Shelter Cove - 7/30/23

This past Sunday I had a great trip with regular clients Greg and Kerry, and they'd enlisted their good friend Steve for this summer's Shelter Cove kayak fishing adventure.  The forecast a week out looked great, but what's been happening lately, for the most part and by my account, is that the wind is persisting beyond the usual and predicted durations.  By the time our day was approaching, the NWS forecast had escalated and was saying 15 to 25 knots with gusts to 35 knots!  I wasn't pleased, but my guests were already booked up in their VRBO situation, and...  it's the Cove.

Driving up Paradise Ridge just before dawn, the fir boughs in the road were numerous, and as I crested the peak and started down into Bear Creek the fog was moving across the landscape like heavy cross-traffic, as the wind made its presence known.  The trees were still moving almost all the way down to the General Store, but as I passed the Fire Department and descended to the launch the more typical mild breezes of first light welcomed me.  There was no swell to speak of, but a corduroy surface offshore confirmed that there'd be some slop to deal with if we wanted to fish out at the red can.

I parked in my usual spot up against the breakwater and started in on unloading and assembling the kayaks and all the gear for the four of us as the light of dawn was beginning to illuminate the shoreline around me.  Having the launch to myself in the dark as I put together the tools and toys that enable the day's adventure is a special time and a big part of my tradition.  As I unstrap and set the boats in the sand and proceed to retrieve seats, paddles, burlap sacks, fishfinders and batteries, rods and nets from the cab, each corresponding to kayaks that I've customized for the individual needs of my guests, I have a parallel line of thought running along with the rote inventorying of the gathering and assembly going on.  My mind is on the weather too, of course, but the stronger stream of consciousness that is present along with the motions of outfitting the gear has more to do with my spirit than anything else.  I am thankful for my time alone at the launch in the twilight, and I have a deliberate focus on more than just making the physical pieces work efficiently in order to get my people on the water and catching fish safely and successfully for the day.  I have duties as a guide to do my best to achieve the basic goals of the trip, but overlaid on all of it is an obligation as a human being, to dedicate myself to engagement on a level that will, if successful, transport my clients and I from the waters off of Shelter Cove on a breezy, choppy morning when the bite's been tough, to another place where, feeding on one another's good nature and soulfulness, the ultimate results of our angling will not determine the outcome of our enterprise for the day.  It's a long-winded way of saying I get psyched up, and the importance of that process, that runs simultaneously with my gear assembly for about 30 minutes as dawn lights the scene around me, is deserving of the extra words.

My guests arrive right on time at six A.M. sharp.  Greetings with my regulars and introductions to Steve and his wife Christine are as warm as they are brief, and soon I've assigned kayaks, distributed immersion gear, filled out my guide sheet and confirmed our overall readiness.  Time to down a bowl of Cheerios with 100 freshly picked wild blackberries on top, make a quick visit to my office up the hill, park the truck and embark on our mission.

Since the hot but very much unwanted late July salmon bite was no doubt still occurring, my fishing focus was on avoiding what are at any other time the ultimate target of my guide service.  What an alien feeling of disappointment it is to have to evade and shun the thrill of pursuing my spirit fish, but, clearly, the guide obligations I mentioned earlier include nothing as critical as trying to prevent harm to the salmon that we could and probably would encounter during our day on the water.  I employed strategies with the tackle as well directing where and how we presented our offerings, and we were able to stay away from the silver fish, for the most part...  We did briefly hook one coho and one 10 to 12 pound king, and the rockfish were pretty cooperative, considering how slow the bite's been.  We were able to land about 15 rockfish, a few undersized lingcod, and the new guy, Steve, came through with excellent beginner mojo and landed his limit of nice eater sized lings.  The breeze was present but not harsh, and we never ventured out further than the lighthouse point, so we were able to elude the nasty slop and chop that was coming in from the 20 to 30 knot winds a few miles offshore.

By early afternoon we were coming due to wrap it up, as most of the powerboats already had, and the brown "salmon water" with bait popping the surface seemed to have shrunken down to only a small area right at the launch.  I had the group make one pass inshore, looking for a halibut, and very soon the only fish we'd hook on that final pass was a beautiful Chinook.  It was on my line, and I horsed it, hoping it would pop free from my hooks or I could get it to leader quickly and apply the pliers to a hook in its lip.  I wouldn't be so fortunate.  One of my hooks was in its throat, and after trying my best to dislodge it, I made the call to cut the line.  The fish wasn't bleeding, but it must be tough to swallow anchovies with a hook in the way.  This episode marked the end of our fishing day, as I announced that we really should just pull the gear and head in.  It was clear that our best chances of hooking up were the forbidden trophies in the water around us.  At this moment, I thought of my dad and all that he taught me about the salmon.  He also taught me about how living with priorities for doing what's right is the ultimate goal for a person, and that that gift of moral clarity isn't just something that people achieve without trying. 

In that moment, where my choices and the very guidance that I was providing would terminate our fishing activities for the day, my most important commitment was to myself.  Hours earlier, in the dark, hustling gear onto the wet sand of the ramp, with my mind focused on the next pieces that my hands would manipulate as I convened the inventory of the kayaking and fishing apparatus that my group would employ, that parallel train of thought was about who I want to be.

I spend lots of time with the salmon - as much as I can, basically.  I believe that these iconic fish represent a hope and a way for our own species to emulate a life of balance and purpose.  I am interested in finding a way for human beings to reconnect to our animal nature and to find our place again, among the others. 

I would like to encourage all of the anglers to do whatever you have to to avoid the salmon this year, and I would also hearten all of you to do whatever you have to to seek out the salmon in your life.  While you're assembling your kit in the dark of the launch ramp, let the background of your mind play a trailer for the movie of your personal story of purpose and honor.  In the end, no matter what is caught, harvested, eaten or exhibited, the voice of your heart should be the guide for your soul.

...

Thanks for another great report and pictures Eric.

Thank you Eric for sharing.

I'm not sure that I've EVER seen a Pinto ab outside of ID charts.
What a cool find!

Eric, I met and had a great chat with your friend Tim down here in Santa Cruz last weekend. One f those low key OG's...

Bushy

I miss the cove. I need to find a time/day to get back this year! Even without the salmon, that place is amazing.

Thanks for the post.

Eric, I met and had a great chat with your friend Tim down here in Santa Cruz last weekend. One f those low key OG's...

Bushy

So low key I'm not sure who you're referring to, Bouche'!   

Thanks for the replies, fellas.