In Praise of Smaller Fish: Caught on the ocean from a kayak
I spent the last day of the 2011 Rockfish season, 12/31, on my kayak rocking and rolling on large swells at Timber Cove, a protected little, uncrowded spot just north of Fort Ross, California.
What an amazing scenic road trip along Hwy 1 from Bodega Bay: large bluffs and sheer drop offs abutting the shore, rolling hills, Redwoods, lush vegetation all around. Skies were clear, temps reached the low sixties. The beginning of a yakker's dream, y'know?
Not expecting to go yakking that day, I was surprised on the previous evening to get an email from a member of a kayak anglers group I had joined a few months previously. He invited me to "meet up at TC" the next day. I gave this new idea its due consideration of about four and one-half seconds, and committed to it. Upon arriving at the shore with kayak in tow, I asked an old salt standing nearby preparing his rig with crab pots if he had seen a group of kayak anglers launch earlier. "Yep," he offered, "round that rocky point over there and you'll see them in that cove." After some wonderful paddling that alone sent major endorphins surging through my brain, I found the group just where the old salt said they would be. We all greeted politely enough, but I could tell there was no great joy on the surface here; the atmosphere was downright downward. It turns out there had been no good hook ups, none at least that met the high struggle, high excitement standards these experienced kayak anglers required. They complained that it was a slow, almost no-bite day and that what few they hooked up were small.
I instinctively tried to spread my good attitude-cheer-up-its-a-beautiful-day-anyway message. Stony silence muted what would have been the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and the birds calling out. Too dense to stop projecting my total joy at being on the water on my yak, I offered up "Well any day on the water is a good day, right?" The "Fuck you, Buddy." response was not audible, but clear nonetheless. I got it: Just STFU and fish, Nick. Well, the worst possible thing had to occur next, of course. Yes, I hooked up almost immediately within plain sight and hearing of the gloom and doom bunch. I pulled up a pretty, blue Rockfish, somewhat small at almost 14 inches but definitely respectable and clearly a keeper. Not sure, but I think one guy glared at me. Ten minutes later the blue's twin was flopping on the deck of my yak and joined his brother in the cooler bag stowed in the hold. I avoided human eye contact.
Twenty minutes later my bait got hammered by something big, something strong that bent my pole over double, and the reel screamed for a few seconds while the fish ran. I even felt a head shake through the pole. I was able to pump a couple of times and gain back some line before this strong fish unhooked itself. Damn! It happens; what the hell. I examined what was left of the bait, which was just a fragment. It was definitely a brief hookup with a quality fish, maybe a Lingcod. I remained quiet and kept my eyes focused on re-baiting my hooks.
Clearly there was going to be no jovial banter and come-join-us-again invitations here. I drifted away, fished a while longer with no other bites and solitarily enjoyed an incredible day yakkin', fishin', luxuriatin' on the surface of one of California's most beautiful beaches. In my view the day was a great success. I was completely fulfilled and joyful, even while the depression of my mates, whose catch probably exceeded that of my own, was palpable. I considered how my two little blues would present themselves at table for our guests and how tasty they would be and what I might prepare to accompany them.
Some big, bragging rites fish will meet the deck of my yak sometime in the near future, and I'll be thrilled, of course. However, I know that even a ten to twelve inch Rockfish (did i mention that mine were both about 14 inches?) can be delicious, and the fillets, accompanied by some grilled vegies and a bit of rice or pasta, can make for a great evening. Interesting, isn't it, how different people can leave an experience with similar results and feel so different about it?
Well, I offer thanks to the entire Pacific Rockfish species, for a great season in 2011. Rest up now, my beauties. Fatten up and procreate as much as possible and meet my line near the bottom of California's coastal waters next March. Although others may disparage you for your smaller proportions relative to sturgeon and marlin and other species, be assured that I greatly appreciate you.