them, but, again, I was wrong.

It's good to be wrong sometimes, and to really feel it while you figure that out.

By about quarter to seven I was finishing my bowl of Cheerios as the guys stood ready at their boats, watching as the last of the tuna fleet launched right before us.  I felt hopeful for sure - it's required in this line of work, but a realization of how challenging it might be to find new success and excitement in the face of the conditions had me already consoling myself about how all trips can't be homeruns or ice cream parties.

"It's good to be wrong sometimes"

We launched onto the slop, and immediately after turning the corner of the end of the breakwater, little wind waves were wetting our bows, and if one stopped paddling he'd go backwards at a good clip.  I sensed no trepidation from my guests, and I was dead-set on not letting them sense any from me.  We headed left toward the shallows where the California halibut bite had been hot three to four weeks previous.  With gear deployed just past the moorings, I offered limited instruction, as my guys know their way through the routines of the tackle and the bait and the sonar and the line counting.  Where I did go, with my morning guide chat, was to reviewing episodes of what has been caught where, and how we'd hope to find our own bite on this unique day.  I would professionally chase the half-full part for as many hours as the wind would allow us to be on the water - I cannot overstate my determination to do so in that moment.  My guys followed along, believing in my ability to guide them, and when the first bites came it was "progress" toward finding some of the success that we hoped for.

The halibut were a no-show, having moved on or having already been caught by someone else!  Paul brought up a legal lingcod though, so we were on the board.  Over the first couple of hours the ocean had stayed shitty, but as we let the wind push us back toward the harbor from a mile or so to the south, things seemed to mellow out just a bit.  I suggested that it was time for us to head for the reef.

With the forecast calling for the south wind to really ramp up by early afternoon, it wasn't a day to head all the way out to the Whistle, so we haunted the lighthouse point and worked against the breeze, aiming for the Bell Buoy but never getting there - because we kept catching fish!

We would go on to build respectable stringers, do another pass through the halibut grounds on the way in, and celebrate a good day at the Tailgate Fillet Station before my guys headed their separate directions, each with coolers full of freshest fillets and smiles to match.

I was left there, alone at the ramp reflecting on the morning's metamorphosis, which was about improvement in the weather and the development of a decent bite, but, way more, it was a testament to positivity in the face of challenge.  It was Paul and Ben who really made it happen.  I'm just the facilitator; a very, very fortunate man.

Thank you, so much.

Al and his son Luis first went out with me a few years ago.  Salmon was open at the time, and my guys went home with their limits to 20 pounds.  Since that first trip, Al brought his friend Frank back for a trip, and then he joined in on another trip of mine last year.  This year Luis would be back in the game.  At 29 years old and fresh off a 3 month stint living in Colombia, Luis is enjoying the life of a young professional, with New York as a home base for a few years now, and able to work online while he sees some of the world. 

It was nice to get reacquainted with Al and to spend more time with Luis.  Throughout the day, as we
fished and I showed things like how to quickly and efficiently bleed rockfish, Luis and I were engaged in conversation ranging across many topics.  I enjoyed hearing how Luis is looking to get into more individualized outdoor activities, like backpacking, and how he sees being in Nature as an opportunity to reset his perspective and to feed his spirit.  While talking with Luis, I was impressed with his confidence, which was always combined with a respectfulness and a conscientious vibe. 

At one point Luis asked that I give closer instruction on how to handle and secure a live rockfish, disconnect its mouth from the base of the pectoral girdle, remove all or most of its gills in one handful, clearing most of the entrails, and bleed the fish - which is basically done by the time those steps are taken.  As with showing how to hook an anchovy to a mooching slip rig, it's often the case that my hands know more than my mouth about such things!  That is to say, it's much easier to execute these skills that I've learned over decades of practice than it is to tell someone succinctly how to place their hands and fingers in and around the mouths and gills of fish and to quickly complete the process of dispatching, bleeding and stowing them away.  All of this is done with a focus on not poking yourself with any of a number of very sharp spines and armoring on the fish, as well as avoiding too much damage to your own soft tissues from holding a live animal by its mouth.  As Luis worked to open up the gill area I told him which fingers need to go where, and over the course of a few fish he gained a much better working understanding of how to use a little leverage with one hand and the proper grip with the other to get the job done.  As he struggled a little with his first or second try, Luis expressed some dismay over the fact that he was prolonging the agony for this live rockfish in his hands.  I offered consolation and tried to downplay the significance of any extra time it was taking to go through this process with the fish, but I could read in Luis's voice as he apologized to the fish, that my words weren't as strong as his feelings in that moment.  He wasn't in despair or looking to change course on his future in fishing at all, but he displayed caring and a thoughtfulness that struck me as being an example of true virtue, an ethic that a very strong and intelligent, able and accomplished young man was allowing to come through, even when no one was there to judge or dictate his actions based on their own lens.

Fishing is full of opportunities to be more conscientious, just as, on the flip side, it's ripe with occasions to disregard what others consider ethical - or even the rules themselves.  Whether it's driving down the highway, waiting in line at the grocery store, or learning the ropes of pursuing and wrangling wild animals for sport and consumption, we're all learning, developing and displaying our own understanding of and choice for the level of ethical and compassionate life we want to live.  I think it's so important to look for the times where your own choices are coming through - seen or unseen, good or bad - and to consider how allowing ourselves to move through this world with more caring and conscientiousness is about the most natural thing there is.

Thanks for attending this sermon!

Got out last Saturday for a late morning couple of laps in the bay.  Right off the bat I missed a bite, as the halibut struck my bait, I stopped and waited, and as I retrieved my line it was there.  It shook its head and spit the hook right under my boat.  Another bite an hour or so later was just as light.  These subtle strikes where the flatties don't commit and just sit there with the bait in their mouth are maddening and at the same time they're so awesome!  It's all part of the challenge, as two missed bites had me schooling myself in mustering the patience to sit there longer.  It's a battle of wills!

I'd turned for home right after the tide change and knew I needed to hit the road to get ready for a family BBQ, but of course I hoped for another bite.  When it came, it was just a knock.  "Bonk" - my bait got hit, but nothing happened afterward.  I did the usual:  reel in the other rod a couple of cranks, grab the bit rod and point it back toward the bite.  And wait.  Wait longer.  Finally thinking there's nothing there, I start to reel in slowly.  Is that weight?  No - now it feels like my bait is gone.  Then, and this is a typical part of Halibut Torture, a big flatty comes into view - BETWEEN me and my tackle that I can now see a few feet below the yak.  This fish had swam toward me IN FRONT of my rig!  I didn't know if it was hooked, and it was just hovering about two feet below the side of my boat, so I reached for the gaff, knowing there wasn't much of a chance at all that it would sit there long enough to capture.  Then it takes off, and my line screams!  It had come in with my bait in its mouth, and its reaction to my pressure on it was to swim in IN FRONT of my tackle.  I can't say enough about how bizarre and beautiful this was! 

Now that I knew it was hooked, I took my time and worked it up.  Being a stout fish, I readied my gaff - memories of being worked over by a big hali last Fall that turned my whole net over and flew away had me committed to plunging the business end of a sharp gaff hook up through its belly.  I had it tired enough that it was doing a little circle pattern from off to my side to slightly under my boat and then emerging right by me, but its belly side wasn't the close shot...  As it came into reach I swung up, and I missed, hitting the halibut in the fin with the gaff.  Oh Shit!  The fish flew off, but my hookset held.  I worked it up again, nervous that its headshakes would dislodge my gear and set it free.  I did my best to maintain my composure and focus, and when it came into reach again, this time with the belly a little more accessible due to some moves with my rod, I swung up and impaled it right through the gut sack.  It was stunned, as is the intent of the belly shot, and I got it lifted, my rod secured under my leg, and reached for the big net, placing it below my hanging prize.  The net would be insurance, but the gaff had thoroughly sent this beauty into a daze.  Stabbed it through the brain several times, strung it up on a secure line, removed the gills and bled it out in the net.  Then came the guttoral roar of triumph!

It's hard to really relate just how fantastic it feels to put in the work, figure out the light bite, fight the fight, overcome the setbacks, and land a really high quality fish like this Humboldt Bay Halibut.  If you think you want some instruction on this, I'd love to show you what I know about how to get it done.  In the meantime, I will look forward to my next 'marketing trip'.   

(still can't post more than one or two photos at a time...)

Reports out of Humboldt Bay have been building, but you can bet there are many more skunks than we hear about...

I had the afternoon, so I hit it up. 

Today I headed out on the bay right before high tide.  I had visions of trolling nice green water up the 3rd Channel to Halibut Paradise...  When I launched I got my first wake up call - the water was brown with a significant chop, and the wind behind that chop was a little more than was forecast.  I opted for the protection of the Middle Channel, and it was a no-brainer, as I've caught many fish there over the years.  I got myself into a familiar trolling lane, put my two offerings out - straight bait (last year's tray bait), and started the process of fantasizing about catching a hali.  😆

There were several boats in the middle channel, and my style of slow-trolling a zig-zag pattern to maximize my coverage on the incoming current meant that I was doing a bit of dodging with the dories and a couple of bigger boats that were basically drifting bait while jigging a second rod per person.  I was also doing my best to avoid the ever-present eel grass, which can be maddening and will require that much more attention to your gear - two rods at once being expert level and potentially delivering a double hookup but much more often just being a challenge.

I was just about to troll under the bridge of the 2nd Channel, and a little dory motored in and landed right in front of me.  I held my hands up, and when they asked what's up I told them I'm trolling two rods right toward them.  They had no idea, and it was a good reminder that many other boaters see kayakers as being like a buoy or something - just floating along...  They were totally cool and went to move, but I maneuvered around them and it was fine.  On the east side of the bridge I saw another kayaker who I wasn't sure if I recognized.  I fished my way up the channel a bit, and when I turned around to head back under the bridge I saw that other kayaker putting his net away.  I was like, "did he just use that?..."  As I got closer to him I saw that, indeed, he'd just landed a nice halibut - the only one I saw landed all day.  Turned out it was Mario, who went out with me Fall before last at Trinidad.  He'd landed his PB on a swimbait, right near the bridge piling - 29".  I was stoked to see him with a fish, and of course I was hoping to find one of my own!

I lingered around the bridge for a bit, as it was just after high tide, and a bunch of other boats were there too - maybe half a dozen or more.  I never saw a net fly, and the tide was pulling me down toward my truck at Eureka.  I trolled and drifted my way back, and I kept two good presentations most of the time - zigzagging my way across the tidal current, covering as much ground as possible. 

By the time I got down to my launch at the old Englund Marine, I thought I might be ready to bail - 3 hours and no bite, and only one fish caught around me.  I had the afternoon, so I turned up the 3rd Channel and went for it.  The tide was only dropping a couple feet from the 12:16 high, and the prevailing NW wind would help me back in any case.  I committed myself to the paddle, and that always feels good.

Up the 3rd Channel and trying to run my two trolled offerings and dodge the eel grass proved to be a challenge, so I was limited to just one rod part of the time.  I constantly tried to maximize my opportunity, in terms of hooking a fish and not losing my bait to a crab or sculpin.
I got under the 3rd Bridge and trolled around some edges up there right before low tide, but eel grass and poor water clarity had me feeling like my chances weren't prime.  I thought about hauling in my lines and paddling for the upper end of the 2nd Channel to head back to my truck at Eureka there, but I ended up flipping a 180 and heading back down the 3rd Channel.  I'd haul a couple of new herring back to Eureka and see what happens...

By the time I crossed under the 3rd Bridge and was steadily trolling my two lines with no bites, all day, I decided it was time for a consolation beer.  I was having a flashback to last summer, when I covered this same ground and drank my celebratory beer early...  I'd do it again, and the least I'd get for it was to drink the beer!

So I trolled along, got into a pretty weed-less section, enjoyed trolling my gear through what now looked like pretty clear, green water, and right before I got back to Eureka, like, last-minute, Hail-Mary kind of shit...  I see my right side rod tip dip, just a bit.  Didn't stop, didn't tug and vibrate, just dips a bit, and holds.  So I gently stop paddling, reel in my left side setup just a couple cranks, and then very gently remove my right side setup from under my leg, and keep the tip pointed back toward the action, and it tugs.  Oh, yes!  Slight tug, and I think, "should I let it munch?...", because it's a halibut, and that's what you often have to do.  It then munches harder, and I am ready to commit.  I lift the rod, set the hook, and it's on!

This fish fought well, but the art of subduing a halibut can have much to do with surprise and being still.  By the time I got this fish in the net, maybe a minute or so after hooking it, I was so ready to execute that operation that it's not even funny.

I let out a gigantic hoot when I had this fish securely in my net, and my disposition has been positively affected throughout my day.  It's amazing what one converted bite can deliver.
Fresh halibut for dinner, and spirit fulfilled.   

Help!  Can someone assist me with getting my current email on my AOTY profile?

It's LoletaEric@yahoo.com

My old Suddenlink email went poof a couple years ago, and I guess I've been signed in or my laptop remembered the pw ever since - until now...

TIA, and watch out, Yaady and Tom McD, I'm looking to knock you two down the rockfish leaderboard with a 21.5" verm.