La Jolla Kayak Fishing: The Homeguard

One of my favorite things about fishing is hearing about all the goofy lingo that people use to describe various facets of the sport, inlcuding but not limited to the fishes themselves, the bait, the weather, the conditions, certain types of people you encounter on the water, and the sensation of getting a bite. Oregon's lingo was no-nonsense, direct, and pragmatic. Alaska's remote disconnectedness, not only between the Alaska and the lower 48 but between different parts of Alaska, led it to be highly variable and often transplanted from different regions that many Alaskan fishermen originally hailed from. Southern California, on the other hand, has an exhausting amount of lingo. Some of the nicknames used for fishes are silly ("Turd Roller," "Ronkie," "Laguna Tuna," "Snot Rocket," "Seabiscuit," "Chucklehead," the list goes on), but others definitely make sense. When I think of a nickname that perfectly encapsulates the energy, excitement, behavior, and mystique associated with a particular fish, I think of the homeguard.

What makes a fish a "homeguard" is the subject of great debate and controversy. The term describes large Yellowtail that, inside of being primarily pelagic fish that reside in the open ocean or migrate heavily between subtropical and temperate waters, live year round or at least for extended periods of time along the California coast. This is not to say that larger fish don't migrate as well, but there's no realistic way for an angler to tell where a large Yellow caught in La Jolla originally came from. They almost feel like a different species when compared to smaller Yellows, both in terms of size and behavior. The Yellowtail Kingfish is an interesting species in that they seem to be highly adaptable and can be found in nearly any habitat, from 50 miles or more off the coast underneath kelp paddies to literally in the surf zone. It seems like smaller Yellowtail prefer warmer water, and are very seasonal in places like La Jolla. It seems like long periods of extended warm water bring in large schools of aggressive smaller fish. However, the bigger ones are a different story. These larger fish are able to withstand the colder water temperatures that send smaller grade Yellows back down south when winter strikes, and are known for preferring shallow, reefy areas with lots of structure and kelp. Cooler temperate waters such as those found off Southern California are more rich in nutrients than warmer waters, but require a higher energetic cost to maintain metabolic function. These larger fish can tolerate the cooler water in order to have access to more food. However, how big of a Yellow is considered a homeguard? That's where the controversy comes in, as the term is thrown around quite a lot and there's quite a bit of "gatekeeping" (never thought I'd use that word unironically) involving what constitutes a homeguard. Below is an example of a homeguard caught by my buddy Tyler, who posts fishing videos as tazoutdoors on YouTube. Check them out.

Some say 30 pounds. Others scoff at that definition and say that 40 is the absolute minimum. Definitely nothing smaller than 25. I honestly think that circumstance and location matter more than an outright number. The monstrous 50-60lb Yellows caught by long-range fishermen at Guadalupe Island and Alijos Rocks aren't commonly called homeguards, but if one of the dedicated pier fishing gang pulls up a 32 within a few hundred yards from land it definitely fits the bill. They seem to eat anything. This produces a fair amount of frustration and heartbreak, as it's pretty common for one to bite something completely unexpected when an angler is targeting smaller fish. After some of the ridiculous rigs that I've heard of and seen them being caught on (small rockfish jigs tipped with squid, shark rigs, every imaginable bass lure, squid strips, sand dab sabikis, etc.), literally nothing would surprise me at this point. I once got spooled by one while fishing a tiny piece of shrimp for small kelp critters using a trout rod. They seem to have a knack for knowing what setup in a given circumstance is too light to land them on, and they're a fish that's nearly impossible to land if you hook them in heavy structure on gear that's too light. I've only caught two Yellows that can properly be considered homeguards. As much as I'd like to say they were caught on completely random, unexpected, and crazy baits like whopper ploppers or texas rigged craws, both were caught on standard mackerel baits. However, the circumstances in which they were hooked and the way they fought on the line certainly exceeded the standard set by the 10-20lb fish I was used to catching.

I always find it interesting that the best bites often come at the most unexpected times, and that "wanting it" extra hard usually does little in actually producing that bite. As I've talked about at length in some previous posts, the months leading up to my first kayak Yellowtail were immensely frustrating and I could not find a bite no matter how hard I tried. Once I caught that first one, the pressure was off. More and more started coming over the rails with far less effort than what was required to bag my first one. After taking most of the winter off from fishing La Jolla due to school and work obligations (even though homeguards and even smaller grade Yellows are available throughout the winter months) I had heard of some whispers of bigger grade fish biting in La Jolla. When I texted a kayak fishing buddy (who usually keeps things on the down low) that I was thinking of giving it a try and he replied "Do it. They're hitting." I figured it was worth going out. I wasn't expecting anything.

I launched through the surf early afternoon, caught a handful of jack mackerel, and started trolling one a decent ways behind my kayak. I was looking at both the surface and my fishfinder for life, but there was little surface activity to speak of and my screen was empty. I headed a little ways south and once I finally saw some nice schools of bait on my screen, I decided to troll straight out from 60 to 120 feet of water and then let the current drift me back in. I was in about 75-80 feet when my clicker started screaming. The strike was unlike anything I had heard from a smaller grade Yellow, and it startled me so much that I forgot to wait the recommended five seconds and immediately put the reel in gear. It didn't matter for this fish though.

Several intense minutes of later (during which I admit to screaming in pain at least once from the rod butt being jammed against my spleen while desperately pulling as hard as I could to keep the fish away of the structure), the fish came into view. The fight was ridiculous. I definitely think few fish in the ocean pull as hard for their size. I can't describe how it felt to first see its luminous silver shape at deep color, then again at the surface, and then finally once gaffed and in the kayak. I was screaming and whooping and manicacally laughing at once. While the Sturgeon I used to fish for in Oregon were far bigger, none matched the intensity and excitement that came with this fish.

The second homeguard I was lucky enough to catch came a few months later. Unlike the last fish which came pretty unexpectedly, in this instance I spent a week dead set on getting a homeguard Yellow. The warm water and 15lbers that others and I were catching a few weeks earlier got replaced by cold water and straight big ones. I went out Monday and through sheer random luck found a squid bed. I had no idea they were around and loaded up the tank, excited at the possibilities. Unfortunately, I found out that bass absolutely love live squid (not sure what else I was expecting, to be honest). Everywhere I tried fishing the squirts, from top to bottom, in any spot I tried, the bass were immediately on it. I got nailed by a couple sand bass on my first few drops at the squid beds, so I moved away from that area only to find bigger and more persistent swarms of bass. It was pretty frustrating, especially considering most of the bass that bit were too small to even eat the squid all the way and I kept getting cleaned out.

The next few days were tough to watch. Tied up by work, I saw numerous large Yellows get posted on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Of course, this means that way more were caught that never found their way on the internet. Most were caught on squid. Most were caught right on the beds I had too quickly moved from on Monday. Word got out that both squid and big fish were around; when my buddy showed me a newspaper article published Wednesday talking about the hot bite, I knew I needed to get out before the weekend. I had work on Friday, but not until the afternoon. With some reluctance, I set my alarm for 4am and loaded up the car. I knew I needed to be back early, but any shot is better than no shot. 4am came quickly, as it usually does. I dragged myself out of bed and launched while it was still dark out. Bait was everywhere; I quickly loaded up the tank with greenbacks, jack mackerel, sardines, and finally some squid. That was about the only thing good about the conditions though; the water had dropped a few degrees more from Monday, now sitting at 66 degrees, and was green and scummy. Even more so, the squid beds were a parking lot of boats and kayaks. After chasing down a bird school in 200ft that quickly sunk down as I was overtaken at the last second by a boat driving right on top of them, I went back to the crowds and sent a few squid down. Nothing. Even the bass from earlier in the week were no longer in the mood, and all I saw get caught was a bat ray. It seemed like I had missed the bite.

After a few hours of this, it was almost time for me to head back and I already begun to accept my skunk. Since I still had lots of jack macks in my tank, I figured I'd at least troll one on the way back in. A buddy had been on the new Seaforth the day before and lost a big yellow in shallow while the boat was scratching away at bass. I was working my way back to the point in 30ft of water when my clicker started to go off in short, sputtering bursts. I initially thought a small bass was messing with the bait. I later realized that the mack was instead TERRIFIED and frantically trying to escape from something, as when I turned the clicker off and let the bait swim back a little further something grabbed it with force, nearly backlashing my reel. I put the reel in gear and the rod nearly got ripped out of my hand. Several intense minutes later, the right kind circled into view. I gaffed it and was elated. Although a few pounds smaller than the first homeguard the circumstances in which I hooked it and the often-rare feeling of a plan perfectly working together made it one of the most memorable so far. I was lucky to have gotten that opportunity when and how I did, as the general consensus from the guys that stayed on the beds that day was that the fish had been keyed in on squirts that week and that the bite had pretty much died. I sometimes reconsider my commitment to the kayak yellowtail hunt when the fishing is tough, as it often feels like a ton of work for little reward, but all it takes is one fish to keep the fire going. Especially when it's a homeguard. Even though as of writing it's been a couple months since my last Yellowtail, just writing about it makes me want to get back out there. I know I'll be back out on the Yellowtail grounds soon. All I need is a buddy to send me a picture of him with one!