Pacific Northwest Saltwater Fish: A Spooled Fish Profile

I have lots of opinions on lots of things. I also have the internet, a medium that allows me to express my unwanted opinions to the exhaustion and misery of anyone unfortunate to stumble across my musings. In this installment, I discuss the numerous saltwater fishes of the Pacific Northwest. As anyone who has ever fished this area knows, there are a wide assortment of interesting, tasty, and prized sportfish that reside in the chilly waters of the Oregon and Washington coastline. There are even more that are ugly, unappetizing, and loathed among many. We'll start with the former.

Salmon:

Salmon are the undisputed kings of Pacific Northwest waters, despite being not unusually large and nowhere near the top of the food chain. However, there is something about salmon that makes them so irresistible. My early salmon days consisted of being skunked into alternate dimensions where I still couldn't catch any fish, and I never thought too highly of them. I didn't get the appeal of a fish that was so difficult to catch. However, I began to appreciate these fish more and more as I began catching them in the rivers and oceans of Oregon and Washington. Then Alaska happened. I came back from my week long trip with a renewed vigor to catch salmon. 

Cape Kiwanda salmon!

These fish have fanatical followings everywhere. Any place that has salmon of any shape or form practically worships them, and for good reason. They fight hard, are beautiful to look at, are good to eat (despite the hundreds of annoying bones that are impossible to remove), and are elusive but still catchable. I also think that the main appeal behind salmon lies in their Odysseus-esque journey. After emerging from their natal streams as smolts, they spend several years undergoing a gauntlet of dangers and hazards in the hopes of returning to where they were born. Every year, a small number of adults survive and make it back to their rivers, where there is usually a huge dam waiting to kill all of them. Thanks, PGE. 

Rockfish:

Everyone who has ever been to an aquarium anywhere in the Pacific Northwest is familiar with the hordes of colorful rockfish that sluggishly patrol their tanks. Although salmon are undisputedly the most iconic fish in the northwest, I've always thought that rockfish come in a close second. Not only are they colorful and largely endemic to the area, but they are extremely popular sport fishing targets and delicious to eat. Like just about every other fish in a similar situation, they became extremely overfished and are now severely restricted in many places. In the greater Puget Sound area, for instance, they are completely closed to all retention. They also don't fare very well to catch-and-release due to their swim bladders generally inflating like greasy balloons and shoving internal organs out of their mouths. Since rockfish are often incidentally caught by salmon fishermen, the WDFW has implemented all sorts of crazy release devices that look like props from an industrial horror movie. 

Lingcod:

A younger me with two large Lingcod.

Lingcod are the kings of the Pacific Northwest's rocky reefs, and are related to neither Lings nor Cod. The name probably arose from their appearance resembling a cross between a Ling, a Cod, and a demon. Although the smaller ones are attractive fish with handsome mottled markings and even vivid blue colorations, the larger ones are terrifying monsters who, when brought up alongside a kayak, can cause mayhem and even squealing noises. They also tend to spit up an assortment of partially-digested creatures whenever they're hauled aboard, such as squid, octopus, and their own offspring, into your lap. And yes, they bite. The two largest Lingcod I have ever caught were hooked at the same time on a two hook rig designed for rockfish. In order to not lose either of the fish, they had to both be gaffed at the same time with incredible precision. As you might imagine, it wasn't an ideal situation for the two deckhands to deal with, especially since there was only one gaff. The fact that one of the deckands couldn't see out of his right eye didn't help. 

The same individual with another large Lingcod. 

Ever since I gave up charter fishing and opted to head out on my own in a kayak, I haven't had much luck catching any more big Lingcod. I've been much too busy dealing with surf launches, dry suits that itch everywhere, and kamikaze dory fishermen to worry about trying to catch a big Lingcod. By the time I finally make it out to the bottomfishing grounds, I'm usually satisfied with catching a couple rockfish or average size keeper lingers and limping back to shore. However, I'd like to try catching trophy Lingcod from my kayak one of these days. Despite the teeth and the octopus vomit, these fish are still one of the best tasting of any Pacific Northwest bottomfish and are also impressive to show off to people. There's only one bottomfish that tops the Lingcod when it comes to size and prestige.

Halibut:

Strangely enough, the Halibut in the picture above was caught while salmon trolling.

The mighty Halibut. Not only are these impressive fish delicious to eat and hard fighters on any sort of tackle, but the sizes these fish reach are best described as "ridiculous." The twenty pounder in the photo above is a mere infant. These fish also have the important distinction of being responsible for more deaths than in any other fish-related incident in the Northwest. Their size and strength is responsible for breaking the bones and spirits of the numerous idiots who have pulled these innocuous-looking fish into their ill-equipped vessels. I would probably be among these idiots if it weren't for my general disinterest in catching Oregon and Washington halibut. Unlike in Alaska, halibut in Oregon are so ridiculously regulated that figuring out when and how it's legal to go halibut fishing is probably harder than catching one. 

This is what we have to deal with, folks. You can't just go out and catch a Halibut anymore, unless you're lucky enough to find a day that lines up with your available schedule and also has calm enough ocean conditions to go out. As a person perpetually frustrated by the difficulty of having to line those two major variables up, having only eight possible days to get out on the water is a major inconvenience. I understand that these regulations are set in to properly manage dwindling Halibut stocks, but I can't imagine anyone finding it to be worth it anymore.  If only there was a smaller relative of the Halibut that was less regulated, more abundant, and easier to catch. Oh, wait.

Flounder:

An Arrowtooth Flounder, unquestionably the lowest fish species on the planet. 

I've always been fascinated and attracted by flounder. Their appearance is like no other fish, with their flattened bodies that undulate hypnotically over the seafloor whenever they swim. I'm always trying to find places where I can target flounder, as they aren't frequently fished for in the Pacific Northwest and are usually considered a bycatch. It's rarely a problem, as most flounder and sole are delicious to eat and prized across the world for their flaky white flesh. With the exception of the Arrowtooth, of course. This large species of flounder has gained the much sought-after reputation of being the only completely inedible fish in the Pacific Northwest coast. These infamous fish have a proteolytic enzyme in their flesh that turns the meat to a vile mush when cooked. It's been described as "flatfish pudding" and "cornmeal mush that tasted like a fish swam by." Despite the continual commercial pressure, demand for this species is at an all-time low. Nobody wants to eat this fish, and any efforts to improve the quality of the meat have fallen flat. Eventually, commercial efforts will likely stop altogether. In a world where the demand for any edible fish species far outstrips supply, flatfish pudding seems like the greatest environmental adaptation of all.

Greenling:

The humble Greenling. Although these scrappy fish are usually placed near the bottom of the saltwater hierarchy (somewhere between kelp and those little Sculpins that steal the bait from your hook), they deserve much more attention than they receive. These medium-sized rock dwellers are hard fighters on light tackle, delicious to eat, and cooperative even when nothing else is biting. If there were no Greenling on this earth, I would have a lot more fishless days on record. They are also found in all sorts of striking colors, from the psychedelic Rock Greenling to the candy striped Painted Greenling to the vibrant orange spawning Whitespotted Greenling pictured above. Despite this, Greenling are still disdained among most serious bottom fishermen, and not getting overly passionate about small insignificant species is something most fishermen acquire with time. However, I am not one of these fishermen and will continue to rally for the cause of the noble Greenling, Contact me for an informational pamphlet today! 

Cabezon:

I've finally caught some Cabezon.

Sculpins:

The last face you want to see coming up from the depths. 

Although the mighty Cabezon is taxonomically a sculpin, when most fishermen think of that word what comes to mind are an assortment of spiny, slimy, inedible little bottom dwellers that should be touched at little as possible. The vast majority of the sculpins are small, harmless tide pool critters that seldom grow any bigger than a few inches long. The remaining four or five are large, ugly, big-headed monsters that terrifying in every way imaginable. Having to handle and unhook a specimen such as the Great Sculpin one above is not for the faint of heart. I don't know how the Great Sculpin even got it's name, to be honest with you. Sure, it probably came from its large size, but when I think of great I'm usually thinking "terrific" or something. There are few things terrific about the spiny blob pictured above, except for maybe the number of parasites that were crawling around on the head of that thing.

Cod:

Ah, the noble Cod. Although this ubiquitous groundfish has never reached the prestige or status of the salmon, halibut, and lingcod that they share their habitat with, they still rank as one of the most important fish in the Northwest, and possibly the world. Okay, although the Pacific Cod hasn't been as culturally or economically significant as its Atlantic counterpart, it still enjoys a reasonable degree of fame here in the Northwest. Sure, they aren't as heavily targeted or reach the same level as prestige as most of the other Pacific Northwest gamefish; they are languid fighters at best, can be pests in the eyes of the halibut angler who has to unhook a cod from his line every five minutes, and aren't exactly the most beautiful fish in the sea. They have big mouths and even bigger appetites, and even small cod can inhale the biggest of halibut lures.

However, they are probably one of the best eating fish in the world, and their flaky white meat is superior to halibut in my opinion. You can also do anything with it. Salmon's usually limited to some sort of grilling or smoking, and halibut has a few more options, but cod can literally be turned into anything. 

Pollock:

The word "Pollock" is one you hear a lot of in the fishing world. Between European shore fishermen that revere this species, American salmon fishermen that loath them, and the worldwide commercial fisheries that realize that this slimy, unspectacular groundfish is one of the only species of edible fish whose stocks haven't been completely depleted, this fish gets a lot of attention. Although there are places where this species has a dedicated following, the Pacific Northwest is not one of them. The Pollock we get here aren't exactly the most glamorous looking fish, and what they lack in appearance they also lack in fighting ability and table qualities. Most are kinda all-around nasty. As you can see in the picture above, the Walleye Pollock I'm holding looks emaciated, feebly exhausted, and is completely covered with all sorts of parasites. In other words, an IB Diploma candidate. Look it up. 

Skate:

After the browbeating I just gave the Pollock, you might cringe to anticipate what words I might have to describe the group of cartilaginous bottom-dwellers known as the Skates. Closely related to sharks, stingrays, and mutant space aliens, these flat Elasmobranchs are known for having eerily humanoid features when viewed from the bottom. However, they are also known for being the bane of the Halibut fisherman's existence. Just like Halibut, they feed on the bottom and are fond of dead fish baits such as herring and salmon. As a result, many an angler has hooked what they thought was the biggest Halibut of their life, only to find out after a grueling battle that their prize was merely a giant skate. The picture above doesn't do the potential sizes of these fish justice. 

A monster skate caught in Ireland. That's a lot of imitation scallop meat. 

The individual pictured above was the first skate I ever caught. I was incredibly excited, as these are incredibly cool-looking fish I had always wanted to catch. In fact, in Europe they are prized as a food fish and are actually targeted by many fishermen. I happily released the small skate and kept fishing. What I didn't know is that a veritable swarm of these fish, all several times bigger than the juvenile above, began hounding every bait or lure that we sent down. Everyone on the boat was hooking into monstrous skates several feet wide from wingtip to wingtip. As soon as we exhaustedly hauled up one of these monsters and let it go, another one would jump on a different baited hook. And the way these fish fight is grueling. There's literally nothing other than sheer deadweight as you strain to lift a fish weighing several hundred pounds or more off of the bottom. Even the most hardcore fishermen I know, myself included, began giving up and not wanting to haul these monsters from the bottom anymore. I didn't think it was possible for a fish to break a man, both on a physical and spiritual level. The skate changed that and taught everyone on the boat not to ever underestimate a fish, even if it looks like a pancake. 

Surfperch:

At last we reach my old nemesis, the surfperch. Any regular reader of this blog is aware of my complicated relationship with these surf-dwelling fishes. Although there are dozens of species, my unhealthy obsession largely focused on the Redtail Surfperch, the largest and most prestigious of perches (as perches go). I'm sure that even a casual scan of the last several years of blogging will reveal multitudes of rants and profanity-laden tirades about the frustrations I've endured to master surfperch fishing. Am I there yet? Not even close. However, can I go surfperch fishing and reasonably expect to catch several decent-sized perch? Yes, yes I can. My last several outings have been very successful, but it didn't come easy. I'm known among the Oregon fishing community for being very persistent, especially when it came to these saucer-sized fish. While most other anglers across the state were busy trying to unravel the mysteries of salmon, trout, and steelhead, I spent my time exploring hundreds of desolate beaches in an attempt to gain an understanding of these elusive fish. I hope that the paragraph above comes across as sarcasm, because I've gotten some funny looks from people about this topic before.

A passing beachgoer referred to this beauty as "bait." I glared at him until he apologized. 

I love surf fishing. There's nothing quite like walking along some desolate beach free of people and distractions, with only the sounds of the crashing waves and the occasional seagull filling the air. Quaint seaside cottages are barely visible through the fog that obscures the outline of the beach and only gives faint outlines of save the occasional locals walking their dogs through the mist. It’s peaceful, and a time and place where you can feel completely free and untethered to the trappings of society. Fishing the surf is also an exhilarating pastime. In the gradually sloping beaches of the Clatsop county area, rows and rows of breakers continually and restlessly crash against the shore, flooding barren stretches of sand and rejuvenating them with life. You stand up to your waist in icy cold water while waves roll forward and come dangerously close to cresting over the tops of your waders and filling them with chilly water. The surf zone is like a washing machine, with crashing waves bombarding you from either direction. You get sprayed in the face and the salt stings your eyes and burns the back of your throat. It's an energizing experience.

The picture doesn't really do my vivid imagery justice. It was a calm day.

Somehow, in the midst of it you manage to send your rig out. Instead of bait, you opt for using small small artificial grubs, or perhaps a Gulp! Sandworm or similar. You fling it out as far as you can and begin to slowly retrieve, pausing it every now and then for a few seconds. During one such particular pause, you feel that distinctive sharp rapping at the end of your rod. Almost instinctively, you rear back in a hookset, and feel the frantic struggling at the end of your line, somewhere in the murky chaos of the waves. You try to remain calm and composed, slowly and steadily reeling in the small thrashing fish at the end of your line. Your light rod is bent tautly over as the scrappy fish attempts to break free. However, it tires and eventually the leader comes into view. You hoist a perfect silver Surfperch, fins quivering and scales shining through the fog and spray of the waves. You could keep it to eat if you want, but it's not worth killing. Instead, you work the hook out and set the small fish free in the knee-deep waves. One last flash of silver and it's gone. 

You can also bait up one of those giant surf rods with pieces of shrimp on a three-hook rig and cast it out somewhere into the waves. Set up a beach chair, stick your rod butt in the sand, and wait for a bite. That works too.

Kamran Walsh