Fishing for a birthday present
Shopping for brithdays can be a little tricky here in Costa Rica, especially out in the boonies where we live. But one thing that Dorian wanted for his eighteenth that we could provide was to go fishing. So we arranged a 1/2 days charter out of Potrero to see what he could catch. Of course I didn’t want him to fall overboard or anything, so I decided that I should probably tag along, just in case.
Now if you have ever read this blog you know Dorian likes to fish. Quite often he seems to catch the most and the biggest fish on our trips. He also puts in the most time fishing. He likes to kill fish. Just type in fishing or Dorian in the search box to the right and you will see.
Our guide promising us some big fish.
We have not done a lot of charter fishing in our time. So this charter trip was going to be a pretty new affair. It started great. A small skiff backed into the surf to pick us up from the beach. The water was warm and as we waded knee deep out to the skiff, I could see there was some cloud cover, but no rain in sight. Our vessel was a 30 foot fiberglass inboard with a soft top and cabin for sun and rain protection if needed. There was a single well used white leather fishing chair on the back deck. As soon as we let loose from the anchor the two deckhands got to work. Within 5 minutes they had 5 lines in the water and we were trolling. Within another 15 minutes Dorian had landed two Spanish Mackerel. All this before we even left Potrero Bay.
Elephant Rock, no fish no elephants.
Now being from Alaska my idea of fishing is a little different than what we were doing here. You see when I fish I like to get my hands dirty, put on the bait, tie on lures, set the lines and most of all set the hook. Here our two tico guides did all the work for us while we watched intently. You could tell they had time on the water. Their skin was dark and dry, from the sun and salty water. They hand sunglass rings around their eyes, and the youngest ones white logo t-shirt was as thin as a toilet paper, with small fish stains all around it. They worked in unison, each knowing what the other was doing, while the slipper skipper up on the flying bridge drove the boat. The deckhands were thin and whispy, their clothes dirty, they were happy talkative and fun. The skipper, he was nice, but he was a big man, his clothes much cleanier and we didn’t get to talk to him much.
The wind was a steady 10 knots out of the east, but it was a welcome wind making the temperature just about perfect for shorts and t-shirts. There were clouds, but sparsely strewn amongst the blue sky, and this aftternoon the water was the perfect place to be.
Dorian in action.
After his initial catch the fishing slowed a bit as we headed out to deeper waters. We fished hard between some local islands, Elephant Rock, the Catalinas and the Mexican Sombrero. We managed to catch a couple of bonito and saw some neat birds, but that was about it. After several hours we trolled our way back into Potrero Bay. As we reached the mouth of the bay, Dorian landed another Spanish Mackerel. Then all of the sudden two rods went down at once and we both landed a nice silvery Pacific Mackerel, about 6 pounds a piece. Then the bite was on. For the next hour there was a fish on the line every 3 or 4 minutes. We were pulling them in as fast as we could. It was hard to take my eyes of the golden sunset, but I knew fish needed to be landed, so I did. The gear was too big for the fish we were catching, but every once in a while one of them would put a little extra fight to up the excitement. It was fast, furious and fun.
Two men.
By the end of the day we had landed at least a dozen mackerel, let several fish go, ate an expertly butchered fresh pineapple and watched an amazing sunset. It wasn’t fancy but it was effective and it was a fun way for a dad to spend the day with his 18 year old son. The next night we ate like kings with mackerel 3 ways. We even shared some with our guards, life long Ticos who said they were as good as any fish they have ever had in Costa Rica. High praise. Perhaps next year when he is going to college in Florida, he will take me out deep sea fishing for my birthday for the big ones, as long as I pay the way I’m sure it is a date.
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Costa Rican Tip Ups
One of our goals during our first year here in Costa Rica is to explore. We have started to do that, hitting new communities, new beaches, new areas. One thing has been pretty consistent on most beaches and that is the Tico fishing style. Instead of the Lamiglass rods and Berkley reels of the Kenai River, they use plastic reels and wind up some 20 pound mono filament, a small hook and they are good to go. Instead of neoprene waders or lightweight waders, they wade waist to neck-deep, barefoot and in shorts.
This past weekend we spent the day at Panama Beach and met a local fisherman. He was about 18 years old, tall, dark and slender with black wavy hair. His hands had nicks and cuts and thin burn like scars, most likely from hand holding the monofilament with fish on the line. I regretfully did not get his name, but we attempted to converse for quite a while over a topic we both had interest in, fishing. It was amazing to watch him fish, and like all fisherman he loved to talk about his fishing.
Getting ready to get some bait
The first thing on his list, find some bait on the beach. I think what he used was a very small hermit crab, which he deftly removed it from its tiny shell and put it on a very small hook, one you may use to catch minnows. The hook was below a very small bell weight. He then would wade knee-deep into the water and while holding a white plastic roll in his left hand, he would toss the hook 10 feet off the beach and wait. It didn’t take long before he would be whisking a 4-6 inch sardine in. Quickly he would yank the hook out of the mouth a the sardine and then run to his yellow or black plastic roll and hurriedly run a bigger hook through the back of the sardine and race back down to the water. This time he would go much deeper, at least to his waist. Then like Roy Rogers he would swing the live sardine on the hook and weight over his head like he was going to lasso a bull and then sling it out as far as he could. By my estimates it was 25-30 feet off shore. Then it would sit. He would put the reel in the sand, put a little sand on it and go get the white reel to catch another sardine for his second line.
sardine bait catching depth
On this particular day it seemed to be good fishing, as I could see the sardines flying out of the water as they were being chased by game fish. Every once in a while I would even see the flip of a tail, or splash of the head of a game fish. Within minutes my friend was sprinting back to his reel as it was being drug down the beach; Fish on! Then the work began. I don’t know if you have ever fished with a hand line, no rod, no reel, just you the fish and the line in your hand. But it can be an extremely painful experience as monofilament burns skin rather easily as it slides through your hand.
Costa Rican tip ups
As he picked the line up he would sprint straight up the beach to set the hook. Then as he wound up the line back on the reel, he would come back down to the shoreline. From then on it was a typical fisherman’s fight. He would pull in some line, make some headway and then the fish decided to run and would snap the line through his hand and of the reel. I could tell it hurt because after every run he would glance at his hand and then quickly splash it in the ocean before starting another pull. This would go on four or five times until the fish came to shore. When it was close, he would again back up the beach. What I found interesting was that he didn’t “bonk” the fish, didn’t kill the fish or anything, he just left it and grabbed his other reel. The fish, in turn, just laid on the beach.
The first two of the day
On this day I watched him catch and land three fish. They were all about 10-15 pounds and they all put up a decent fight. The last one I caught on video and he had a tough time with that one ” grande, grande” he kept telling me. Now I wasn’t able to fully understand what kind of fish they were, but through a little research I figured out they were Jack Crevalle, not a highly prized food fish, but food none-the-less. Not food directly for him, food because he would sell the fish and use that money to buy food. He earned the money just as much from the cleaning of the fish as from the catching, because he used a butter knife to clean it. Yes a typical American butter knife to clean all three fish.
Butter knife fish cleaning
At the end of the day, fish cleaned, lines out of the water, fish washed in the water from whence they came,he slings the three Jacks over his shoulder and pushes his beat up blue bicycle off the beach. Before he gets 100 feet he already has at least one fish sold, and maybe more. As he exits the beach the little tico kids all surround him to gawk at the days catch, a hero in their eyes as he pauses to tell them how he caught the fish so quickly and about that goofy gringo that kept asking him a million times ” what kind of fish is that? ” Perhaps next time I will join him and learn the Costa Rican twitch with the Costa Rican tip ups.
This is an unedited video of his last catch of the day.
Salty Dawgs
My favorite part of our recent family visit was the “trip”. If you have been a follower of our blog, you know we like to take a boat trip every year over to Jakalof Bay to pick some berries and fish for some halibut. We decided it would be a good idea to take the ladies out and let them experience special part of Alaska. Like any good mariner, I checked the weather regularly before the day of the trip, and not once did it look very good. But since we were just jetting across the bay, I thought we could pull it off. So off we headed, back to Homer for a little adventure.
The gaggle of gals headed down to the boat, while I parked the car, and I could see them milling around the boat. To their delight a seal had decided to make a home on the swim-step of our boat. Someone had the foresight to keep Austin from harvesting it, and instead they took pictures like they were in a petting zoo.
Security guard for the boat
"Hey Tra do you think I can bring it home with me?"
With the lines tossed, we were on our way. It was a very pleasant trip, for about 10 minutes, then we snuck out around the spit. In an instant we were in it, The Perfect Storm. Okay, perhaps not quite that dramatic, but at least 6-7 footers, which to a 24 foot boat are pretty decent. I calmly answered the cries of ” is this normal?” or”are we going to die” and” I trust you, you wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t safe would you?” With a very calm and sweaty palmed ” This is nothing; a piece of cake” . ” I have been in much, much worse!” I didn’t tell them it was in 121 foot deep sea patrol vessel at the time.
The day started out beautifully.
Very soon shades of green were popping up amongst the passengers. I could tell, as the talking quickly subsided, minus the screams as we would crest the waves, that there was some uncertainty amongst us. Perhaps they were looking for a Jonah, and they kept eyeballing me. I knew it was far too late to turn around, and perhaps far too dangerous, so onward, upward, downward, upward, downward…… we continued. Every once in a while I had to pull back the throttle to keep us from slamming off the top of wave, which tended to add to the excitement.
Then for some reason I thought I would say something to comfort everyone. ” As long as the engine keeps running, we will be fine. ” Hmmmm, that didn’t come out as I expected, and it didn’t cause the reaction I was looking for. Eventually, in what probably seemed like hours to some, we pulled into the cover of the bay and all was well. We managed to tie up safely, eat some fried chicken, and go pick some salmon berries. I am not convinced they thought it was worth it, but I think they had fun once we got there.
Man I am happy to get off that boat with all them women!
The real housewives of Jakalof Bay have found their new home!
Lana tore that rope swing up!
Tina showing off her trophy berries
It's a bald bear, it's a bald eagle, nope it's super berry picker.
A view into the bay
A portion of our bounty
After several hours, we decided to try to catch some halibut, and I was anxious to try a new spot right outside the bay. As we cast the lines, I sensed a slight tinge of nervousness, as I assured them it would not be nearly as rough as before, and it wasn’t. However the motion of the boat in a long, almost gentle swell, while at anchor, seemed to have an even more adverse effect on the briny crew. Soon there were heads hanging over both sides of the boat, and Tina laughing her head off in the cabin. I knew it was bad when my first mate, whom I had never seen sick, succumbed to chumming over the port rail. You just better be thankful my camera isn’t a smell-o-vision.
Hey first mate, whatchya looking at?
Salty dawg fail.
Due to my ultra -sensitivity to those around me, and my first mate begging me to go, I decided that it was time to move on, halibut or not. We had one last spot to try, and then we would call it a day with only berries as our prize. A pride buster for any old salt. Again, this was a new spot, but it was in protected waters. However, we would once again have to cross the straits of horror to get there. But as I assured them, the ride would be much smoother as we would be traveling with the seas. The sick and wounded climbed into the bunk area and off we went.
Passing the honorary salty dawg initiaiton.
Attempting the honorary salty dog initiation
Failing the salty dawg initiation.
We made it across without too much excitement and managed to drop anchor in some flat calm waters. Very quickly the herring laden hooks were weighted and dropped and there they sat for a lengthy time. It was poor fishing. A fine finish to a fine day.
Again, my ultra-sensitivity radar kicked in and I could sense that the ladies wanted to call it a day. Perhaps the cat calls of ” how much longer” ” when we can we go” and “there’s no fish” aided in tuning in my radar. So as we always do we pulled up one line at a time. Dorian the die-hard always waiting to the last second, kept on fishing while I reeled all other lines in. Now this strategy never works. I can never, not one time remember catching a fish by cleaning up one rod at a time; except today. With three lines in the boat I hear Dorian ” Dad I got one” and I look over at his rod bent over mightily and I knew instantly it was a good fish. Quickly we put Austin’s rod back in the water and in a matter of seconds he had a big fish on.
Dorian saves the trip once again
Dorian informed me that this was a good fish, and having boated a 160 pounder last year, I figured he would know. So there I was bouncing between Dorian and Austin trying to help them land their catch. I figured Dorian would land his first, but every time it got close it made a run for the bottom. unfortunately the two halibut conspired to get the lines tangled up and Austin eventually lost his. After a lengthy battle Dorian was able to bring his to the surface and I harpooned her as if she was Moby Dick and I was Ahab. She figured to be in the 60 pound range, not huge but often the best fighters. While we let her rest I put Austin’s rod back in the water and once again he hooked into a big one, and once again he lost it. DANG!
Homer Harbor (some stinking tourists in the foreground)
By then it was time to go. Considering the start of the day, the ill-fated journey ended well. We harvested berries, saw a ghost ( ask Tra about that one) got some great pictures, got enough halibut to share, earned some awesome stories, saw some first class chumming and grunting, and grabbed a McKinley Mac on the way out-of-town. Even though they failed some of the tests, I have now declared all on-board official salty dawgs. Next time we will look for some real rough water.
Austin’s fish follies
Certainly catching a pollock would be the highlight of any trip,none-the-less I felt some more fishing was in order. So the boys and I did some old-fashioned dip netting, and brought Austin along for the ride, little did we know.
It just so happened we went on a day when the fish were literally pouring into the river. In fact, I think it was the best dipping I have ever seen. The problem with good dipnetting is that it is extremely addictive and very hard to stop, especially when the fishing is good.
Heading out after the "not so elusive" red salmon
Now the way the personal use / dipnet fishery works is that you get 25 fish for the head of the household and then 10 fish per each household member. So if you do the math, that means I am allowed 105 fish on my permit. You can bet that makes me a popular person to bring on your boat when you go dipnetting. Normally it is kind of hard to go over limit with me around. In fact, not only do I not want my limit, the closest I ever got was 92 reds. That was way too many.
We found the "not so elusive" red salmon
However the summer of 2010 turned out to eclipse that. In fact, it was a virtual fish blood path, a feeding frenzy of fish, a plethora of pescado, a lot of fish. If you were on the boat or even near the boat you got bathed in fish blood and guts. I know it sounds disgusting, but it was very manly for those of us to experience it. Although I only kept about half, the cleaning, smoking and prepping still took some time. In the end, as always, it was worth it.
The aftermath and premath of a night of cleaning for me.
We managed to get a few more fishing trips in for Austin. We spent an afternoon chasing red salmon, and he caught on quickly. He landed three red salmon all by himself with a fly rod, a not so easy task, as those who have tried knows. One of them he managed to hook legally and we kept that one for him to bring home.
Trying for some kings on Ninilchik
Dorian and Austin working it for the reds the old-fashioned way
Fish On!
Fish UP!
Fish Landed!
Any excuse to go fishing is welcomed, but I find that my absolute favorite times to fish are those times when I get to take a kid or an out-of- stater that has never caught a fish up here. For some reason I get more joy seeing them hook up a salmon, or halibut, or any species of prized pesces. Of course, like I said before, any excuse to go fishing.
Don't even think about it Austin! That eagle had the fish first.
The wild beasts of Fuller Lakes
Imagine the rare 75 degree Alaska day; you have a day off from work and decide to hike 3 miles away from civilization, to a lake teeming with rainbows and dolly varden. You arrive, dripping sweat from the steep hike, but alone with a slight breeze and the sun beaming down on the lake. There are small pockets of snow, a welcome anomaly, you grab a handful and rub it on the back of your neck to cool down. Then you notice the fish are feeding, and whip out your fly rod and begin casting. The slight breeze helps you place the tiny mosquito fly you tied yourself in near perfect position, as you get a strike on your first cast. You haven’t even taken your backpack off your back, but the quiet solitude, the sheep on the mountain, the only sounds of the water cascading from the beaver dam and your fly line whipping in the wind are perfection. You can’t imagine a better day or a better way to spend Memorial Day.
Fresh at the start of Fuller Lakes Trail
Jace and Jeremy taking a breather
Who looks the most tired in this group?
Then you hear it ” The last one up is a stinky fish head!” ” hey quit pushing me!” ” I can’t wait to jump in!” “Get outta my wayyyyyy!!!” That would be us, the Godfrey Daniels crew, a party of 17 entering into your perfect wilderness setting. The last place you would expect to see 13 kids from 5-16 dragging four adults up the side of a mountain. I know you go up there to get away from the hustle and bustle, to spend time in nature and enjoy the quiet and solitude, but so did we. Our strategy is different though. You see we hike the mountain to burn the kids out so when we go home and eat dinner, they go to bed. Then, and only then can we enjoy our quiet and solitude. Instead of a fly rod we will likely have a remote control in our hand, but the effect will be the same.
You can see the very happy fisherman if the background
Arrival of the truly wild beasts of the wilderness
No wonder I could keep up with Ben, he only had one shoe on!
Thinking about the kids being in bed by 9
So we apologize to you Mr. fisherman hiker, but we do not regret that Memorial Day Trek. That hike created some more life long memories, but most importantly, it got the kids quietly in bed by 9 pm on warm summer school-less day; and because of that, I predict there will be many more hikes to come this summer. In fact, if you are planning to scale Mt. McKinley this year, don’t be surprised if you hear ” the last one up is a stinky dog toot”, and turn your head just in time to see a party of 17 on your heels.
They had no idea I was even taking a picture
Jason and Angie with Skilak lake in the background
Fish watching
sheep watching
Olivias
Gangstas of Fuller Lake
"Um, I wasn't playing in the water."
"I'm not playing in the water!"
A parting shot of Skilak
Success! Now only 6 more to go!
A bad day of fishing in Costa Rica, beats a lot of things.
Well apparently some things are not so much different here in Costa Rica than back home. Say for instance the fishing. We took a small charter out this morning to do a little fishing for, well for pretty much anything. Although the methods were slightly different, the weather was way different, the results were vaguely familiar; we caught nothing. I saw more variety of fish than I have ever seen outside an aquarium. They were jumping, diving, swimming and schooling all over the place, they just wouldn’t bite. Maybe it was too hot for them to eat.
our chariot awaiting us
our trusty skipper William
Jason ready to reel
first mate
The trip was not a total loss, as I said before I saw more variety of fish than I have ever seen. My favorite was the giant Manta Ray. As I have detailed in this blog in the past, we have caught many skates over the years, and I thought Manta Rays were similar. I was way off. They look similar, but it is like comparing a Piper Super Cub to a Boeing 747. The giant manta rays were amazing to watch, gliding through the water, barley moving their wings. Eventually each tip of each wing breaking the surface of the water, as two shark fins moving in unison. Then slowly gliding back down like a hand glider returning to earth. A couple off them were several feet wider than our boat, and one looked to be as big as our 21 foot fishing boat. I can only imagine the giant shadow they must cast on the bottom of the ocean.
Jrew checking the lines
pre-fishing pose
father and son
We also saw some turtles, jumping skates, and about a dozen fish of which I was told the name of, but could not understand what William the skipper called them through his thick spanglish accent. I just nodded my head and smiled, that seemed to do the trick. Finally we saw some sea snakes and some of the beautiful deserted beaches. Shoot, I even managed to get a little snooze in. It was a nice boat ride without any nasty, dirty fish to clean. Back home we would say ” all I caught was a cold”, here “all I caught was a burn, sunburn”.
like father, like son
fishing, boat riding fools
A mountain of a trip, and a mountain of pictures
Kodiak, an Island of the southwest coast of Alaska was home to me. I will always have a fond place in my heart for “the rock” as it is known by those of us who frequent it. I know people who love it and I know people who hate it, but I don’t think I have ever heard any say “meh, it’s Okay”. Some people cannot stand the thought of the rain, remoteness and the possibility of being stranded days beyond your intended stay. I have been there. There are only two ways to Kodiak, the ferry and the air. I remember once when I was commercial fishing, waiting five days, five full days to get off that Island and go home to my wife. That was a time when I hated the rock. That was long before internet and cell phones, the days before lattes, facebook posts and twitter. So we just sat, sat , sat in the airport, me, my crew and about 200 other unwashed, stinking commercial fisherman, waiting for one day of decent, not good, just decent weather.
The view from our hosts, the Mortenson's
Mort , Sonya & Olivia, some of my favorite people.
Mom & Dad reliving some old memories at Fort Abercrombie
hanging on the old cannon at Abercrombie
old bunker at Abercrombie
The woods at Abercrombie
Ben picking salmonberries
Finally found something that quieted him up for a minute
posing in the Abercrombie woods
fences mean nothing to this family
mom & dad still reminiscing
But even that could not sour me on Kodiak. It is nearly impossible to beat Kodiak when the weather is nice; those three days are awesome! I know when we last lived there we loved it. We loved the pace of life, the beauty, the fishing and hunting, and our church. Shoot, we even got a Wal-Mart. It was a good life.
hey, I wanted a turn!
who let Jeremy drive?
Ensign?
My ladies
The newest attraction, 120 ft. blades on these bad boys. That'll keep you cool on them hot summer days.
view from the top of Pillar Mountain.
More Pillar Mt.
boyz on the Mt.
This time we were just going back for a visit. You see my dad was born and raised in Kodiak, and he went on to become Commissioner of the Dept. of Public Safety. He was very involved in native issues and did quite a bit for the native community. He was the first Alaska Native Commissioner and proud to be so. He died a few years ago, and since then a few of the native corporations made a move to name a Mountain after him, one in a bay where he and mom spent there last time together. So our trip was part of the celebration of the naming of this mountain. I, unfortunately, was on the committee planning this thing out. Had I the foresight to know what that would entail, I likely would’ve excused myself.
on the road to Pasagshak
Nana talking to her friends the seals. Alli learning the ways of her crazy elders.
Indiana Godfrey and his bullwhip of death. Don' t believe me, ask Ben where his left ear is.
One of us has a little less hair than the last time we were here.
she still likes me!
Notice the famous rocket launch tower in the background
scenes from the beach
more beach scenes
even more
Part of the committee job was travel, travel to get the family to and from Kodiak. Things were falling into place a little nicely and I should have known a curve ball, nay a sinking slider was upon us. The day they were supposed to arrive, our air transportation was cancelled. coincidently, this was the day prior to the event. Ahhh Kodiak you got me again! Myself and my family, understanding how this hearty island worked, we were there a week early on the ferry, so we were good to go. It was the other 18 people with which I had to deal with. Frantically, as fast as my fingers could pound the flat screen of my iphone, I was sending emails, making phone calls, and reading emails. Finally after hours and hours of heartache, indigestion, anxiety, stress and a little fear, we were able to make arrangements to get the family to the Island with hope, just hope of getting them home ( I of course did not tell them that). But I knew once I got them there, the rest would depend on the Island.
some of the buffalo
getting an early start on fine arts
watch out Jake!
Nana, Grandma and us
Dorian doing what he loves the most
nana doing her best at Lake Rose Tead
the kids? wading
Dorian may like fishing, but he don't like wading
here comes a big one
A scene from Baywatch!
run for your lives! or at least for your socks
cleaning up Papa's grave
I don’t want it to appear that the whole time was a stressful mess, just a few days of the trip. The rest of the time we explored the rock as if it was our first time. We hit up our favorite beaches, sites and mountains. Visited spots where Tra and I had dates, ate at new places and old, visited great friends and had a genuine good time. The first day of the ceremony went well, for most of it was indoors. The second day of the ceremony, well….. it didn’t happen. It was to involve a boat trip to the mountain to place a plaque. But when the weather is blowing Northeast 45, no one is too skippy to take a boat trip anywhere, especially the skippers of the boat. None-the-less, we made a day of it, again hitting the beaches, all 30 of us.
the most popular drummer
One of the dancers
The traditional mask that was built to be burnt.
The fire to burn the mask those logs are about 8 feet long
The beach we chose that day was Pasagshak, a beautiful forty minute drive through three Kodiak wind swept bays and over the mountains. There were horses, buffalo, salmon, bald eagles, deer and more spread along the way. After several stops, we arrived at the end of the road, our beach of choice.Upon unloading the crew, and doing a little beach combing, I sat on the beach, watching my kids playing in the surf, looking for fossils, exploring the WW II bunkers, and climbing every hill in sight; I breathed in the salt air, listened to the massive surf pound the beach, and felt the wind pressing against the back of my jacket, and I was in the moment in one of God’s greatest creations. Just then, a small, but fast raindrop pelted against my nose, and caused me to look up into the sky. I didn’t have to look up much, and I saw the low dark clouds hovering in a haze of foggy rain, and I realized that I had to figure how to get all these people home. At that moment I knew, the Island had got me once again. How many days this time Kodiak? Some things never change.
leaving scenes
Jake reflecting
Jake Reflecting
Nana, Grandma and their 20 grandkids and counting, color coded of course
Labor Day Weekend Part II. The long awaited sequel to Labor Day weekend part I
The next day we again ventured out into the briny sea, this time with the whole family in tow. Early to the high tide, the fishing was not nearly as productive, but everyone managed to catch something. Unfortunately, something more often than not, was a 50 pound skate or a feisty little dogfish shark. Somehow, I don’t think the little ones minded too much, except for dad who had to wrangle each and every one of them off the circle hooks. I made a bit of an art of it after a dozen or so attempts, and a few cuts, and a few crushed fingers from those blasted skates.
A shark.....
... a skate........
.....my hot date!
To the little ones, a picture with a shark or skate was much more exciting than a stinking halibut anyway. Although before the trip was over, Alli landed a 30 lb. prize, followed by Jeremy and his 50 pounder, added to the halibut of day one, we ended up with enough meat for even our family.
I have no clue.
Shyla on the boat doing the same thing she does at home
Alli on the boat doing the same thing she does at home.
While fishing, the fog come upon us without warning and we had to rely on our old fashioned navigation, the gps. It guided us right back to spit. After a vessel and fish cleaning session, we grabbed some pizza at Starvin Marvin’s and headed back to home sweet home. That night, cuddled up and cramped, we ate some home made popcorn and played games while sitting on top of each other.
that's a rod bender there.
more bow poses
Jake chillin
kids kissin
dad drivin
Jeremy fishin
dad gaffin
Jeremy posin
Instant Foggin
That night the kids retreated to their exclusive loft, which managed to sleep each and every one of them. The downfall, the loft was right above our room, so every shift of weight, walk to the bathroom, or acrobatic bed jump, flexed the roof above our bed and sounded as if Dorian’s halibut from the day prior was flopping around on top of us.
our humble abode
our view
their loft
We finished our mini vacation to the south with some stream fishing on the way home. There wasn’t much in the way of catching, just fishing and bug fighting but opportunity for lots of pictures and hopefully some memories. The trip ended with unpacking of twice as much stuff as we packed. I still don’t get how that happens. Every trip, every time, even when we do no shopping and eat everything we packed, we come back with at least twice as much stuff. I equate that to the mystery of missing laundry socks.
Anchor River fishing
jakey working the Nemo pole
Ben fishing?
Alli in B&W
Kachemak Bay
still working that Nemo pole and mohawk
looking for fish, not catching, just looking
All things considered, the trip was a lot of fun for a mini vacation 90 minutes from home. Next time though, we won’t pack as much stuff.
Jake found a ride home
Labor day weekend part I. Dorian and Goliath.
Three days to commemorate this summer and we decide to spend them south, as far south as we can drive that is. We spent the Labor Day weekend in Homer, camping errr cabining and fishing. We found a quaint little, and I mean little, cabin down near Homer to hang our hats for the weekend. But first, Dorian and I had to venture down ahead of the rest of the crew to do a little fish scouting. So we embarked from Homer, as we have done several times, hoping to tempt the giants of the deep; the Homer Halibut. As we headed out on the shimmering, sunny flat calm day, we had no idea if we would be fighting off sharks or pulling up slabs of white tender meat, but either way, we were going to try.
a glass flat calm day
Within one hour Dorian had landed a nice 20 pound halibut, dad had zero. Within another 1/2 hour Dorian’s rod started peeling line as he was loosely holding it on his lap, and he reared back hard to set the hook. The rod tip never even moved up. Then he began reeling, and reeling and reeling. Finally, while I waited with gaff in hand, he said “dad I need help. I need the belt”. I was sure he had a solid 50 pounder on the line. So I took the rod so he could get the belt and I felt the tug. Now I have caught a few halibut in my day so I consider myself a good judge of size. This was way more than 50 pounds. “Dorian grab the harpoon while you are at it” I yelled. Knowing I would need much more than a gaff if I wanted to maintain the bone structure in my arms. Just then my rod goes down, as we had left it unattended while we dealt with rod one. Not sure what I had, I left it be while we dealt with the rod at hand.
the tamed beast
Finally with the fighting belt in place with many minutes and many tugs, he managed to get it near the surface. In the water I estimated it to be over 5 feet long, but I didn’t sit back and look, I immediately began debating whether or not we should keep it, and that lasted for about 1/10th of a second as I reared back and harpooned the flat giant. It did not like that. It thrashed hard against the boat drenching both of us with the glittery gold water, which to be honest was a refreshing welcome, as my heart was pounding and I was dripping sweat in anticipation. I loaded up again and put another in her, concerned that she may break free. That settled her down and we both realized that Dorian had just landed a trophy, likely a once in a lifetime fish. I then rushed over and tended to my rod. As I reeled up my pole, the 30 pounder felt like a feather compared to what we had just dealt with. None-the-less, I swallowed my pride and landed it happy to have the meat.
We had no one to take pictures of us loading this hog, so this is after we got her on board.
We left the trophy in the water as it would’ve taken up the whole deck, while I finished fishing. The bite was on and we wanted to catch our final fish, which would have limited us both out. I was getting bites and decided that my bait had been decimated, and as I was reeling up to check, I did my little reel pause just in case. Now the reel pause has worked once, maybe twice ever in my lifetime, just enough for me to keep doing it. Well this day was the third time as 70 feet below the surface my reel spooled line like Usain Bolt was running the 100 yard dash with it. I could tell it was a nice fish, but not like we had just dealt with. After a few minutes, I managed to get it to the surface and realized it too would need a harpoon, but those were still hanging in the other fish. I handed the rod to Dorian and quickly ( at least the way I remember it was quickly. Dorian has other memories) removed one harpoon head from the trophy halibut, loaded it up and had Dorian gently lift its head, careful to keep it in the water. Slam, perfect shot. We had limited out. Now to get Dorian’s fish on the boat.
Dorian posing with the day's catch. Guess which one he caught. Notice there is about 6 inches of tail flat against the ground.
The both of us, pausing for some photos from several different groups of people. And yes I did not notice the pulley until after some nice guy helped me get the But hung.
With some creative engineering, we rigged up a large tie up line through her gills, and after clearing the deck of all remnants of gear, we both gave her the old heave ho. I knew if we didn’t get her the first time we would have to go to plan B. Plan B involve a long slow ride back to the harbor with But in tow. We managed to wiggle the head over the rail and we both fell backwards as we slid her on deck. Success.
Kassie posing, even with tail flat it is still taller than her.
Jake, Ben and Kassie wondering if we could keep her as another pet. Just what we need, another pet.
Unbeknownst to me, getting her on the boat was the easy part. Upon arriving at the harbor, we then had to transfer that slab off the boat onto a Costco type flatbed trailer, without dropping her back in the water. No small feat, but one accomplished. The next trick, pulling that trophy loaded trailer up the ramp to the cleaning station. Now if you have never been in a boat harbor, then you might not realize that harbors float. They rise and fall with the tide. So the ramp rises and falls as well. At high tide in Homer, it is almost as flat as Missouri. At low tide it is closer to Mt. McKinley. By the grace of God, we were closer to Missouri. As we motored our way over to the ramp, amidst the oohs and ahhs of the clients disembarking from their charter boats with their limit of 20 lb. halibut, I knew we would once again have only one shot at getting up the ramp. If we stop, if we rested, we were likely done. We decided that dad would pull and Dorian would push. In hindsight, probably not the best strategy for if I was to slip, Dorian would be run over by the near 200 pounds of fish and steel. Alas, we made with dad’s checks beat red as the blood from the fish, huffing and puffing all the way.
a little more ingenuity to get her on the cleaning table.
Dr. Godfrey getting ready to work his magic.
other than a piece of someone elses bait, the only other thing in her stomach was this full size dungeness crab. I was ready to cook it up, but no one else was game.
At the top of the ramp we, with some help from the myriad of onlookers, were able to get the fish up on the picture hooks and snap some shots. Tracy showed up just as we were finishing up and all the kids got to see Dorian’s pride and joy. After another hour of fish cleaning, and an over flowing cooler, we were off to dinner and onto the cabin to check out our digs for the weekend. That was day one. Stay tuned for day two.
Dorian is about 5'8", or 68 inches. We figure the But at about 70" or 165 lbs.
silver lining
Camo and darkness, that is stealth mode
Jeremy is so excited he is reading the cheez its box, and Benny, as usual makes great picture faces
One of our good friends took us out on his boat this past Monday to see if we couldn’t harvest a few silvers for the freezer. Now the Kenai River is known for its king and red salmon, but the silver fishing it yields is not to be over looked. The river flows swiftly, but not rapidly. The water is often a silty mush green color. It is true silt, silt that tinkles of the bottom of your boat as the river sweeps it under the hull, ocean bound into the Cook Inlet. There are fewer relaxing things for a man than sitting in a boat with the engine off, a full thermos of hot coffee with just a touch of vanilla creamer, four rods out tempting the fish with your “super secret special” bait, and good quiet company as the sun rises over the tops of the spruce trees adding color and heat to the gray morning.
Jeremy already has one in the fish box so he can chow.
the beauty of a bending pole
I limited, now you guys better get er done.
Then all of the sudden a rod tip slams down into the river, line peels off your reel and crushes the silence as you jump to your feet, doing your best to act as you are not half asleep, as you fumble to grab the rod out of the rod holder; mumbling under your breath to hide the embarrassment of not doing all this in one swift graceful move. With the rod firmly in both hands and clear of its cradle you set the hook pulling back with one strong swift pull, praying you feel that all familiar tug at the end of the line signaling to you that the fight is on. Can this 200 ( okay, 200 +) pound man subdue this 15 pound fish? And most often you can. But every time, without fail, the biggest fish, the one that would have made the cover of every sporting magazine, gets away with nary a glimpse and is relinquished for all eternity to a story. And always it is never the one holding the rod’s fault; Oh no, it is the hook, the old line, those around him, or that pitiful knot. Yet as quickly as it is gone, as quickly as your heart leaped at the first click of the reel, you are ready to try again, and this time you tie your own knot ( just as you did last time).
moby dick?
Benny with one in the boat now what.............
.................. nap time!
Now that is what fishing is all about. It is one of the best ways I know for a dad to spend a morning with his sons, and I wish we could do it more often, as do they. This past Monday was a very good day of fishing, six silvers and one released 35 pound blush king, not a great day. A great day of fishing would entail every one of my boys catching more and bigger fish than me, and being done in time for a hot breakfast where we could tell, for the first time, the story of the one that got away and the land lubber’s knot that freed it.
I had to do an audio swap on this video, so it is not as I intended.
My favorite story teller
I need to vent, and when I vent I usually like to write. So you all get to be the brunt of my vent.
First, this week we heard from OCS ( for the first time in forever) that Jo will be leaving us forever on July 19. This news came out of the blue and kind of took the wind out of our sails to start the week. If you don’t know, Jo has been our child since before her first birthday. In a couple weeks it will be her fourth birthday. Now they tell us she will no longer be our child. As you can imagine this has been an emotional nightmare for our entire family. We have been praying and praying and praying more for Jo to be with us, and right now we are in the 12th hour and barring a miracle, it does not look good. The last few years, our time with Jo has been an emotional bungee jump. I will not go into everything as I have bore my heart about her several times on this blog: That\’s what I (don\’t) love about Sunday & the one that started it all… At what cost. If you want to read the whole series, just click on JoJean in the category cloud to the right. Needless to say this has been like ripping our hearts out of our chest, and frankly I have been numb all week. Yet we have no choice but to be strong because we have 7 other kids that need us.
Then today at 3:05 Tracy calls me at work to let me know that my Grandpa just died. What? Is this some kind of joke? Now I must point out that my Grandpa has not been well for a while, but he was one tough hombre and every time we thought he may not make it, he pulled through and was sometimes better than before. Nonetheless, it hurts, and it hurts bad. I feel for my mom, my aunts and uncle and very much so for my Grandma, and for our family. I spent a lot of time with my Grandpa growing up. He taught me so much without trying. He taught me work ethic, perseverance, strength, fire and desire, he was instrumental in teaching me how to be a man. Something that a lot of this society now lacks. He didn’t set out to “teach” me these lessons, he was just himself.
I commercial fished with Grandpa since I was about 5 years old. I spent all my summers on boats out of Kodiak, and I took my first steps on one of his boats. I have so many memories, some hard, some bad, some tiring, but many great memories that are almost surreal. He showed me how to work a seine, how to drive a skiff, how to dig claims and fish for halibut. He showed me how to shoot deer, catch shrimp, carve, and much to my Grandma’s horror, how to chew snuff. I remember he used to smell like skoal and coffee as I sat on his lap on the flying bridge of his boat, just me and him traveling along somewhere away from anywhere, and I would revel in the smell. That smell was my Grandpa. It was with him I caught my first king salmon, my first halibut, drove my first boat, learned how to play cribbage and pinochle, all before the age of 10. All these things he did not set out to have me experience, I was just there, part of his life, and he was happy to have me there.
I have heard few better story tellers than my Grandpa. I am sure over the 10 or so summers I spent with him I heard all of his stories, and I would beg him over and over to tell me again. They were bigger than life, but all true. The details, until the day he died, they never changed, the names they were always the same. He could recall to the pound how much crab he had on board when it was rough that the waves took out his window. He could recall how much he got paid for loads of crab, and how he would get on Fish & Game’s case because they were wiping out the fishery. He could recall the looks on the face of the men in his stories, the crate of eggs the sea sick deckhnad sat on as Grandpa ate an egg sandwich in front of him for spite. And almost every story ended with laugh as he looked up into the sky, his piercing trademark blue eyes glistening with a slight tear; his mind back in his younger years and the multitude of adventures he had as a pioneer of the commercial fishery in this state. And I would be sitting on his lap or at his feet with smile as big as his in awe and wonder of such a man of strength and adventure.
I can probably write a book about my adventures with Grandpa & Grandma Gugel, but this is a blog not a book. Grandpa thank you for the stories, thank you for the lessons, thank you for the skills, thank you for the patience ( all though short at times, he was part German after all as he frequently reminded me) and all the experiences. But most of all thank you for being you and helping me to be the man I am today. You will always be a huge part of who I am and who I become and who my children become. You have left a great legacy. I know you are with God now telling him about the time you ate the maggot infested salmon; finishing, as always with ” and you know Glenn, that was the best smoked salmon we ever had”.
Grandpa, Jo and Glenn this past December
A Clammy Memorial Day
For Memorial Day 2009 we decided to take advantage of the tides coinciding with the holiday to go to Clam Gulch and dig us some clams. After all a man has to be the hunter gatherer for his family. After loading up the van, we headed s0uth with a brief stop at Freddy’s for some last minute supplies, including another clam shovel and clam gun. I feared we were running a little late, for tide waits for no man, and tide protects the elusive razor clam. But alas, my fears were unfounded as we showed up to a nearly empty beach void of water and fantastic sunny weather. Now I am a man of few clams, meaning I don’t like cleaning em, but I do like digging em, so I limit me and boys to around 40 clams total. The limit is 60 per person, and we never breach that.
Unpacking, and ready for action
Dad's not starting that fire right is he?
Our camp
For those of you that have not done it, clamming is hard work, especially when you are not good at it like us. In fact the last time we went we clammed for hours and I think we almost had 50. As hard as digging em is, cleaning is even more so, especially on an old man’s back. So I have learned from my past ways and have limited our take. This time I wanted only 40. After about 90 minutes I figured we were there. I was very impressed at the increased clam digging prowess of the boys, they were up to their armpits in the sand battling those little mollusks to the bitter end. Even though the razors were out weighed by well over 200 pounds, they still had home-court advantage, and they knew how to use it. They would tease us, just leaving a little portion of their shell or neck out so that we could feel it with our frozen fingertips, but not enough to grip them and break the bionic suction that their size 13 foot was able to create. But persistence often paid off and we were all able to contribute to the pot.
Heading out to the digging fields
the hunter gatherers in action
going for all the clams
check out those great looking toes
So while the girls sat by the campfire cooking and relaxing, the men battled for every morsel, encrusting sand in every nook of our hands, arms, and even teeth. When we were dripping with sweat, with back spasms and sliced up hands we felt we had enough. As we trudged up to the campsite, I glanced into the buckets and I surmised we had about 60 clams, a little more than I wanted to clean, but they were small so I was happy. At camp we started rinsing out the razors and I began counting, when I stopped I had said 100, yes 100. That is quite a few more than I wanted, and way more than I anticipated. I started to sweat again anticipating the work ahead. Fortunately, when we got home and I started to clean, the boys were eager to join in, and with knives in hand they began to slicing and chopping with the skill of a Samurai, a two year old Samurai. Eventually they got the hang of it and between the four of us and our cleaning chain, we got the task done in about 2 hours. So ultimate victory against the great razor was ours. We came, we dug, we rinsed, we cleaned and we conquered. It was a great day. The only way it could have been better is if 1. You had been there. 2. You had cleaned all the clams for us. But even as it was, it was an awesome family day, with some world class smores on display at the campfire.
Jerms and Alii on the rock
bluff climbing, this is not dangerous at all
Wading in Alaska glacier water... that's our kids
Ben & jake in action
Jake paying Ben back for making him look like a sissy in the last picture
Missing Jo, but the rest of the crew on the rock.
P.S. Although I thought we conquered the raucous razors, as I sit and write this and feel the cuts on my hands, the pain under my finger nails, and the aches throughout my body, I am not sure who had the last laugh. Perhaps I will feel better after some chowder and fritters.
The smaller rock, and the smaller crew
the cleaning crew doing what they do
Our prize trophies. Olivia wanted to keep em as pets, go figure.
ice ice baby
Here in AK, you gotta do some stuff in the winter, the long long winter, or else you will get depressed and bored. So, what are the choices ( I hear you yelling “a trip to Costa Rica”)? There is snowmachining, cc skiing, downhill skiing, and…… well I know there has to be more. But our activity of choice is shoveling and snowblowing the driveway. Oh, and we also like to ice fish. For those of you not in AK, when you ice fish you are not fishing for ice, but actual live fish. You see if you live in this state, you gotta love fishing, and that we do. No mattter if it is raining or snowing, there are fish to be had. By we, I mean me and the boys, especially Dorian. He is a fishing fool.
Dorian always rushes to get the best fishing hole, all by himself.
Ben always get a little chilly when we fish, I promise he is in there somewhere
Jeremy waiting patiently for a bite
So today we fished and it was stinking cold. In fact it seems to get colder every year. But as soon as that fish hits your line, the cold disappears. The beauty of ice fishing is the quiet relaxation. No casting, very little reeling, just sit, drink coffee, enjoy the wonder of winter. Today was one of those days ( until I turned on my iphone music) when the wind doesn’t blow, the sun rises slowly over the shadow of treeline, the tree branches crackle under the weight of the snow, the ice pops, the snow that surrounds you shifts and crinkles much like a winter symphony. It can be surreal, until the scream of an excited fisherman breaks the silence, which we hope happens often. Today it did not. We always have a prize for first fish on the ice, and like usual Dorian took the prize, albeit with a wanna be guppy. But a fish is a fish. It was a slow day of fishing, but I did manage to hook into two nice ones. One was nice enough to break my rod in two, no lie. But hey, who’s complaining? It was fishing.
watching and waiting for a bite. Notice the ice on the line? I said it was stinking cold.
Come on fish!!!
