Shelter Cove, CA Thesher Shark 2014 from Kayaks

 

l-r: Eric caught it, Ngyuen hoisted it aboard, I provided moral support and a tow line

This adventure occured several years ago. I'm just getting around to posting about it now because it came to mind triggered by a recent retelling of the story to a friend. Below I detail a kayak fishing expedition targeting Salmon. Two players in this drama post videos on YouTube where they have captured their live-action accounts of this. I'm in the background in the red kayak:

• Eric Stockwell, LINK - LoletaEric's YouTube Vid
• Ngyuen, LINK - The Lost Anchovy's YouTube Vid

Yes, landing large, hard-fighting fish out in the ocean aboard a kayak is certainly possible. Getting this approximately 130-pounder aboard required the effort of four kayakers: Eric, our guide, Ngyuen, the wrangler, Marc, and me, your author.

Marc and I had engaged Eric, a professional guide, to lead us on a salmon hunt way back in August of 2014. Every indicator was promising: reports of a heavy salmon run in the area, water temperature, swell-surf-wind conditions, all the positive signs were there. And yet, we picked a day when, if salmon were present at all, they were not feeding. Nothing was happening. After several hours of trolling, we had no salmon bites, nibbles, or nudges. Among the three of us, we had a few rockfish, a halibut for Marc, and perhaps a lingcod in someone's burlap sack. We had driven over narrow, winding roads and curves for six hours from the Bay area with very high expectations for an abundance of salmon only to face these dissappointing outcomes. We kayak fisher persons all experience this. That's why we refer to what we do as fishing, not catching fish.

And then, nearing the end of the day's effort, it happened: Eric hooked up, his pole bent double, his reel screamed as the running thresher turned Eric's yak about 90 degrees towing him fast enough to make a small wake. Surging adrenaline put us all into a state of heightened urgency. Marc and I reeled in our lines and paddled to keep up with the sleigh ride. It took Eric about 40-minutes to get the fish to the side of his kayak. We were joined in the effort by Ngyuen, who heard the commotion as he worked a nearby area on his own, knew immediately the cause and came to help.

Eric quickly bled and dispatched the fish in as humane a manner possible--still gruesome, but necessary. We made our way back to shore and the fish cleaning station where Eric and Ngyuen gutted and cleaned this beautiful creature and generously portioned a share for all of us. Upon returning home, I cooked my portion for the family. Yep, delicious. Loved it.

I Catch a 36-inch Halibut in Monterey, CA

We live in Arizona now and ocean fishing is somewhat limited there, y’know? Spending the month of July in Pacific Grove, Calif, I’ve been able to kayak fish as I wish. Weather has been cool, skies overcast, and seas calm for great paddling, but the bite has been off (meaning lethargic, disinterested fish that ignore all offerings) until yesterday. 

 I launched near the Monterey Fisherman’s Wharf at 0730 on Monday 07/20 with glassy surface, little wind, surprisingly fast drift for such a calm day, overcast skies, good visibility. Reports of slow to no bite at all left me with low expectations, so I had planned on nothing more than a shakedown cruise to try out my new Shimano Baitrunner spinning reel. My first drop would be near a yellow buoy less than one mile from my launch. Once near the buoy, my yak drifted on a westerly course. 

At a depth of around 90 feet, I dropped a frozen squid on a 5/0 circle hook with a circle hook stinger using a reverse dropper loop to which I attached a 6-ounce sinker. I quickly hooked up and landed a very nice Brown Rockfish at about 0800. Quite pleased, I thought: ‘Great, that takes care of Mr. Skunk. At least my wife and I can enjoy a nice fish dinner. And BTW,’ I continued to myself, ‘I love this reel. That bait runner function seems to work well.’ Kayak fisher persons converse with themselves often while alone on the water--perfectly normal, really. 

We, my yak and I, drifted for about 15 minutes and had a really hard takedown (bite) that did not stick. I guessed it was a Halibut by the way it hit. Encouraged, I paddled back to my first drop. In about another 15 minutes, I felt another strong takedown followed by a hard nibble, all while using the baitrunner feature that provides for a two-tiered drag setting: the initial setting allows the fish to bite and move without feeling any resistance; the second setting disengages the first setting automatically and allows for setting the hook. Using circle hooks, I cranked gently until the rod bent nearly double, and the fight was on. 

Once hooked, the fish ran hard, and I knew I had something strong on the end of that line. She turned my yak 180 degrees and towed us some distance from the hookup spot. She pulled a lot of line and gave some really hard headshakes while she ran. After about 10 minutes, I started gaining line slowly and steadily. I got her to the surface, let her cruise in a circle a couple of times, then gaffed her and got the game clip into her gills, through the mouth, and locked down. Oh, happy, happy moment. I did my best to dispatch her quickly and as humanely as one can with a knife point where I thought the brain would be. She quivered a bit and had only reflex twitching, thereafter, so I think I did it right. I cut the gills and let her bleed out.

With my most satisfying catch, like evah, I considered calling it a day. Conversing specifically with my conscience, I was persuaded to end the adventure with gratitude: Conscience: ‘You want to be one of those non-caring, kill-everything-in sight fisher persons? What value in greed here?' continued my conscience. Isn't it better to leave it for now. Would not a 36-inch Halibut feed you for several meals?’ Although a bit annoyed with my interlocutor, I concurred on those points and went home a happy, satisfied fella.

Back at the short-term rental property at which we are spending the entire month of July, I filleted the Halibut cleanly, vacuum sealed the filets that now fill the freezer here. Dinner tonight will be around 1900 hrs. Y’all are welcome to join us.

LineBreak/HeartBreak

2017 Pigeon Point Light House in Pescadero California. I thought I had it subdued and secured. Dumb rookie mistake. A memorable adventure, still.

Storing and Transporting Fishing Kayak and Cooking Galley

Heartbreak of Losing a Big Fish

My friend Marc and I launched our kayaks around 0730 hours under beautiful, clear skies, calm winds, and favorable surf and swell conditions.

A day prior, I had labored to re-rig according to Marc's recommendations with single 5/0 offset circle hooks, the simplest setup I could devise. I always ensure that I have at least six rigs to get me through the day. I was using my reliable baby octopus as bait.

Shortly after launching and settling over our first stop, I got that wonderful tug on my line from a good sized Ling cod. I played her slowly, letting her chew the bait, then gently reeled in a couple of turns until she felt the hook and made a brief run. With the hook clearly set, I played her with loose drag initially, gradually tightening down, tiring her out, and raising her to the surface after she made two or three more runs taking line. Clearly, this was a decent sized ling.

I gaffed her just behind the head, placed the game clip through the gills and out the mouth, got her into the yak, and dispatched her quickly with three thumps to her head and a knife to her gills so that she bled out quickly. It sounds heartless, but it is the most humane way to end the pain and stress I inflict on fish, a consequence for which I feel remorse and for which I always apologize profusely before thanking the fish and all the fish gods (I'm told there are many) for the bounty.
She measured about 30 inches. A start like this portends well for a satisfying day on the water and instills confidence. With one in my tank well, we proceeded to our next spot.
Within two hours, I had the ling, two good-sized Brown Rock cod and a smaller China Rock cod in the burlap bag behind me. I pronounced the day a success at that point not expecting anything else.

And then, my pole bent nearly double, and the reel screamed as line went west. It wasn't a snag, the fish did not nibble, it took no patience on my part.

It. Was. On.

I assumed it was a larger Lingcod while I played it slowly, letting the fish take line as it wanted, eventually tightening the drag until I was more in control between several runs. During the fight, which lasted about twenty minutes, I started to wonder if this was really a Ling or something else. It felt different, more resistance in the water, but a Halibut would be beyond my expectations.

"Nick, it's a Halibut, and it is large," shouted Marc who had been focused on the fight and, with intent, positioned his yak close enough to help. At that point, I still could not see it, but Marc's verification of my greatest hope filled my system with adrenaline and concentrated my mind. Finally, I saw it. It was a barn door of a Halibut. My long leader, too long I now believe, prevented me from getting the fish close enough to the surface to set my short gaff, too short I now believe.

Fortunately, Marc has a long harpoon with a barb he likes to use instead of a gaff. He took careful aim, drove the tip home through the body behind the head and pulled my Halibut to the side of his kayak. We worked like a well trained, disciplined team through this process. With the fish impaled and wedged between our two kayaks, I got the game clip through the gills and out the mouth. I snapped the game clip shut.

At that point, confident that I had landed my best fish ever, I allowed myself some relaxation and a few moments of great satisfaction. I hoisted the seemingly subdued Halibut up into my kayak across my lap and began to work on extracting the hook. Do you perceive anything wrong with the sequence of my work here?

OBJECT LESSON from a heartbroke kayak fisherman:

1.  Dispatch large fish or any sized Halibut in the water; do not bring them aboard while there is still life in them, because if there is life in them, there is fight in them, and they are large, powerful animals that can hurt you when they yearn to be free.
2. See One above.

The fight was not over. With a rush of considerable force, my Halibut went airborne in front of my face. Its powerful thrashing broke the line I had affixed to the game clip, taking game clip, hook, line, sinker and a piece of my heart to the bottom. No retrieval was possible. It was lost.

After, "Oh, Shit Nnnnnooo.", I said nothing for a few seconds, stunned, looking at the failed knot in the line that held the game clip. The line itself was still attached to the fitting on my kayak.

Here are the stages one experiences in situations like this:

• grief
• disbelieve
• recrimination
• guilt
• more grief and recrimination
• a surprising gratitude for the great adventure and for the fact that Marc had been practicing with his newly acquired GoPro camera and managed to capture some great images of the event
• finally, acceptance and a resolve to learn from this and better secure my next big catch

A Day of Fishing from a Kayak at Timber Cove, CA

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.

Nick Builds A Kayak Trailer

The Kayak Trailer Project

I struggled to get the kayak up onto the roof of my high-profile SUV, injuring my shoulder and forearm, scratching the roof of the vehicle, and dropping the kayak once. I decided upon acquiring a used utility trailer, onto which I could just slide the vessel, eliminating the need to lift it above my waist. After a few hours over a period of about one week scanning Craigslist and other sites, I encountered a Harbor Freight (mostly cheap tools from China) ad for a small, new utility trailer, about $200.00. Bought it, put it together in about six hours, knowing that I would have to extend the tongue a considerable length to accomodate the kayak and the turning distance.

image

I thought it should be easy enough. Called my friend, Chip Carter -- I think he knows everyone in northern California who can fabricate a part for any purpose. He referred me to a local blacksmith shop in Vallejo, Uebner and Byerrum. Yes, a smithey shop owned by two guys around my age with the most incredible, old-timely equipment I have ever seen. The place is a functioning museum of antique block and tackle, forge, and other metal-working tools and equipment.

I went back to them in a few days to get the new, primed nine-foot aluminum tube. Within a few hours, it had a black gloss Rustoleum final coat. It attached easily since, of course, Karl The Smithey fabricated it perfectly, ensuring that all the mounting holes replicated the original exactly. So, now, transporting and launching my beautiful mango-colored vessel is much easier. However, I did struggle a bit with the $30.00 closed cell foam cradle in two seven-inch pieces I bought online -- they don't allow the kayak to slide over them well. Two days ago, I formulated a plan to station her more securely and easily onto the trailer.

I used fence post holders to install a couple of two-inch schedule 40 PVC pipes along the length of the polyurethaned plywood floor I had previously installed. I turned the kayak upside down on the ground and measured the distance between the scupper holes to make sure the kayak would rest balanced and centered. It is a 14-inch span, so I found the center line of the trailer floor and marked seven inches on both sides both of the centerline and positioned the pipes along those two lines running fore and aft of the trailer. I covered the fence post holders and pipes with six-inch wide sections of two welcome mats from Home Depot. Now, my beauty slides on and off the trailer and its cradle smoothly.

I may have completed the final modifications to the trailer and the kayak, but I would not bet on it. Well, my wife might want to get her own kayak next spring or summer. So, I'm thinking that I could attach a couple of posts to the trailer and get a J-mount holder, they come in two separate parts, and attach them to the posts. I would have to lift her kayak about chest high, but hers would be smaller and lighter and I anticipate a few more years of sufficient strength to manage that. After that, well she is younger, perhaps we could lift it together.

Kayak Fishing: The Beginning

I Take Up Kayaking And Think Of Fish

I am starting to enjoy the outdoors more; always have really, but now I devote more time to the remarkable opportunities before me here in the San Francisco Bay area. We have thousands of miles of shoreline along the Pacific Coast, and along this area's bays, delta, rivers, and lakes. I thought about kayaking over the years as an idyllic means of getting myself on the water, but allowed other priorities to distract me from that pursuit, until a couple of months prior to this writing, when I engaged a professional kayak/fishing guide, Allen Bushnell, for a day outside of Santa Cruz Harbor. That was my tipping point, literally as well as figuratively.

Shortly after that, I purchased an Ocean Kayak Trident 13 that I have been rigging as a sleek, beautiful, water-skimming, silent fish-killing machine. After a month or so of reading, viewing, visualizing, trying, installing, re-installing, and investing in my need to optimize this vessel; I have not caught a single fish while sitting upon it on a body of water. However, I do expect that soon all those descriptors in the previous sentence will be accurate to some extent.

We yakkers often think about modifying our kayak's rigging for our unique needs, making or acquiring external devices like carts, trolleys, milk crates, etc. to overcome storage, anchoring, transporting, and other challenges. Some of us first try to create what we need at home.

I have a high-profile SUV, a Honda Element, and my 13' 6" yak weighs over 65 pounds, so we're talking a challenge here in getting her atop the vehicle and secured to the roof racks. I built a yak rooftop roller out of PVC on which, from the rear of the vehicle, I can slide the yak upside down onto my roof racks with less exertion than if I tried lifting from the driver side.

I considered how I would get the yak to the vehicle and then to the launch site without lifting or dragging it. Armed with ideas from YouTube vids uploaded by my fellow yakkers, I made a kayak trolley, again mainly out of 1-1/4" schd 40 PVC, a pair of wheels from ACE hardware, and a 1/2" aluminum rod as an axle.

I have no real experience in commanding anything that floats. I was sure that in most bodies of water, if I need to fish from a stationary spot, I had to consider anchorage. My research revealed the danger of anchoring a kayak from the side, which could expose me to a capsizing if a boat wake, wave, or fast moving current were to hit me broadside. Anchoring from the bow or stern is really necessary.

Seated in a kayak, one doesn't move to those distal ends easily. My YouTube mentors had solutions and left me several vids on this issue. I rigged my anchor trolley using a single 1-1/2" O-ring, 3/8" nylon chord, two pulleys, and two carabineers so that I can move the anchor point quickly from bow to stern and vice-versa. I can also release the anchor, tethered to a float, with one fast tug on the line at the Harken Cleat I installed inside the yak. This enables me to chase a hooked fish big enough to tow me any distance, or paddle quickly away from the spot, if necessary, and return to retrieve the anchor.

My kayak was equipped to appeal to anglers. It came with a cleverly designed molded plastic hatch cover into which one can insert rod holders, posts to support electronic nav devices, and whatever "must have this" items we imaginative types can conjure. Its location is directly in front of the seat, eliminating some of the need to reach behind for poles and other essentials. As yet I am finding that the poles in front idea has its problems; things seem to be in my way. I may just get two Scotty or RAM flush mount rod holders and place them behind me. I need to work to gain confidence in reaching items behind me in the tank well, however, because, since that dunking in Santa Cruz, I am fearful. I'll work on it.

Milk crates from Office Depot, designed to hold manila folders and such, are popular storage items for yakkers. With our old friend PVC lashed to their sides, they make good rod holders for the paddle out to fishing spots and contain our necessary assortment of tackle. I have seen vids of guys turning these devices into rod holders at roughly 45 degrees for trolling while paddling in open water. I spent a few hours trying this before deciding that commercial rod holders for kayaks are cheap, light-weight, easy to install, and a reasonable departure from my commitment to DIY. I also spent considerable time trying to figure out how to position my milk crate behind me; oh yes, I must have one. I went back to a vid I had viewed previously in which the guy affixed it atop the tank well in the rear, creating a two-tier storage area. I'm for that and expect to start that project soon. I'll post it.

OK, so, I struggled testing just the right position for this stupid milk crate, and finally concluded that this just isn't worth the effort and frustration. I mean, I am all about DIY, y'know, but c'mon, how important is this, really? Heck with it. Those guys on YouTube who have posted vids of their milk crates are serious-as-hell fishermen, whereas I am a paddler who would love to catch some fish, but I am not close to having all that fishing tackle; two poles at the most, for I surely cannot manage any more on dry land let alone on a kayak, and a couple of rigs for lures. Not gonna fool around with live or frozen bait much, might troll Rat-L-traps, or jig the bottom, but I don't need much tackle for that. Happy to be a minimalist kayaker person. That's it. Unless, perhaps . . . naahhh, fuggit about it.

Today, 10/07/2011, I paddled a portion of the San Pablo Bay from the Vallejo launch ramp to the Vallejo Marina, less than 2.1 miles out. Had intended to paddle underneath the Hwy 37 bridge to the mouth of the Napa River, but the tide and wind were both against me outbound, and I did not want to push my tired, old body irresponsibly. All I had to do to return to the ramp was steer, fastest I ever traveled on a yak. Seemed like an hour paddling out and five minutes to drift back. Still, I enjoyed being on the water, as always.

Fishing From A Kayak: I decimate stocks of Rock Cod and terrorize survivors

09/06/2011

I developed an interest in kayaking recently and have enjoyed several hours paddling around the very calm, brackish, inland waters of the San Francisco Bay area: Napa River, Suisuin Slough, The Delta. While investigating kayaking opportunities, I read some articles online and watched some videos of fishing from a kayak.

"Something I have to try soon," I thought.

I googled "kayak fishing" (I first wrote "I searched online", but having accepted google as a verb and participle, I feel good about the greater word economy, don't you?), and within two or three links, found Allen Bushnell, owner/operator/guide of Santa Cruz Kayak Fishing. After a couple of message exchanges, we settled upon a private guided trip on Labor Day. Allen checks weather and sea conditions and fish reports constantly and felt confident that all indications pointed to a good day.

ImageAnticipating a memorable experience with an expert guide, my wife and I loaded up the car, drove down to Carmel and then back up to Scotts Valley for the night. Up at 5:30 a.m. next morning, we drove down to the harbor to meet Allen. The affable guy unloading two kayaks and gear from his van as we pulled up was indeed our man. He had my wetsuit ready and told me to change in his van. We went through some basics about launching, the pole rigging he thought would be optimal, and most important: balance, a low center of gravity, hypothermia, and other safety items about kayaking before we wheeled the kayaks, poles, other gear, etc. down to the launching dock.

At the dock, Allen told me in detail what to expect from this day and reviewed some of the safety issues.

"Never reach across your body to get something from behind you, as you would if you were in the front seat of your car. That changes your center of gravity and you will tip that kayak in a nanosecond. If what you need is behind you and to your right, keeping your head centered in the middle of the kayak, reach behind you with your right hand and feel for it. Same thing on the left side. Okay?" "Okay," I responded nodding affirmatively.

He handed me the high-tech, waterproof walkie talkie that I would carry and explained what channel we would be on and what the emergency channel would be and how to call for help in the event that we needed it.

We paddled away from the dock, Allen staying close enough to me to talk me through how he wanted to navigate out past the breakers, which I would call sizable, into the open water. He cautioned me to stay close, of course, and we would track on the right close to the boat slips, staying alert for incoming and outgoing boats. We stopped at the spot he always stops at to time the swell, waited for the bigger clean-out wave, and then paddled hard across the mouth of the harbor and rested when we cleared it. Allen is the kind of guide in whom you have confidence immediately. Everything he does is purposeful and economical of movement. You can see that he scans his universe, and is aware and alert: the swells, the changing weather and wind, wildlife, kelp, surface conditions, his client, traffic, anything that might affect his mission.

Now, past the breakers, after a brief rest, we paddled smoothly and easily to Allen's first fishing spot. Onboard his kayak, he has sophisticated depth finders, fish finders, GPS devices, walkie talkie; and they all seem to have redundant systems. He had four or five fishing poles already rigged standing upright in PVC tubes and molded holes in the top of his kayak, and tackle boxes lashed securely behind him. Just the sight of all that gear in and on his 15-foot Ocean "Prowler" Kayak tells you that he is serious and knowledgeable about this business and that I should just follow his lead, and all will be well. We chatted while we paddled and he explained his strategy, the kind of fish inhabiting the area, the bottom structure and its condition after the kind of swells we had been experiencing here, the behavior of the different targeted fish species. Clearly, he had a reason for everything he did and everything he asked me to do.

After a brief paddle, we stopped, I think partly so that Allen could observe me and assess my condition. Apparently satisfied that I showed no signs of stress, he reminded me of a few things as we paused:

"When we stop to drop our lines, or do anything really, you will be more stable if you let your feet dangle off the sides of the kayak; that keeps you balanced and lowers your center of gravity."

I acknowledged that I understood his instruction by carefully dangling my feet over the sides. "Life this?" "Perfect."

We fished the bottom with frozen squid for a while, and I got a few nibbles probably from small Kingfish, which we did not want. Allen said we'd give it a few more minutes and if we had no action, we'd move to his next spot.

We tried this spot for about another 5 minutes and prepared to paddle on. With my feet inside the kayak on their footrests, I reached across my body with my right arm to put the pole in the left-side holder, turned my head to the left off the centerline, leaned the way my head was now positioned, and in a nanosecond, the left rail rose off the surface and no correction was possible. Oh, shit!"Going in," I shouted the obvious.

I realized the pole and reel were already in the water and lost before I was, myself, completely submerged. Of course, my personal flotation device (PFD we old salts like to call them) bobbed me back up to the surface. Calm but regretful and embarrassed, I floated on my back staying near the upside down kayak and said nothing. Allen said nothing. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, his head down, working on some tackle. Still with his head down, tending to a hook and sinker he was putting together

"Straighten your legs out; get them perpendicular to the surface. With your left hand, grab the first scupper hole you feel. Now, with your right hand reach over to the scupper hole on the opposite side, hoist yourself a bit and grab hold. I'll paddle over in a minute," he shouted.

I wonder now if Allen wanted to give me a bit of time in the water to think it all over, y'know, or perhaps let his client calm down a bit after the event before saying anything. Since I was with Allen, it was easy to remain calm. Otherwise, I can force calm when I have to. I've had some experience with that, and this was not going to be the worst. I was accepting of the embarrassment and the regret about losing the gear, and the wetsuit was doing its job and the PFD was doing its job and Allen was doing his job. Really, I was thinking about the moment I was having, and it occurred to me that it was interesting to be in this event that is talked about but not really experienced by that many people. "I hope we catch some fish," I thought as Allen approached methodically with instructions about how to right the kayak.

Once upright, and after a brief pause, Allen said, "Nick, my man, let's review, shall we?"

He handed me another pole and rigging and we paddled about one-quarter mile until his fish finder displayed fish about two feet from the bottom.

"Here we go, Nick. Drop your line here and give the reel about two cranks up," he said.

"With my feet in the water, keeping my head facing forward along the centerline of the kayak, carefully reaching for the pole on the left with my left hand and releasing it from its hook, I shall drop my line here," I said.

Allen laughed. I laughed. I repeated that little joke about four or five times to Allen's amusement.

"No one will learn that lesson better than you. It may be the most valuable experience you can have kayaking," he had said once we uprighted the kayak. "I have taken hundreds of people out who only know this cerebrally, you actually experienced it. You are way ahead of everyone else, and you are the guy I would least expect to roll over a kayak in the future."

We went as far as the one-mile buoy, fished several spots that Allen had previously marked on his fish finder, saw sea lion pups and dolphins breaking the surface, watched the biggest flocks of sea birds I had ever seen skim the surface, paddled over a lot of kelp. We experienced changes in wind, current, surface chop, and swell; all of which Allen pointed out to me before I could have observed it.

We caught our limits of Rockfish. We commented on how serene, peaceful, and pleasurable this day was several times during the paddle out and back. We laughed, learned a little about each other, and at the end of the adventure, on shore by his vehicle, we shook hands and did one of those manly hug things with the shoulder clap and all. Allen said that his season runs through the middle of October. I am going to engage him again before he shuts it down for the year. On that day, with my feet in the water, keeping my head facing forward along the centerline of the kayak . . ..