Pacific City Kayak Fishing

My thirst for stupidity and my need to explore more dangerous and idiotic ways of fueling my obsession took me to Pacific City last Tuesday. Known as being a destination for surfers and tourists, it's also home to a group of suicidal fishermen who launch rickety wooden boats called dories into the frothing surf for a living. Being a member of an equally suicidal group of fisherman who launch even smaller boats into the roaring waves, I decided that the place looked like a great bet for bottomfish. Fellow kayak fishermen from all over the state fish here, as the area is slightly protected from the wrath of the greater Oregon Coast. However, this is little comfort when you find yourself having to paddle through the fury of Neptune every time you want to do some fishing. The waves seem like a virtual pinball machine, complete with a crowd of onlookers who encouragingly laugh every time I get swept from my plastic vessel. Once I had fought my way past the surfers and relentless waves, I found the ocean to be pleasantly calm. Haystack Rock was a short distance away, and it would be there that I would do most of my fishing. This was very convenient for me, as I didn't have to rely on my unpredictable fish finder. Haystack Rock was a beacon of hope for a fisherman as lost as I was, and it stood proud and tall as I slowly made my way towards it. What I couldn't tell from far away was that Haystack Rock is also a giant seabird colony, complete with the noises and smells of one.

What the picture doesn't reveal are the thousands of dive-bombing seagulls. 

The current wasn't very strong, so I was able to ready my tackle and stay in one place at the same time. I started off with a pre-tied squid rig and a homemade metal jig. As per usual, I was trying to catch a Cabezon, and I was told that this was an effective rig to catch them with. I dropped the mess down to the bottom and began jigging up and down. About 100 yards away from me, another kayak fisherman with whom I had talked to earlier hooked into a fish. I grunted something to myself and continued jigging. Soon after he landed his fish (a rockfish), my rod jerked over and I was into something. It didn't feel that big, but I was determined to land it.

Eventually, a nice Black Rockfish broke the surface. I had forgotten my gaff in the car, and briefly considered paddling back with the fish on the line to get it. However, I settled for hoisting the fish in by the leader. I ignored the doubts I had about even buying a gaff in the first place as I unhooked the fish and threw it in my milk crate before deploying my rig once again. Immediately, I got bit again.

Two of these things on the same line feel a lot like how a Cabezon should feel. 

Black Rockfish are extremely aggressive and abundant off the Oregon Coast, and finding a school of them means getting your rig slammed on every drift. Since they rarely suffer from barotrauma, these fish can be easily released if needed. Although I caught more than enough fish to limit out, I threw most of them back and instead focused on trying different areas around the rock. There were fish just about everywhere, and most of them hit the rubber squids. There must have been tons of squid in the water, as half of the fish I pulled would puke them everywhere.

The face of no regrets. 

Since I had a short window of fishing time before the surf was supposed to take a turn for the worst, I focused my time on catching numbers of fish rather than trying to hook a trophy Lingcod. I did get one big bite that sent me into the rocks and broke me off, and I'm still praying that it was a Lingcod or a big Rockfish or something and not a Cabezon. Anything but a Cabezon.

Me with a double of  Black Rockfish that didn't manage to escape. The white stuff on the rocks isn't frosting.

I also caught a couple Lingcod that were on that annoying threshold between legal and $500 fine. These things have to be 22 inches to keep in Oregon, and although I didn't need the meat, fishermen here tend to see the release of a keeper ling as a sacrilegious act. I couldn't be 100% sure, so I released all of the smaller Lingcod to be on the safe side. Hopefully they'll grow big and strong on their diet of squid, rockfish, and scuba divers.

The bluish coloration some Lingcod have is apparently normal. 

The wind soon picked up and pushed me and the two guys I was fishing with off of the reef. Or at least that's what I assumed, because we promptly caught a nice flounder. Although flounder can sometimes be caught off of rocky bottoms, they generally prefer sand or mud. I've always wanted to give flounder fishing a serious effort, but there isn't very much information on it because of its relative lack of popularity. In addition, flounder fishing means deliberately avoiding the places where rockfish and lingcod are caught, and that's not something I'm prepared to do anytime soon.

Although flounder are good to eat, they can become soft and mushy if not immediately iced. Since bringing an icebox on a kayak wasn't exactly feasible, I slipped the flatfish back and prepared to call it a day. At that point, the waves were starting to get rough and the other two guys had headed back. I could have toughed it out, but the fish had stopped biting and I grudgingly headed back. The surf was a little rougher than on the way out, but there were only a few minor hiccups (one of which involved frantically searching for a whale I could have sworn I saw while not paying attention to the waves), I soon found myself on dry land once again, where I realized that I had gone through yet another bottomfishing trip without catching a Cabezon. I groaned with the knowledge that I will likely never catch one of these disgusting creatures, and wished that I had toughed it out a little longer. Or maybe I should just take up knitting.

If you look closely, you can see the Cabezon out there laughing at me.

Maybe next time,

Kamran Walsh