ONE TRIP, SEVEN PB’S

[akaShag]

Here is one from the archives.  I think I have photos some place, which I will add if I can find them....

Back in the mid-80’s I lived near Barrie Ontario.  I had been introduced to steelhead fishing a few years earlier, and by this time it had taken up a prime spot in my life.  I was fishing about a hundred days a year, and lots of that time was spent chasing ‘bows in the area’s rivers, as well as out in Lake Huron, Lake Ontario, and Georgian Bay.  I knew a lot of the serious steelheaders by sight and a few by name, and really got into the whole steelhead game.  During this time my main partner was a buddy named Marcel, and one spring at the Toronto Sportsmen’s Show we met a legendary angler called John Slade.  John took a shine to us and invited us to fish with him down at Grimsby in his boat come summer.  When that weekend came and we joined him, four of us caught about two hundred salmon and trout, many double and triple headers, just an insane number of fish, and two topping thirty pounds.  Never before nor since have I experienced such non-stop fishing action.

But what do you do for an encore?

Well, John took us up to a couple of his favourite steelheading spots, where we watched him catch fish after fish right under the noses of other anglers, as if by magic.  He had an eye for a drift, and I think he could actually think like a fish.  Nowadays I guess he might be called a “fish whisperer.”  He introduced us to a number of the best steelheaders that he knew, and one time we met his friend Gary Watson from Owen Sound.  In time, Gary became a good buddy and we shared many fishing adventures with him up in and around Owen Sound.

So it came to be that one summer in the late 80’s Gary and a bunch of his fishing buddies went to fish in Alaska, and the stories he brought back (along with a couple coolers of fillets) were the stuff dreams are made of.  They had fished the mighty Kenai River and caught gigantic chinooks; they had taken limits of bright red sockeyes; they had flown in to a remote river for back-country trout; and they had taken a charter off the coast for halibut.  As Gary described the size and power of these latter denizens of the deep, I decided that some day I would fish for them.  Little did I know at that time that halibut would become one of only two items on my “bucket list” – stuff I want to do before I kick the bucket.

You know how life gets in the way – a career, kids, family and other responsibilities – and as time passed, my days on the water shrank each year.  Then I took up bow-hunting for deer, and found out that I could either spend my fall bow-hunting or steelheading, but did not have time for both.  I chose bow-hunting, and my steelheading gear kind of gathered dust, along with my memories of Gary’s Alaskan adventure.

I moved around a fair bit with my job, and in 1996 I wound up in Kingston Ontario, which is quite a nice town and where I still live.  That fall a good friend told me about a fellow he knew who was an avid bow-hunter and migratory bird hunter, and that I should meet him.  Phil and I hit it off immediately and soon were fishing and hunting all over this region.  Then Phil got an opportunity to move to Whitehorse with his work, and away he went.  BUMMER!  One of my best hunting and fishing buddies now across the country………………but I had never been to Whitehorse, so a couple years later I went up to visit Phil and to hunt Yukon moose.  When I got there, Phil said he and another buddy wanted to go halibut fishing in Haines, Alaska, and would I be interested, before the moose hunt?

Well, hunting for the planet’s biggest moose is an exciting prospect and I was surely keyed up for that, but when the possibility of fishing for halibut was raised, I forgot all about the moose!  Phil arranged for a charter and the next day four of us went by van to Haines Alaska, which is a gorgeous drive through mountain valleys down to the ocean.  That evening we had a feast of halibut at the local fish and chips restaurant, which only whetted our appetite to not just CATCH some of these fish, but also bring back some to EAT!

None of us slept that well in the motel room that evening, we were all just too pumped about the morning’s excursion.  We were up plenty early, fuelled up on coffee and breakfast, and down to the docks we went.

Some readers will know that tides are a key factor in ocean fishing, more so than weather, wind, moon phase, or whatever.  We landlubbers had no such knowledge, or perhaps we would not have booked a charter for the highest high tide of the year.  At the dock, our charter captain was nowhere to be seen, and as we stood there somewhat perplexed, another fellow came up to us, inquired if we were the party booked with Captain Billy-Bob (yes indeed) and told us that Captain Billy-Bob could not make it but he would take us out instead, and for the same “discount” rate.  Onto Captain Substitute’s sad old boat we went, stowed our gear, pulled away from the jetty, and then listened to his one-cylinder diesel struggling mightily to take us out to the halibut grounds.  Several other charters passed us, waving happily at the sight of our ancient boat disappearing in their wakes.

Some time later we got to an area where three or four other boats had set up, and our captain announced that we were going to start fishing here.  Each of us got a rod with approximately the flexibility of a pool cue, topped with a monstrous level-wind reel filled with line that looked to me like aircraft cable, and terminated in huge jigs on which we impaled some choice pieces of an unknown fishy-smelling substance.  Down to the bottom, a couple hundred feet, and then a slow jig up and down, up and down, up and down…………..

And up and down, lifting about five pounds worth of tackle each up-stroke, then allowing it to crash to the ocean floor many leagues below.  My fervent images of halibut fishing were starting to take something of a licking at this point………..and then, a BITE!!!  And my rod was doubled right over and the reel screaming as the drag gave up line, and then more line, and then………….it was obvious that I had snagged on the bottom.  Quite a while later we finally cleared the snag.  By this time the sun was high overhead, we had been fishing for perhaps four hours without an actual bite, and the other boats in the area were apparently having similar luck.  Captain Substitute then informed us, rather matter-of-factly, that we were fishing the highest tide of the year and there was about zero chance of connecting with a halibut in such a flood.  But if we wanted to go home early he would only charge us for a half-day charter.  Nobody argued with that suggestion, and soon enough we were crawling back to port, and with lighter wallets to boot.

So when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade, right?  It turned out the Chilkat River which flows through Haines to the Pacific was full of pink salmon, with good numbers of other salmon species also present, and easy public access.  We bought some inexpensive spinning rods, reels, and Pixie spoons, and spent the rest of the day fishing for pink salmon and watching a sow grizzly and her cubs fishing not all that far downstream from us.  Action was steady, and so the trip to and from Whitehorse was not a complete bust.

Our moose hunt went kind of like the halibut hunt, and I returned to Kingston mooseless and halibutless, but determined to try again when I could.

(Yes of course I am getting to the trip that is purportedly the subject of this story.  But it is important to set the stage, so the reader will understand the excitement of the titular excursion.)

When my oldest son was in university, I promised to take him on a bear hunt if he graduated.  He did indeed get his degree, but life got in the way again.  In the meantime my old buddy Marcel had moved to Campbell River on Vancouver Island.  So I suggested to my son that we do a bear hunt on Vancouver Island, during which his old man might just do some fishing.  I contacted another buddy to see if he might act as a bear guide, and asked him about halibut fishing.  Well, by golly it turned out that Dan would both take my son bear hunting and take three of us halibut fishing in his boat, and plans were made for a May trip to Vancouver Island.

My son and I arrived in Campbell River, me with my baggage but my son without, and we were leaving the next morning to the north end of the island for a hunting and fishing trip.  John had only his street clothes, which are a sub-optimal choice for hunting in wet cold weather, and snow on the ground.  Fortunately his baggage arrived late that night, and we got up the next morning, packed up Marcel’s truck and boat, and headed north.  Here one should note that the highways on Northern Vancouver Island are NOT four-lane expressways; in fact they are pretty rough, and speeds above 30 kph or so both threatened to eject the loads from the truck and boat and to scare the living daylights out of yours truly.  We eventually arrived at Port Alice, where Marcel had booked part of a house for us to stay in.  Upon unloading the truck, we discovered that the cooler of frozen food, that being our meals for the week, were still in Campbell River.  So was the prawn trap puller which allows a person to pull one’s prawn and crab traps from the depths of the ocean.  Marcel was somewhat disappointed, but there was a grocery store in town and we had a strong young man to pull up the traps by hand.

That evening we set prawn traps and crab traps out in the inlet in front of the house, met Dan the guide and planned our strategy for the next few days.  John and Dan would hunt for bear, and Marcel and I would trailer the boat back to Port McNeill to fish halibut and rock cod.

Now when we were planning this trip I told Marcel I would buy all of the halibut tackle if we could use his boat.  So he had found a couple good used rod and reel combos, spooled both with new eighty pound braid, and bought a selection of known-to-be-deadly halibut jigs.  These included the Gibbs Mudraker jigs which weigh sixteen ounces each, and “spreader bars” to which one attached a heavy weight on one end and a lighter jig, say only a quarter-pound, on the other.  This is not finesse fishing.  And Marcel had also bought some dandy octopus and other hali-delicacies.

So out we went, jigging a pound of weight in two hundred to three hundred feet of water.  All day.  In some very fishy-looking water.  But by dark we had not connected with a single halibut, just one under-sized rock cod.  My back was highly unhappy with me, as were both my arms, myself not being used to such physical exertion.  Back at the “camp” we found that the bear hunters had been stymied by snow covering virtually all of the roads and trails, and no sign of bears coming out yet for their normal spring feeding binge.  Things were somewhat glum around the table that evening, but we still had three days left!

The morning brought howling winds and no chance whatsoever of launching into the ocean, so Marcel and I did some odd jobs and the bear hunters went off in search of Blackie.  When Dan and John returned that afternoon, they had seen no bears, just more snow.  The wind had dropped enough that Marcel could launch his boat at Port Alice and recover his prawn and crab traps.  John was recruited to haul in the traps, in place of the electric-powered trap puller.  And that evening we had a FEAST of fresh BC Spot-tail prawns and Dungeness crabs, yum yum!

Dan suggested that we take his boat out the next day from Port McNeill, so in the morning the four of us were out in a nice big “herring skiff” and armed for battle with the mighty halibut.  Once again, the fish avoided us, and then………………..I had a BITE!  The rod doubled over, line screamed from the reel……………………………and yes I was snagged on bottom in deep water, like three hundred feet.  Well, we tried to get that rig unsnagged, no dice, and eventually Dan suggested I take a bite of the line around a cleat and we would pull with the motor.  Either the line would snap, or the jig would come free.  The line snapped, somewhere between the jig and the boat cleat and I reeled in what was left – not, evidently, enough line to get a jig to the bottom.  We had no spare spools of braid (note to self for next time) but Dan had a spool of hundred pound test monofilament that was only slightly smaller in diameter than my pinky.  I tied the mono to the braid, tested the knot, and resumed fishing.

Some time later, I had a REAL bite, felt the take, felt the head shakes of an enormous fish, and then nothing, no weight at all.  I heard Marcel suggest that my mono to braid knot had failed – nope, that wasn’t the problem. The line had broken at the point where it had been tied to the boat cleat earlier.  And with that went my dream of a halibut for this trip.  But fortunately the next day John shot a bear, and we had a huge celebration that evening, a return to Campbell River, and a flight out the next day.

Score:  Halibut 2, Doug 0.  I swore I would get back there and catch a halibut.  Kind of like Captain Ahab and Moby Dick, I guess, it is a worse obsession than steelheading ever was.

Over the next few months, plans took shape for a trip the next May to Winter Harbour, on the Northwest tip of Vancouver Island – an area known for its plentiful halibut.  Marcel and I would be joined by an American friend of mine, Pat from Wyoming, and our friend Dan from the preceding year’s adventure would assist us with some of the logistics.  Chief amongst these was his offer to drive a truck full of gear from Port Alice, where we would launch, to Winter Harbour and then back at the end of the trip.  It would be an EPIC adventure.

Once again, Marcel’s home in Campbell River served as our departure point, and once again we filled his truck and boat for the back-breaking road trip to Port Alice.  But this time we remembered all of the gear and food – other than Pat left his overnight kit in Campbell River.  Meeting Dan in Port Alice, we re-jigged the loads so Marcel and I could travel by boat, and Pat and Dan by truck, to meet at a resort called Winter Bay Cottages.  Off we went on our respective journeys, and in due time met up again in Winter Harbour.

Most of us have stayed at a number of lodges and resorts over the years.  Some are good, some not so good, some downright awful (like Wayne and Cathy’s House of Horrors on Elbow Lake, now bulldozed but then threatening to collapse on top of us).  A very few are absolutely top-notch operations with exceptional hospitality and first-class accommodations.  I am pleased to report that Pat and Phil Wainwright have such an operation, Winter Harbour Cottages, and this was to be our home for the duration of our stay.  Our cottage was cozy, spotlessly clean, and furnished with everything one could hope for in a rental – including excellent kitchen tools, cooking dishes, pots and pans, linens and indeed everything one could need other than personal gear and victuals.  Pat and Phil are warm, friendly, and welcoming, and we were made to feel immediately at home.

Evening was upon us, but Marcel announced that we had some weather coming in, so we had best go out while we could.  Accordingly, we stowed our fishing gear on his boat and slipped away from the dock, headed to a couple spots to soak the prawn traps, and a couple local fishing holes.  We deployed the prawn traps and hit two prime-looking jigging locations.  The wind and waves were building steadily and we had difficulty maintaining bottom contact because of the eight to ten foot swells.  Eventually we called it a day and returned to Winter Harbour.

After you leave Winter Harbour, all there is in front of you is the ocean across to Japan.  So winds coming from the west have a good chance to build up speed before they make landfall.  As we returned to port, there were several large fishing boats also tying up alongside.  You KNOW that if a two hundred foot boat is coming in to harbour that an eighteen footer might find it a wee bit rough out on the briny…………..

And we were not disappointed by the weather forecast – the winds hit with a fury and lashed rain against the walls of the cabin.  But inside we were warm, dry, comfortable, and enjoying the opulent digs.  In the morning we were still warm, dry, comfortable and enjoying the opulent digs, but it clearly was not going to be a fishing day.  Pat and Phil had suggested some local attractions, so we walked around the area and enjoyed our day ashore, albeit a bit damp one.

I admit to some cabin fever amongst the three adventurers by the time we could get back out on the water.  Our remaining two days found us bobbing like corks out on the ocean, in swells ranging from twelve to twenty feet.  It was just not meant to be, and so we called it a day and planned our return to Port Alice and Campbell River.

Dan arrived as planned the next morning, loaded up the truck and Pat, and was off down the island to Port Alice.  With the boat key.  And there is no cell phone service up there.  There being not much in the way of alternatives, Phil volunteered to drive Marcel, at break-neck speed, to catch Dan and Pat – hopefully before Port Alice.  Happily, they found each other, got Marcel back to Winter Harbour, and the rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful.

Back in Campbell River, Pat left for home but I still had a couple days to kill before I headed back.  Not being a pair of quitters, Marcel and I were out in his boat again the next day, but launched from Campbell River this time.  The halibut were not playing there either…………so when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade, right?

We stowed the heavy tackle, and went jigging with light rigs near a huge kelp bed.  In the course of the day I caught my first Cabezon, Copper Redfish, Canary Rockfish, Bocaccio Rockfish, Pacific Cod, and Rock Sole.  Earlier I had trapped some JUMBO prawns. Seven species, seven PBs, one trip.  Just like I promised in the title.

And yes, the tally now is Halibut 3, Doug no score.  But this year I am going back! (Please wish me luck!)  (And yes, I know what happened to Captain Ahab…)

Doug