Trinidad - 9/18/22

Collin and Amanda got an offshore tour at Trinidad yesterday, and we were literally the only boats on the water.  Salmon and Pacific halibut seasons are over, there's been a recent flurry of long tuna days for the fleet, and rain was in the forecast, so I guess everybody was ready to sleep in on a flat and windless Sunday.  It was amazing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

“It's character building, they say...”
Heard this many times
Grateful always for your reports Eric

True Humboldt experience playing in the rain like that. Teaching people how to act like locals I love it!

Plus that dude will be back next year to cure that chrome fever that's forsure.

Great adventure! WTG Collin and Amanda, thanks for the report, Eric.

I think I could sense just the slightest hint of apprehension on Amanda's face for a few seconds right after we met - standing there in the rain, barely light outside, with no one around us, planning to paddle a kayak offshore with a guy your husband met on the internet.

I think everyone who has a significant other who has connected with anyone here for fishing can relate and laugh about this!

Such a pro with all your true care by having the skill and talent to read your clients personal needs and giving them something bigger than you can offer, if that makes sense.  Thanks for the story and another glimpse of da life you lead…big Aloha

Thank you for the write up and pictures

Thanks for the great short "novel" and pictures Eric.   You should combine all your past reports and publish it 

That Donny Darko meme is great.   Reminds me of when I met Eric the first time at Trinidad, long before he became a guide. .... some guy I met on the internet in a fishing forum.   

Great job at Trinidad, Eric.