Shelter Cove - 6/26/20

Robert hired me up for a Shelter Cove run yesterday - it was our fourth trip together in as many years. Robert is a healthcare professional working at the VA in San Francisco, and he'd been needing some Cove.

The forecast looked good earlier in the week, but, like many other recent forecasts, the spring winds changed things up and have dominated the nearshore environment, bringing some havoc to those of us who plan trips on the water. The Small Craft Advisory would last until noon. Luckily, Robert knows how that goes - he's experienced in adverse conditions, and seasickness isn't a concern. He's also on a 17' hotrod of a kayak that can flat out perform.

We met up at 530AM and got the gear ready as several other yakkers showed up and the powerboats were getting on the water early to avoid a mid morning minus tide that can make the launch much more challenging. Soon we were on the water and making our way into thick fog that always makes me happy to be a guide! I'd checked in with some friends about the recent bite, and my guest and I had a plan about where to go and what to try in hopes of capturing our main target - the King Salmon.

After an hour or more of riding a rodeo of "jackass seas" and feeding bait to the lingcod, the fog lifted a bit and the sea state mellowed enough to help with a better presentation and to provide more of a relaxing setting for this vital therapy session on the water. Not many salmon were showing up on the VHF, and we could now see the fleet of about 10 boats and several kayaks working the same general area around us near the Bell Buoy. I'd had a hot runner on early for about 10 seconds before it turned and cut my leader - thresher shark for sure. They've been around, and while the fight is amazing, we weren't looking for anything but chrome.

Here it comes... Boom! Robert was on. His rod was pumping, and the fish moved out from under him and across the surface - this was a salmon, and we were stoked! He played it really nicely - letting it run, letting it tire, keeping the pressure on, and easing it back toward his yak where I was holding on to his bow and waiting to get the net in play. After seeing my net and doing a few of the typical runs that a salmon will do, we got it in the bag and celebrated this catch that, all by itself, would make our day. I got Robert on a new bait and bled and stowed the fish, and very quickly he was on another one! I thought the bite was blowing up because we'd seen a net fly a few minutes before his first hookup, but that would prove to be an illusion - the bite never did heat up, and that's how salmon fishing can go. You may get one chance - two might be considered 'hot'! You've got to capitalize on those chances and maximize every detail that can aid in your efforts toward successfully retaining one of these amazing animals.

Robert again played the Chinook really well - gently coaxing it back toward us only to have it run again, and for a while it just hovered 10' below us, teasing us as Robert's entire upper body was engaged in keeping it hooked and I was eagerly awaiting my chance to net it. It came within my reach twice, but a tail-first stab at it was doomed for sure and lucky I didn't catch one of the hooks; the second time I touched its flank with the net and it blew up, speeding away from us and peeling 50 feet of line off like it was nothing. A singing drag and ready arms and shoulders along with intent eyes and a flared nostrils can make a kayak salmon fisherman seem more like a Mauri Warrior doing a battle dance, and that's another reason why we go. We are more alive in this moment than at almost any other time.

The fish came up again and now it was tired and starting to turn sideways, and the ocean was still tossing us around due to the sloppy conditions, and... my third reach with the net touched the fish again but I couldn't get under it. I was too far out, and I couldn't get closer to that 17' boat in the swells and in the flurry of excitement... and it was gone. It blew up with newfound, life-preserving energy, spit the hooks, splashed us and was gone. It was gone.

We were damn glad to have gotten the first one, and, first-world problems acknowledged, we felt fortunate to have fought and lost versus never hooking up, but we were devastated. It hurts to lose one when they're so close. A couple of powerboats had been spectating from nearby, hoping for their own chance to come, and I could feel the sympathy and commiseration in the air, enveloping us like the morning's fog.

I had failed to seal the deal, and even though I know that this sport includes such heartbreaking moments, it stuck with me - it's sticking with me. I will use this experience to hone my skills and up my game, and it won't be anything new at all - I do this every time! You see, the thing about salmon fishing is it's not just a pastime or a hobby; it's not a task or something that can be represented in a flow-chart. It's an obsession. If you almost catch one, you'll be so intent on going back to get it done that you may not be able to concentrate on other things in life. If you do catch one, you're hooked and must have another, as soon as possible! And if you don't catch one, or others around you do while you don't, you will either give it up and write it off as a silly and futile pursuit, or you will be even more obsessed. It's OK to go there - it's called challenge, and life isn't as good without it.

The rationale for losing this fish began to multiply in my brain, culminating in "If you would've caught that one and had your limit, we would've been done too early!" I didn't believe it, and I wasn't happy about it. I will get over it. I will be better for it. I am in need of such humbling.

We went on to have a great time and got our 8 hours in on the water. We caught about two dozen lingcod including a 14 pounder that Robert again played expertly before I got to net it. Capturing a stout lingcod - something we're very thankful for and we enjoyed - is nothing like pursuing a salmon, and that's why I know that Robert and I will be out there together again. He loves the sport and has found success with me when others around us maybe haven't, and he's living in the midst of a hectic time in a high profile and dangerous profession. He knows where to go when he's in need of a respite, and I'm honored to be here for him whenever I'm called on.

We finished up at the tailgate, filleting his 16 pound king and 14 pound ling and a few other fish that we'd retained. With somewhat subdued smiles of satisfaction lurking just behind our cold beers, we had to drag ourselves away from a place that had provided what was needed. Robert would catch a nap along the road and head back to his busy life in the trenches of reality in the City, and I would go north on 101 to take care of my own domestic and familial duties, awaiting and preparing for the next chance to get my guests - my friends - on a chance to feel more alive, because it's a way that we can do better. We all need that.

Thank you, Robert, for helping me live right. We will fish again soon.

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Hotels and inns at the Cove are taking non-locals, and I have moved forward with that as well.  Let's go.

 

Great write up, as always.  Good to chat OTW that day.   

Love to read your reports, they give me inspiration to write about my own in a similar manner

I love the way you think about fishing, Keep on doing what you do Eric!

Badass.   

Always enjoy your reports, Eric. That Profisha is a nice looking kayak.