The Quest is Over!

Every fisherman has a "cursed" species. A species that, despite their constant efforts and odds continuously being in their favor, they simply cannot catch. It differs from person to person, and can be any species of fish in the world. However, it usually is a fairly abundant and/or seemingly easy to catch species, making its elusiveness all the more frustrating. I know firsthand the harrowing feeling of a cursed species, as I have been fishing all over the world but unable to catch a species that practically lives in my backyard! This species is the mighty Redtail Surfperch.

Although there are thousands of species across the world that I have not caught, the Redtail was one that especially frustrated me. Here was a beautiful, common species of fish that lived within an hour of my house. They live in the surf zone, and I have always loved and been fascinated by surf fishing. They are supposedly extremely easy to catch. Alex, a friend of mine who is unquestionably the worst fisherman ever, once caught one while at Gearhart with his family. I think he was using a bare hook. One guy at a Seaside truck stop once told me that "if you can't catch a perch, you might as well try golfing." Taking his advice, I hit the links at Seaside and scored an 88. On the first two holes. Lastly, I would spend every fourth of July in the Seaside/Cannon Beach area. Surfperch were something I could supposedly fish for, and so was the case this year when my family stayed at a beach cabin for the week. 

After four years of failing to catch the elusive Amphisticus rhodoterus, I pledged to spend the next week relentlessly hitting surf-swept beaches in the pursuit of this fish. I fully knew that I was likely going to ruin mine and everyone else's vacations in the process, but I didn't care. I had saved up for an expensive surf rod, a 14-foot telephone pole that was nearly impossible to carry and even harder to fish with. I bought sinkers of every size and shape, as well as a package of live sand shrimp. I was ready to take on the surfperch.

Trying to talk to ten hyperactive second graders at once is like trying to herd cats made of custard.

Okay, not quite yet. I forgot that I had signed up for a shift with the Haystack Rock Awareness Program. For those who don't know, these guys are dedicated nature enthusiasts who go out in horrible weather to educate tourists about the flora and fauna of Haystack Rock. Most of them are volunteers, myself included, and I joined the organization so I could talk to locals and visitors alike about the biodiversity and ecosystems of Haystack Rock. What I soon learned was that people really don't care about biodiversity and ecosystems and just want to see puffins.

You gotta admit they're pretty stinkin' cute.

You'd be surprised by what questions I've been asked by some of the people who visit that place. After five hours spent patiently explaining to an elderly woman that puffins were not penguins, the shift was over and I decided to do some surf casting right in Cannon Beach. The lack of pictures I have of that trip perfectly describes how it went. Despite having all the "right" tackle, I cast for hours with nothing. The live sand shrimp were too big to use whole, and anyone who's ever ripped sand shrimp in half knows that their bodies are connected by a revolting sack of yellow goop that gets everywhere. Furthermore, it flew off the hook on nearly every cast, and I stormed back to the cabin angry and frustrated at yet another year of being cursed by the surfperch.

Fortunately, there were many other fun 4th of July activities to distract me from the evil surfperch. One of these was clamming. My uncle had a few guns hidden in a shed beneath his cabin, and we set off to Sunset Beach on the bright morning of the 5th. The previous night had brought uncertainty as we discovered that the low tides would be positive, but we headed out anyways because of our $7.00 license fees. Despite the positive tides, I limited out very quickly with razor clams, and had a lot of fun doing it. Unlike most other kinds of clam, razor clams are very fast and harvesting them is more like hunting. After catching my fifteen, I rushed back to try surf fishing again. Once again, I got skunked, but was less disappointed due to my success in clamming.

After heading home and making a very mediocre clam chowder (way too runny), I decided to gather the family together for another clam hunt tomorrow. Although several retched at the idea of pulling slimy creatures out of wet sand, I was able to get my parents, grandparents, and cousin to come with me. It was another fun day of clamming, especially with everyone along (I tend to find myself alone in my piscatorial pursuits) and I even caught a keeper-size crab while trying to surf fish again. But alas, no surfperch.

In addition to clamming, the 4th itself was full of fun, with fireworks and barbeques and everything in between. Other than surfperch, of course. I also went surfing and boogie boarding the next day with my dad and another cousin, which was also fun. Oregon Coast surfers are a different breed from the typical crowd, enduring freezing water and aggressive currents. However, what they get in return are great waves and beautiful scenery.

Before you diss boogieboarding, you should check this link out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Qj3W2afcZU

After surfing, I dug another limit of razors at Seaside, but they were all tiny due to the heavy positive tide. Deciding not to eat them and to use them as bait instead, I put them in the freezer and prepared to go on one last surf fishing trip before we were to leave the coast and head back to Portland. This last-ditch fishing attempt took me to Arcadia Beach, a secluded area with many large rocks amidst the surf. I figured that I could at least see if I could catch another species. Instead of the surf rod, I went with a smaller spinning rod I had brought for the occasion. I made a standard surf rig with two size 4 hooks and a 2oz sinker, and cast out into the surf with clam necks for bait.

And so began yet another surfperch fishing trip. No strikes. I snagged on the one rock in the vicinity, and had to retie while cursing along the way. My bait kept flying off. I knew that this would be another failed trip for these stupid little fish. My tackle box became more and more strewn with hooks and chunks of clam.

At this point, I was wading in the icy cold water farther than my rubber boots would allow, so they were filling up with water and making it impossible to walk. Ditching them in favor of the woolen socks underneath, I continued to fish as wind blew and chilled me to the bone. I was just about to give up in a storm of seething rage when I felt a light sensation on the end of the line. It was an almost imperceptible tap. I dismissed it as waves, and only reeled several minutes later to check on my bait. However, I noticed that my sinker felt unusually heavy. I figured it was because it was a new one and I was unaccustomed to its weight. However, as a wave rushed by, I saw a slight silver glint through the froth. Although it might have been what little sunlight was remaining, I kept reeling until I saw my rig and with it a sight that led me to choke on my own air.

At long last.

 I screamed and whooped at the top of my lungs, earning stares from everyone on the beach. I had nonchalantly landed salmon before and was here screaming like a little girl over a six-inch perch. After all these years, AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, I finally have caught the elusive Redtail Surfperch. Normally I'd make a bad attempt at a funny ending, but I'll instead say that it was an awesome feeling to have finally caught one of these amazing fish. I know it seems strange to be so excited over such a small perch, but the story behind it made the ending all the more gratifying. Now to go out and catch some more.