Saltwater Float Tubing

Freshman year at UC San Diego was an interesting time, as it is for many people. Wanting to explore beyond the reaches of my casting distance from shore, I brought a cheap, used Caddis Nevada float tube to explore San Diego Bay and Mission Bay. Still living in one of those freshman dorms where they cram fifteen guys into a small space, I needed something portable and small. I have yet to hear of another place where saltwater float tubing is a thing, but the calm waters, mellow temperature, and relatively minimal current in San Diego's bays make it ideal for the portable and inexpensive fishing method. Aside from a couple early explorations in Mt. Hood lakes back in Oregon, I hadn't gotten much use out of the strange looking contraption until moving down south.

Float tubes are not ideal watercraft for saltwater fishing. They're slow, hard to move around in, and can pop at any moment. San Diego's "minimal current" can still sweep an unsuspecting float tuber out to sea if they're in the wrong place at the wrong time. I settled for mostly probing the bay's harbors, as they are surrounded by land and protected from the riverine outgoing tide of San Diego's main channel. Spotted Bay Bass were the main target, with the float tube perfectly designed to thoroughly fish every crack and crevice in the endless maze of meandering, craggy pilings and docks. Every Saturday, I would get up at 6am, figure out how to get from campus to the bay without a car, fish until noon, then head back.

I tried to get a little ambitious with the float tubing on a number of occasions, with nearly disastrous consequences. Looking for a monster Halibut, I spent hours poring over depth charts of the bays to try and locate deep channel ledges known to harbor the flatfish. The next day, I let the inflatable drift on a particularly windy day into deep water in the main channel of the bay. It was a nice ride out, until I realized how strong the current was and that it was approaching evening powerboat rush hour. Frantically kicking against the wind and tide while large, propeller-armed boats speedily weaved around me on their routes back into the harbor ended in no fish and angry knots all over my legs. I didn't figure out where the deep ledge was.

I also heard that night fishing was the best time to get monster Spotties (disclaimer: we're talking about 2-3lb fish), so I put in a few tries late at night. One try resulted in a huge Mission Bay Spottie and several good-sized smaller ones. Another try resulted me getting cussed out by a Spanish Landing harbor resident who thought I was trying to steal from his boat's "treasures." Some members of the SDFish forum warned me not to try fishing around a row of docks due to the scourge of who they referred to as the "sea hag." They were right, except the sea hag was a 6.5", heavily tattooed male with wraparound sunglasses and an eighteen inch neck. Other tries consisted of getting skunked or scratching out a few in the cold. All resulted in me ending up soaking wet in the middle of the night in some bayfront area clutching my tube and wondering how I was going to get home. Public transport was a readily available option. San Diego MTS: M = I'll T = arrive S = tomorrow.

Many of my ambitious schemes to explore San Diego's vast bays aboard a glorified rubber ducky ended with unexpected outcomes. Most were not the good kind. However, on one fateful day I overslept the alarm I had set to capitalize on the morning bite. I was annoyed, as you always wonder how the trips you slept through would have gone. However, since I had the afternoon free, I made the last minute decision to fish the last few hours before dark instead. I wasn't expecting much, but I figured I would at least see a nice sunset. Oregon's sunsets are usually obscured by gloomy clouds.

I arrived to the harbor, inflated my tube, and tied on a Texas-rigged Zman Curly Tail grub. Zman's Elastech baits are more economical than standard Plastisol due to their superior durability. Spotted Bay Bass have raspy mouths for their small size, easily shredding more fragile largemouth bass softbaits in a matter of a few fish (or less). Zman baits are a lot tougher than standard baits, and need to be changed and replaced far less often. However, this usually means that I snag or break them off before they're worn out by fish. I kicked out from the breakwall and started meandering around the harbor. I picked up a few small bass in quick succession before heading towards deeper water.

When float tubing, an effective method is to simply troll whatever you're using behind the tube while slowly kicking along. I was doing this while checking my phone when I felt a subtle 'bump' on the end of my line. I was holding the phone with one hand and the rod with the other, so I wasn't able to swing and reel to drive the hook into the tough Bass' mouth. Instead, my only option was to kick in the opposite direction as fast as I could while frantically stuffing my digital distraction device back into my pocket. The fish briefly let go, but since the bait didn't zip out of its mouth with the speed of a missed hookset, it gave another go. No longer encumbered by technology, I reeled tight to the fish. As I reeled, it began to feel heavier and heavier until it was directly below me and I realized I was hooked into no bass. I backed off my drag as it went on a blistering run.

After a few strong runs, a brown mass slowly loomed up from the murk. A respectable Halibut, large for the harbor, had my bait sucked past its toothy jaws as it lay ominously. Despite looking sluggish and docile, Halibut are powerful fish known for uncorcking sudden bursts of line-snapping speed. They also freak out when you try to remove them from the water in any way, a bad situation for my ultralight spinning rod with 20lb leader to be in. Gaffs and large nets are both ideal for landing them. I had neither a gaff nor a net. I tried to grab its tail and it rocketed back down to the bottom as line screamed from the reel. I slowly worked it back up to the surface and tried again. Back down it went. This repeated three or four more times until I realized that the leader extending beyond its rows of sharp teeth was badly frayed.

The first legal Halibut I hooked from the tube got away; I tried to end the battle too soon and it snapped the line on one of those explosive dives back to the bottom. With this significantly larger fish, I had been trying to take my time. However, wispy strands of frayed line were curling up the leader that surely wouldn't hold for long. Throwing caution to the wind, I did what nobody should ever do and grabbed the halibut by the lower jaw. It bit down, giving me time to haul it into my lap and restrain it with my other hand. Halibut are not bass, and I've heard urban legends of unsuspecting anglers having the tips of their fingers removed while trying to unhook large models. Fortunately, this fish was fairly tired out after evading all the failed tail-grabs. All it really did was keep its jaws locked, forgoing the classic Halibut freakout. This was enough to leave neat rows of bleeding puncture wounds all over my hands, but I kept all my fingers.

I paddled back to the rock wall lining the harbor, carefully clutching the flatfish. A battle with a Halibut isn't over until it's on dry land, especially in personal watercraft that sit low to the water. I've heard horror stories of prize Halibut biting through stringers, catapulting out of coolers, and even unclipping game clips. At nearly 28", it was my largest California Halibut to date. Alaska anglers love to scoff at the measly California 'Butts, which admittedly look like baitfish when compared to the behemoths of the far north. I did too at one point. However, California Halibut are an extremely exciting game fish in their own right. What they lack in size, they make up for in elusiveness, pound-for-pound fight, and their affinity for lures fished on inappropriately light tackle. I climbed back up the rocks with the fish, and immediately realized I didn't know how I was going to take this home. The last time I had tried bringing my catch onto public transporation, it did not go well. Instead, I called my friend Steven, who came to the rescue by stopping by the harbor on the way back from work. He drove me and the Halibut back, and in exchange I lent him my float tube to try the next day. He managed a Halibut of his own the next day, as well as some big bass.

Saltwater float tubing isn't particularly safe, or efficient, or practical, or versatile. However, it is a cost-effective, portable tool ideal for fishing calm areas such as San Diego's network of bays, harbors, and lagoons. I have yet to find a more effective vessel for poking around dock pilings for Spotties, and larger fish such as Halibut, Rays, and even Sharks have been successfully landed from them. They're great for keeping fishing simple, and offer unexpected surprises in unexpected places. Although my Caddis Nevada eventually sprung a leak and was retired, I still fondly look back at the days of bobbing around in the inflatable rubber tube. Although I love the increased motility and broader applications of kayak fishing, the adventures experienced through my hours kicking around the bay were definitely unique. Maybe I'll return to tubing in the future, but if I do I'll definitely be bringing a large net.