Pacific NW

Expeditions

In the morning I pored over my charts, tables, and indexes and estimated the time of low water slack for our infamous narrows. We idled up to it and held off for a half hour, and waited for the waters to become absolutely still. Justin cast out a fishing line as we slipped through and immediately caught a rockfish! This time we had a much more pleasant experience in the narrows. The fish went straight to the frying pan and we ate it as we headed out into the main channel. I was very content as I dined on that fine tasting fish and watched the depths drop off to 650 feet and more. Later in the evening after a long day of motoring against a strong spring tide we tried our luck again with fishing. We went up to an underwater pinnacle that goes from 950 feet deep to 8 feet deep within 50 yards. I rigged up the halibut pole with several pounds of lead weight, and put the head of the rockfish on a giant hook, and threw the setup down to the bottom 200 feet below. Five minutes later I felt a powerful tugging. “Justin” I said. “Justin! Justin!” I began to reel frantically and the pole dug into my stomach. Justin sprang down below and grabbed my sweater. I balled it up and used it as a cushion for my abdomen. Sweat began to flow and I used all of my strength to reel in. Justin tore through the boat, throwing things about while looking for the nets and gaff hook. It was pandemonium. Out of the corner of my eye the giant halibut floated to the surface!! I don’t remember doing it, but somehow I managed to spear the halibut with the gaff hook and flip it into the cockpit. It then started thrashing violently and so powerfully–like a pair of kicking human legs. The halibut thundered against the sides of the cockpit, slamming the fiberglass, knocking everything into a confused heap and showering the entire boat in a spray of fish slime and blood! We began to scream like a couple of schoolgirls (we had a good laugh about that one later). Justin recalls a moment in time where all three of us–himself, myself and the halibut–were all flying through the air in the cockpit. With great effort we eventually pinned it down, avoiding the sharp hooks that were whipping around. It was so powerful that it took both of us to hold it to the floor. We sat there for a moment, sweating and deciding upon what to do. Axe? No. Too dangerous with the sharp blade. I grabbed the nearest metal winch handle and struck the fish hard blows. Even after it died it continued to thrash occasionally, threatening to flop out of the cockpit and injure the helmsman. We used metal wires to lash the halibut to the cockpit. After all had settled down we surveyed the wreckage of the cockpit. Charts, cruising guide, dodger,lines–everything was drenched in a shower of slime and blood. The fishing poles lay in a tangled heap amongst a pile of dishes and sailing gear that had been knocked over in the thrashing. And most of all, the giant halibut lay sprawled in the bottom of it all, dominating the whole cockpit. The fish’s lips alone were larger than our own! For the next hour we cleaned the boat and cleared away the wreckage. “This changes everything, Pete,” said Justin. Indeed. We needed to formulate a plan in which to get to the nearest town so we could get the fish on ice. We now had an incredible amount of meat, and must not let any of it go to waste. We were way out in the middle of nowhere. Almost as if it were meant to be, the boat had drifted right back onto course by the time we were able to get up and running again. I looked at a chart and found Klemtu, a small village, to be the nearest “civilization”. We ran all through the night carrying “all canvas and steam” and made haste for Klemtu. On the long run there we encountered fog, rain, and darkness. But none of that mattered. I was so thrilled and grateful for catching the huge fish that my only thoughts were of preparing it and getting ice. We finally reached Klemtu in the middle of the night, and tied up to a public dock. Our neighbors were a begrudging fisherman and a drink skipper of a large powerboat. He was half-naked and messing around with the fuse box on the dock. His wife was yelling at him from somewhere inside the boat as the lights on the dock flickered on and off. Nobody in town–not even the cannery or a large coast guard ship–had any ice whatsoever! We would have to make another 30 mile run to the village of Shearwater in the morning. I constructed a crude fortress of buckets and boat cushions around the halibut to keep the birds off it, and fell into an exhausted sleep.