This isn’t a story to brag about my Alaska fishing prowess. This is a story about the stars aligning to defy the bounds of logic, and also brag about a hell of a fish I was lucky enough to catch one day in July 2022.
Any fisherman will tell you — there are good days, and there are bad days. That’s just fishing.
One of the things I’ve learned working on a fishing boat is that it’s all a matter of probability. If you fish EVERY. SINGLE. DAY for an entire summer, you’re bound to have some good days, and of course some bad ones, but the more often you have a line in the water, the greater chances that lightening will strike.
Flash back to July 20, 2022. It was a bluebird day in Homer, Alaska. The M/V Diamond Cape “set sail” for the far reaches of the Chugach Islands, a 2+ hour run from the harbor. As we rounded the corner at Point Adams and entered the Gulf of Alaska, the mountains rose like a scene from Jurassic Park in the early morning light. We rode the current through the Elizabeth Channel and eastward towards the far side of East Chugach island.
Now most days on Homer charter fishing boats we target halibut. But thanks to some wonky regulations, some days of the week are closed to halibut fishing, so we spend our time hunting for shiny and spiny ones — salmon, rockfish, lingcod, and anything else we happen to pull up that’s worth eating.
Rockfish can be one of my favorite types of fishing because when these schooling fish are on the bite, it can be fast and furious. Plus they’re super cool fish that come in a range of shapes and sizes and colors, so you never know what flavor of Skittle fish you might jig up from the bottom. Fishing can be so fast, in fact, that it’s not atypical to pull a boat limit of rockfish in less than half an hour — 6 clients plus captain and crew means that’s putting 40 fish on the boat pretty much as quick as you can get a line in the water. (Our rockfish regulations have since become more conservative, limiting anglers to 3 a day instead of 5.)
This story is the stuff of legend. It was one of those sunny Alaska days were the bite was hotter than that big yellow thing in the sky.
Our first stop of the morning was Captain Clay’s Super Secret Rock Pile (TM) in the middle of the ocean. I could see the large schools of rockfish beneath the boat on the depth sounder. We all shuffled out on the back deck and dropped jigs down towards the bottom.
Fish on! Then another, and another. One after the other black rockfish were flying over the side of the boat, then another black one, then — what the heck is that?!? A goldfish?!! One lucky angler reeled in a bright orange-and-black tiger rockfish.
The boat drifted along and eventually drifted out of the school of fish before we completely limited out — that type of fishing makes the two-hour drive worth it. We reset our drift and I grab my little ice fishing rod from the front of the boat.
Most rockfish weigh 4-8 pounds, with a few expections like the yelloweye rockfish, which can grow to 100 years old and weigh more than 20 pounds. But even the average size rockfish put up a heck of a fight, especially on a 24″ ice fishing rod with 8-pound test for line (which is a fisherman way of saying it’s really small and light gear, even for these smaller fish). I like a challenge, and my clients usually get a laugh out of the captain pulling out a dinky rod and trying to catch a big fish.
WHAM! It only took a few seconds before I hooked my own rockfish. The water was flat calm with barely a ripple on the surface as I watched the dusky fish rise from the dark green of the deep ocean.
But then I saw the giant serpent-like shadow following it.
“No way!” I thought to myself as the spotted pattern of a giant lingcod came into view.
I reeled up the rockfish up as quick as I could hoping the aggressive lingcod would stay in hot pursuit — and it worked! The ling followed the black rockfish all the way to the surface until they both were just next to the boat. Then I paused. I waited for a split second hoping the ling would strike they dazed rockfish. It felt like an eternity. I waited to see if the prized lingcod would strike at the rockfish or return to the depths.
The ling darted — CHOMP! — and latched onto the rockfish. Thankfully, it didn’t run. It bit again, and again, taking the rockfish deeper into it’s jaws at the surface of the water. Finally it had the whole fish in its mouth, as well as my tiny jig on the end of the rod.
I reach for the rod holders above my head and grabbed the big golden gaff. “Hey Jonathan,” I called to my deckhand. “Check this out!”
I reached the gaff into the water and stuck the giant ling under its chin before Jon had a chance to respond. With a yank of my arm I leaned back and catapulted it and everything else over the railing — the lingcod, the rockfish, and my tiny fishing rod went flying onto the deck.
Everyone screamed not expecting the scene. The lingcod thrashed about and started a death roll as the rockfish flipped free and bounced around the deck. The gaff was still in the giant ling, and so was the jig, adding to the chaos.
“HOLY S@%$!!!!” Jonathan yelled as I laughed at the absurdity of it all.
One final drift and we had our limit of rockfish. Play time was over. It was time to hunt for salmon.
