Giant lingcod, gear failure and an old friend are subjects of this post. Blood and heartbreak are prevalent themes. Still interested? Then read on.
As the 21-foot boat crested sharply down the backside of another large wave, I tried to quell a rising sense of vulnerability. Unfortunately, the size of the vessel was the least of my worries. The GPS computer on the boat kept turning off, leaving us stranded in the middle of the ocean. With no landmarks around us we relied on a compass for navigation as we prayed for the computer to reconnect. Pervasive fog surrounded the boat on all sides, reinforcing our isolation. However, these factors only added to my building excitement. Finally, the computer reconnected and we made our final approach towards the fishing grounds.
But how did I end up on that small boat in the middle of the ocean? I was contacted the day before the trip by an old friend named Francisco. Francisco helped foster my passion for fishing during my youth. He took me on fishing trips, sold me gear and constantly shared his wisdom. However, we began to fish together less as I started planning my own trips. So when he invited me fishing for the first time in nearly two years I instantly agreed. The boat may have been small and the conditions a little rough, but I was just excited for the chance to go fishing again with an old friend.
One of the many large lingcod from the trip.
Back on the boat I dropped my double shrimp fly rig down to the bottom of the ocean. Seconds later, a fish began dancing on the end of my light bass pole. After reeling up through 150 feet of water, I was greeted with two healthy yellow rockfish. Placing the smaller one on the top hook I proceeded to drop the poor fish down to his inevitable doom. Hopefully, that small yellow rockfish was going to attract something much bigger.
In hindsight this was a terrible idea. I had 170 feet of line on my bass pole and I was dropping it into 150-155 feet of water with a live yellow rockfish on my hook. But when the tip of the light rod was pulled sharply towards the water I instantly realized my mistake. A large lingcod pulled out twenty feet of line before I realized what was happening. I watched in horror as the knot where the braid attached to the metal spool of my reel became exposed. With my rod between my legs, left hand gripping the line and right hand cranking furiously I worked to recover the line I had lost. So began the stalemate where neither boy nor lingcod was willing to give an inch. Luckily for me, the lingcod began to tire and I started slowly pulling it towards the surface. After a grueling battle featuring hand cramps and friction burns, the lingcod was within sight. The net scooped down, the head of the fish entered the mesh and seconds later a thirteen pound lingcod was flopping helplessly on the deck.
Up until this point I had only caught three lingcod in my entire life. Francisco congratulated me as I shakily traded in my bass rod for a sturdier rod and a reel with more line capacity. The same shrimp fly rig was attached and another live yellow rockfish was placed onto the top hook. Down went the poor fellow. A couple minutes later the rod was bent over double again.
The final haul of lingcod from the trip.
And once again I had another lingcod at my feet. As I reached behind the gill to pick it up the lingcod thrashed, raking its sharp gill plate across my fingers. Blood instantly welled up through the thin but deep cuts. Pulling on gloves I simply placed the fish into the icebox. The fishing was hot, and my cut hand could wait until later. Putting another rockfish on the line, I dropped the rig down again. And once again I had another lingcod on within a few minutes.
By the time the third lingcod hit the deck, Francisco and his friends were beginning to figure out that live bait was working well. After a quick redistribution of the remaining rockfish we were all getting hits. Unfortunately, the lingcod were hitchhiking off the rockfish. This meant that they were not actually hooked, but were instead holding onto the back of the rockfish with their razor sharp teeth and refusing to let go. But as they reached the surface they relented, releasing their prey and darting back into the azure depths. Luckily for me, the lingcod often got caught on the second trailer hook. Eventually Francisco caught three, while his friends caught three total. Believe it or not, I caught six lingcod over 25 inches during the trip. After we limited out on lingcod we made a couple of drifts, picking up a rockfish or two on every pass. After four hours of fishing, we decided to call it a day and head back.
We ended the day with around 37 rockfish and 12 hefty lingcod. The trip to Half Moon Bay with an old friend turned out to be one of the most memorable fishing trips of my life.
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