Neptune's Revenge

I don't particularly believe in karma, at least not when it applies to fishing. Just look at all of the terrible human beings (or at the very least, ones that are unpleasant to be around for more than a couple hours or less) that are immensely successful fishermen. For instance, some commercial fishermen are notorious for shooting sea lions. While I don't like sea lions and they pose some ecological issues, I don't think it's right to just go around killing them vigilante-style and it certainly isn't our right as fishermen to be the ones doing that. Are the unscrupulous characters that go around doing this punished by mother nature with empty fish boxes, broken lines, and long, fishless trips home? Nope. They're commercial fishermen, and that title alone denotes an individual who is consistently successful at locating and capturing fish. However, the thought of karma is something I do think about when on the water. Getting punished by whatever unseen force that controls the ocean is not something to be trifled with, and I admit to being slightly superstitious when it comes to this stuff. However, on one particular summer day I got what was coming to me.

It was the summer of 2020. I hadn't caught a Yellowtail yet, and I wanted one bad. I was waiting on the beach on a Sunday morning, eager to get out there and finally capture the California coastline's most iconic fish. I emphasize the waiting part. I had agreed to meet a buddy at the launch spot at 7am. He had just gotten his own kayak! A skilled surf fisherman, he had been enticed by the pictures of Calico Bass, Barred Sand Bass, and Sheephead that I would regularly post from well outside of surf casting range and wanted to give kayak fishing a try. However, it was 7:30 already and there was no sign of him. To a normal person, this wouldn't have been an issue. To me, it was extremely frustrating to be ready to go and stuck waiting on the beach while dozens of other Yellowtail hopefuls launched their kayaks and headed out past the boundaries of the marine reserve.

Finally, he arrived. It was then when I realized that he hadn't spent any time figuring out how to assemble his brand new kayak beforehand. By the time everything was figured out, it was around 8:30. At this point, I was frothing at the mouth to finally start fishing. We launched and I raced ahead of him to get past the reserve and start making bait. Eventually, we crossed the boundary to find the the most ridiculous crowd of boats and kayaks that I have seen to date. The Yellows had been biting, and word was out. Not to mention, it was the summer of 2020 and many people were looking for new hobbies in a desperate excuse to get out of the house and out of quarantine. On this day, you couldn't go 25 yards in any direction without running into someone. However, the fish were around. Someone in a Hobie sailboat outrigger pontoon thing gaffed a large Yellow, and another kayak hooked up. I frantically tied on a sabiki and started looking for bait. It was then when my buddy said his first words since we left the beach.

"Kam, I don't feel so good."

I looked back at him. No way was he already seasick on such a calm morning.

"Just give it a few minutes for you to get used to the kayak," I replied while wondering where the mackerel were. "Look at the horizon, it'll help you feel better."

A few more minutes passed. I couldn't find any mackerel.

"Kam, I really don't feel good at all. I think I need to go back."

"Ah damn, well, that's a bummer dude. Maybe we can fish again soon. See you later, I guess."

I started paddling over to another spot in the hopes of finding some bait. Another guy hooked up on a Yellow. As I was paddling towards the action, he spoke up again.

"Can you go back with me? I've never gone back through the surf before and I'm going to want some help loading my kayak on my car."

At this point, I was getting frustrated. I wanted nothing more than to catch my first kayak Yellowtail, and after ending up an hour and a half behind schedule I was being asked to go back already. It was at this very moment where I was at a crossroads, at an inflection point, at what would turn out to be a very fateful decision that would shape the course of the entire day and beyond. I could do the right thing, and go back with my friend. I could help him load his kayak back up, write off the day, and go back another time. Or I could stay out and hopefully catch a Yellow. At the time, it was an easy decision for me. Unfortunately it wasn't the right one.

I made the selfish decision to stay out.

From that point forward, the fish gods rained their fury on me. How dare you abandon your friend, they said as they inflicted one frustrating thing after another. It ended up being one of the worst days I have ever had on the water. I couldn't find any bait. I spent hours looking before I found one ratty, beat up mackerel that was already bleeding from my sabiki. The crowds got worse and worse, and it seemed like every few minutes a boat would race past me and kick an angry wake in my direction. The wind and swell drastically picked up, and the calm morning turned into an angry, raging afternoon. A ripping southward current sent me past Windansea Beach before I even knew what was going on. The Yellows came up right next to me, and I watched guys whoop and holler as large jacks engulfed their baits and sent them on sleigh rides. I saw one guy immediately next to me hook up twice in fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, the fish completely avoided my bait. They wanted nothing to do with me, and eventually sank down, never to be seen again. A small Calico ended up ripping off my only mackerel. At that point, I was over the crowds, lack of bait, bad fishing (for me), and weather, and decided to head back. However, the wind and current were so strong that it was an exhausting, backbreaking task in my paddle kayak. I stubbornly tried trolling lures on my way back, but anytime I'd stop to clean some weeds off my line or unhook a tiny Calico I would immediately drift back through what I had spent the last twenty minutes trying to paddle across. Hours later, exhausted and beaten after paddling as hard as I could to gain ground against the wind and swell, I made it back to the beach. I wanted nothing more than to go home and forget that the day had even happened. The launch spot was a parking lot of cars, jammed together like sardines in a can. I staggered to my car, somehow squeezed it between two others, and went to put my kayak back on.

However, since my friend had made it back to the beach (pretty smoothly, from what he told me), there was nobody to help put my kayak back on the roof. Normally this isn't a problem, but my arms were dead from fighting my way back and I struggled to lift it.

"Do you need any help?" one of the people in the car next to mine asked.

"I'm fine!" I said as the kayak slid off my roof and into their car, leaving a large dent and nearly taking out a window.

"Did I dent your car?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"You totally dented my car."

Fortunately, they were nice about it. I mentioned this episode in a previous post, but thank god for insurance. Just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse, I had damaged someone else's vehicle and made myself look like a 90 pound weakling that couldn't even lift a Scupper Pro (an extremely light kayak) onto my car after refusing help. It was then when I saw a text from my friend, apologizing for not being able to stay out. This made me feel worse than anything. I typed up a lengthy apology to him, which he never replied to. We fished again numerous times since then, but he never went back out in a kayak again. I learned a valuable lesson that day, not only that karma can be "reel," but that catching a fish should never let you lose sight of being a decent person. Kayak fishing can be dangerous, especially to the uninitiated, and abandoning a friend who had never done a surf landing before in the vain attempt to catch a fish available at nearly every sushi restaurant is inexcuscable. The worst part was that the whole experience turned someone off from getting into kayak fishing, even after buying all the equipment and gear necessary and having been very excited to try it. I now know better. Ever since then, whenever I take a beginner out and they decide it's time to go home, I reel up my lines, say "ok," and head back with them. There will always be other days.