Spring Break Fishing 2015: The Grind

When most people think of spring break, what comes to mind is drunken teenagers flailing at one another at raves while blasting out electronic dance music that can barely be heard over the incoming police sirens. The closest I've been to participating in a "rave" was the smelt fishing incident a few weeks ago, and the memories from that are ones I would like to permanently suppress. Speaking of suppressing memories, it seems as if most of my spring breaks consist of getting skunked in the cold. One particular memory was from practically getting skunked into the next time zone while salmon fishing in Seattle with some guide whose name I "forgot." First, I'd like to say that getting skunked with a guide is far worse than getting skunked by yourself. With guides, you expect to catch fish, and the fact that no fish ever continuously bite 24/7 skips your mind while you're enduring what turned out to be a cold, expensive boat ride. However, getting skunked by yourself is much easier. Back to the present. I had difficulty pushing these thoughts out of my head as I launched my kayak into the frigid waters of the San Juan Island coastline.

You find yourself scanning the horizon a lot more when you forget your license.

To be honest with you, I'm becoming disillusioned with the whole kayak fishing scene. Initially, the goal was to be able to fish simply and effectively in environments that other boats would be unable to do so in. The goal was to scale down what we thought of as "essentials" and limit ourselves to basic tackle and equipment. That was before kayak fishing became a fad. Now, people are going to new lengths to try and fish the most extreme ways possible from a kayak. You see people trying to catch marlin and other dangerous trophy gamefish from kayaks, you see these high-tech fishing kayaks equipped with sonar, GPS systems, downriggers, and livewells. There are even these obscene kayaks that cost ridiculous amounts of money that can be equipped with motors and sails and all sorts of bells and whistles.

Fish for Greenling much?

To be honest, I feel as if I'm starting to fall for this vicious cycle. For instance, the first time I fished for bottom fish with a kayak was when I was really little. I rented a basic recreational kayak, bought a rod with some simple tackle, and brought a package of frozen herring.

In a second, it will dawn on me that my rudder is stuck in the kelp.

As the years progressed, I began adding tricks to my repertoire. The simple rod and reel broke and froze up respectively, and I began using a wider variety of baits and lures. I also began renting and borrowing increasingly more expensive and aerodynamic kayaks more suited towards fishing.

Notice the motif of the recurring Greenling.

Now, I went a little overboard. A fishing buddy found two Hobie Mirage Outback fishing kayaks for extremely cheap prices, and they came with all the ridiculous gear "necessary" for having an expensive kayak designed especially for fishing. Since it was a sit-on-top pedal kayak, I needed to get a constrictive and itchy top designed for whitewater rafting. And of course, the fishing tackle multiplied. I was one of those kayak fishermen. 

Thankfully the picture doesn't show the soft serve machine.

I like bottom fishing more than almost any other kind of fishing, especially in a setting as unparalleled and protected as the San Juan Islands. The fish are relatively easy to catch; basic knowledge of tides and fishing techniques is all that is required. I brought an assortment of baits and lures, but started off with a homemade jig constructed from a lead sinker and a treble hook. I began jigging the contraption a decent distance from a nearby cliff, and immediately began catching Kelp Greenling.

The females look like this.

The males have the bright blue spots around their heads.

Kelp Greenling (commonly called sea trout despite being unrelated to the salmonids) are among my favorite sport fish. Since they tend to live in shallower water than normal bottomfishing depth, they tend not to account for much of the bottom fish bag limits of charter boats in the area. When hooked, it tends to be on heavier tackle intended for Lingcod (Greenling are highly aggressive and often strike lures larger than their mouths). However, on light tackle or even medium tackle they are extremely strong fighters. They eat nearly anything that they see, and I've found whole crabs, shrimps, smelt, sculpins, smaller Greenling, octopi, squid, and polychaete worms inside the stomachs of "Kelpies." 

This female 'trout took a sand shrimp ripped in half. I honestly hate fishing with sand shrimp and avoid doing so as much as possible.

The bottom fishing situation in the San Juan Islands is a little problematic, which is why I largely target Greenling. There must have been some major overfishing in the past, as rockfish have been closed since I first started fishing here. The Lingcod season is short and restricted by a strict slot limit, Halibut even more so, and Cabezon are practically nonexistent. That leaves Greenling as the one fish I can reliably target. The limit for them is fifteen. FIFTEEN. In case anyone was wondering how fish numbers dropped so drastically to begin with, limits like these might be a start. Okay, I don't know what the people in charge of those rules know, but fifteen seems a little many. I've never kept nearly that many (rarely more than two), but I can definitely imagine people having no qualms about returning home with a bucket of these tasty fish. Once again, there are probably rules for this, but It's not going to be pleasant if I come back here a year later and see a big sign that says "GREENLING: PERMANENTLY CLOSED FOR FISHING. As you might guess, I can see the importance of restoring the fishery here. Although I catch plenty of fish whenever I come here, there's no way that number would be able to sustain a commercial or charter fleet such as the ones that operate out of Westport or Depoe Bay. 

Do not hold fish the way I am holding that one in the picture.

Rockfish are the most troublesome. For instance. Lingcod and Greenling have no swim bladders and can easily swim back to the depths from which they came. However, Rockfish are extremely susceptible to swim bladder abnormalities that occur upon landing. Although I try to fish in relatively shallow water and reel all fish up at a slow pace, occasionally individuals like the one above must be dealt with. Since I have no safe venting or release tools, my strategy is to monitor the fish as it gets released until it swims back to the depths. This usually takes a few minutes, and can sometimes be prompted by sharply tapping the fish between the eyes in order to encourage it to swim away.

This Black Rockfish had no problems making it back to the depths.

The rockfish situation in the San Juan Islands has gotten much better over the years. I have begun seeing more of the Black Sea Bass conglomerate of rockfish species, a sign of a recovering fishery. In many other places, Canary Rockfish, a species long overfished and subsequently closed for retention, have made such a comeback that anglers are now permitted to keep one per day along with the remainder of their rockfish limit. This shows that rockfish can recover with care and proper management, and there's no reason why this can't be the same for other places. I can honestly expect the San Juan Islands area to be open for rockfish sometime in the next few years.

The harder you try, the dumber you look.

Taking a break from the insipid environmental stewardism, let's talk about the Lingcod. Like everything else in Marine Area 7, Lingcod are also strictly regulated. The season occurs for a month and a half through May and June. Seeing as it is March, keeping a Lingcod of any size is essentially out of the question. However, they are extremely fun to fish for nevertheless. The smaller ones fight harder than any bottom fish I've ever seen, voraciously grabbing lures and peeling line from light spinning reels. This is a far cry from the bigger ones, who choose to lethargically inhale seals, sharks, and scuba divers at their choosing. 

Maybe a really little scuba diver.

They also have to be among the coolest looking fish you will ever see.

Lingcod seem to also be the only bottom fish hardcore salmon fishermen look at with any sort of respect. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the Puget Sound Lingcod season coincides with the only time of year where there aren't any salmon to be caught, or maybe it's because you simply can't ignore fish that regularly top 40 pounds. Lingcod meat, according to who you ask, is also sometimes even considered superior to that of salmon.

The straps are supposed to go behind the head.

One advantage of the lack of a serious bottom fishery here is the complete absence of crowds. Over the course of the entire day, not a single other boat, fisherman, or whale watcher was seen. There definitely was a distinct lack of what could be called "raves." We would fish in silence until a fish struck, and then it would be several minutes of excitement as the quiet gave way to the sounds of exertion, grinding reels, splashing, and whoops of success. 

The slightly grumpy woman at the tackle shop that morning had warned us about the game wardens patrolling the waters like hawks searching for a kill, ready to board vessels and distribute tickets for the slightest of offenses. Not the case. The flat protected water of the islands was calm and undisturbed, save the splashing of water against the nearby cliffs and the occasional call of a Common Loon. Stellar Sea Lions would surface feet away from the kayaks and routinely scare the shit out of me (these things are GIANT) like it was some sort of game for them. However, their smaller cousins the seals would prefer to quietly watch from a discreet distance. It was all a show of nature, rudely interrupted by the two loud primates drifting around in ridiculous floating contraptions.

I'm the guy who will pull on a snag for five minutes thinking it's a giant Lingcod while a guy next to me actually catches a giant Lingcod.

"Where's Timmy? He said he'd be out for lunch and we haven't seen him since."
-other Kelp Greenling, probably

The tides soon began to slacken, and the fishing screeched to an abrupt halt. Sure, there were a few more fish here and there, but the action had largely ceased. When bottomfishing is hot, all you need to do is drop your line down, flip the bail over, and set the hook into a fish. When it's not, you get snagged a lot. And that was what happened. In the course of a combined two day's fishing. I lost eight Buzz Bombs, all of my homemade lures, a leadhead jig with a motor oil scampi tail, and more bait rigs than I can count. Oh, and my wallet.

Either I left it in my tackle box, or ol' Mr. Greenling's sneakier than I thought.

In case anyone thought that kayak fishing would look cool.

Eventually, the fishing just spiraled downward into nothing. I had lost nearly all my lures, I was cold, tired, and hungry, and realized that I would still have to haul the kayaks all the way up the long trail leading to the road. To further drive home my point that I should leave, the ocean presented me with a six inch Gopher Rockfish hooked in the stomach. I reeled my lines in and set out to go home.

Just because I reeled in my line to go home didn't mean nothing was attached to it.

In conclusion, it had been a great day. It seems as if every year I figure out more and more about the fishery and catch more and more fish. Heck, this could even be because the stocks are improving and have nothing to do with my meager fishing ability. We could see rockfish being opened again, Lingcod having less restrictive seasons, and even Cabezon returning on the ends of people's lines. No telling what the future brings for this tiny island and those surrounding it.

Tight(er) lines,

Kamran Walsh

Ruin one cooler and you never live to forget it.