Halibut fishing in Homer

Day 16--Saturday, August 3, 2002

I set Jess's tiny alarm for 5 but was awake at 4:30, excited about my day of halibut fishing. I wasn't the first one up in this tent colony on the rocky beach. I could hear many others preparing for a day of fishing.

I put on all my warm layers and then donned my rain jacket and pants over that. Packed my lunch, grabbed my camera, and I was off to Pier P, Slip 4 and my boat, The Halibut Hunter, captained by Tom Bunnell.

I was early so watched the other captains and fishing boats get ready. At low tide, long metal gangplanks slant sharply down to the docks. The fishermen put their gear in large plastic tubs with rope handles and then let the tub slide down the smooth side while they walked the side with metal strip "grippers" on it. One guy going to his boat got nearly to the bottom and then fell. He rolled around in seeming agony and could not get up. He looked up at me, so I went down to help him, expecting that he had broken something or injured his back. Got him up and after a bit he hobbled off. He had hurt his right leg and knee and I'm not sure he went fishing. He seemed in a good deal of pain.

Anyhow, after this incident, I found my boat and captain. In my honor, Tom had decided to take his girlfriend, Rachel, along to help me out as needed. Four other men (two groups of two: Ken & Dave and Mike & Don) were on this charter also. I was the only one who had never caught a halibut.

It was very foggy when we left port. We went through several fog banks and we could see a big build-up in the distance. Tom usually goes 30 miles into the Cook Inlet, but the farther out we got the rougher it became, so we stopped at 22 miles out. On the radio to other boats, Tom described the waves as 3s and 4s with some 5s. I'm assuming he meant feet, but I'm not sure. Also heard him ask another captain if he'd found any "flat" water and report that we were "getting trashed out here." When he started doubting that his anchor "would stick" I began to worry that he could call off the fishing.

He didn't. We stopped 8 miles short of his usual fishing spot instead. He baited everyone's rods with octopus and mackerel. Handed me the short stubby rod with a big reel and simply said, "Put it on the  bottom [which was 225 feet down] and when you hook a halibut, pull up and reel down."

Now I have to tell you that this boat had no chairs, no stools, nothing on the rail to hold the pole, rails that came to the middle of my thigh, and a slippery plastic floor. Tom didn't offer anyone a pole harness either, which I was kind of hoping for. We were all "standing" in about a 8 by 9 foot area and the boat was rolling and rearing like a bronco.

Remember my telling you that I wanted to catch a halibut as big as a bed sheet? Well, let's say I caught two (the limit) as big as pillowcases (40 pounds). Actually I would never have been able to bring up a bed-sheet-sized halibut from 200 feet. Bringing up my 40s plus the bait and the 2-pound sinker has probably damaged my arm and back muscles for life. It is HARD work and took a lot of effort and balance to compensate for the pitching boat.

Fortunately, as long as you keep the line taut you can stop reeling and rest a bit. One of the guys, Mike, kept throwing his back, hoping for a larger one (all of the halibut we caught were in the 40-pound range) so he must have brought up at least 6 halibut. After we had caught our limit, we could fish for salmon. Four of us caught silvers (Coho), and Rachel caught a "humpy," which is what I think they called a pink salmon or humpback. She released it as being "unfit to eat."

While all this was going on, Ken was being constantly seasick. I saw the look in his eye before we had even thrown anchor and left the little cabin. In fact, when I was struggling to land my second halibut, he was rolfing over the rail right in front of me. I tried not to watch. Seeing someone vomit makes me want to do the same.

When we had all caught our limit and conditions seemed to be worsening, we hit for home. Ken, the sick guy, rode all the way home outside. Don & Mike (great bow hunting buddies and fishing pals since their son and daughter dated) were exhausted, Mike being the sorest of us all.

On the way back, two tufted puffins flew by, their orange feet and bills comically prominent. Two fulmars floated near the boat the whole time we were fishing.

Back at the dock we loaded all the fish into plastic buckets and pulled them up the gangplank to the weighing station and cleaning table. I took a picture of Mike and Don with some of the fish, and they took one of me. Then we watched as a man named Sam wielded a mean filet knife—truly amazing how fast and clean he worked. He wore a Kevlar glove on one hand, which he said worked fine unless you caught it too many times in the same place.

I was going to send my halibut back up to Danette and Dan and Lalle Contini, but my fish were small (the largest catch in the halibut Derby now is 300 and something pounds) and I took pity on Ken who had been too sick to catch anything . . . so I gave my halibut to Ken, but kept out one enormous filet for Jess and me. It is in the freezer at the campgrounds as I write. The silver I gave to Rachel for being my cheerleader and because she'd had to toss back her "humpie."

While I was fishing, Jess, kayak teacher that she is, was ocean kayaking. She caught a water taxi to one of the areas across the way (Tutka Cove) and they were to pick her up again at a specified time. It is 6:45 p.m. and she is still not back. I will see if she will send an account of her day when she returns—which I hope is soon because halibut shish-kabob beckons for dinner.

Jess just walked up. She had a fabulous day which she will tell you about tomorrow.