Fishing in Alaska: Just for the Halibut… The Alaska Sampler Plate… Part IV

For many anglers, fishing in Alaska means one thing… Halibut.

I love halibut.

Especially steamed and grilled, with a tasty baked potato and an ice cold drink!

As for halibut fishing, well, that’s another story, mainly because I’ve never done it before.

Now, most of the people I spoke to who had ventured out to sea to catch Halibut liked the experience of opening a “barn door” from the bottom of the ocean, which doesn’t exactly conjure up thoughts of epic battles with Marlin jumping. For me, I somehow had a vision of struggling with an oversized mattress up a narrow flight of stairs.

Lots of colorful language and fighting.

Ranging in size from fifteen-pound “chickens” to four-hundred-pound behemoths, or more, the “doors” selection was more varied than the home-building section at Home Depot.

Still, Greg and I were in Alaska, and missing a halibut trip outside of the self-proclaimed halibut capital of the world, Homer, would be like traveling to China and not seeing the great wall.

Our trip was booked well in advance, in June, and arranged with Captain Scott.

I know what you’re thinking, and NO, he didn’t have a first mate named Spock, Kirk, or Zulu!

When we arrived at the docks, I was a little disappointed to find that our thirty foot twin diesel cabin cruiser was not called the ss Enterprise, and that “Mako” was the ships name. This would certainly put a damper on my plans to spend the day asking Captain Scott to “give us more power, Scotty.”

Probably just as well.

When it comes to ocean fishing, size matters, and to my taste, smaller is better.

I know, go figure, but if I have to choose between fishing on a cattle boat or something like the “Mako”, which basically holds six fishermen, I’ll take the smaller boat each time. Unless, of course, we head hundreds of miles out to sea and harpoon sperm whales, in which case give me the Queen Mary every time.

It is early in the morning and Captain Scott arrives at the boat with several boxes of herring for bait. If he’d brought crackers and some sour cream, he might have tried the bait alone to start the day off right.

We met our other fellow fishermen and women for the day. A couple from Ohio who have fished before with Captain Scott, and some of their acquaintances from Fairbanks. They have come to the coast to get out of the smoke and fires that burn inland. They have also fished before with the good Captain. This is a good sign as I always figure “guides from hell” don’t get a lot of repeat business!

It’s not long before we’re out of port and on our way.

The weather forecast is for a beautiful day and it’s starting that way. Captain Scott pulls out his book of Homer Jackpot Halibut Derby tickets and has us all enter the five-month contest that awards some healthy cash prizes. He’s not exactly threatening to throw us overboard if we don’t get in, but you don’t want to upset the Captain so soon.

Especially when he has a shotgun in the corner.

We traveled about an hour outside of Homer. The walk and the scenery is, of course, spectacular. Captain Scott gives us some history and geography lessons in the Kachemak Bay area, as well as talking about how the fishing has been going, telling us how many years he’s been fishing for halibut and some other interesting Homeresque tidbits. Things like: he’s coaching his son in soccer (which he says is the last thing he expected to do); how he moved here over twenty years ago from California, and talking about people and places around Homer, which adds a touch of personalization that makes you feel like he knows every citizen of Alaska. This, of course, is a stark contrast to “Oscar” the silver fishing guide from hell, and helps restore my faith in guides.

At least until now.

Halibut fishing in these waters is all about tides and currents, and today is supposed to be one of the most radical tides of the season.

Figures!!

Scott brings out our rods, which basically feel like bracing pieces, and they have beefy reels that have… eight thousand pound test with a thin line as a guide.

We no longer fish for Grayling!!

The first place is a dud, and I’m beginning to fear the “good time-bad fishing” curse that so often occurs in the fishing world.

At the next spot, I hook what appears to be a small halibut, but miss the little “cabinet” door, somewhere between the bottom and the surface. Losing my first fish is what happened while fishing for Silver, so I’m a little worried that I might have a rough day at sea. Not to worry though, because at our next stop a couple of us hooked up and landed some small twenty pound “chickens” that help us get the skunk out of the boat.

Captain Scott takes out the “marlin” belt now that he feels more confident that we are going to find fish. Just in case we hook one of those 300 pound derby fish.

Halibut, they are one of the dumber fish you will find. Fortunately, having a five-year-old daughter who plays with clay all the time makes it seem pretty normal to me. I now realize that she is one of the younger Halibut sculptors, and the flattened “patty” like a fish with eyes on both sides makes perfect sense to me. You get the feeling that these fish are like couch potatoes living in the sea, lying at the bottom of the ocean, unwilling to move their “butts” growing in one direction. (Makes me wonder what future x-box players will “evolve” into??) It seems that if you glue two fish together by their flat sides, you might have a fish that looks somewhat whole and normal.

They sure are tasty though, though I’m told that once they’re past seventy-five to eighty pounds they’re not quite good to eat.

Fishing is not easy nowadays, and we have to work to catch our fish. It seems that we are always missing the optimal tides and arriving at our new fishing spots, either with full flood or no current.

Still, we all caught about twenty pounds and added long cod, rockfish, dog shark, and a few silvers to our Alaskan sampler plate.

The belt and shotgun remain unused.

For those of you unfamiliar with halibut fishing, you’re probably scratching your head wondering “what the heck does a shotgun have to do with halibut fishing?”

Although, Halibut didn’t put up much of a fight when first roused from their couch potato existence, when they were thrown onto a boat, things changed.

Suddenly, when hoisted aboard a boat after being hoisted out of the sea, usually with a grappling hook, the Halibut begins flailing and kicking, as if someone had stolen its Cheetoh bag or the remote had been dropped on the ground.

NOW, there are reasons to fight!!

With smaller fish it’s usually not a problem, but after the halibut reaches about a hundred pounds, the jolts and thumps have been known to break legs, knock people off their feet, and cause havoc and general chaos on board. from a boat So the handy shotgun, usually a .410 or .22 caliber rifle, is used to put an early end to the beating.

Good in the water.

Of course, there have been some gunfights on board which, as a rule of thumb, tend to do more damage to the boat than to the Halibut.

Things get pretty slow for a while and it looks like it’s going to be a pretty sparse day. Captain Scott gets a little frustrated and tired of re-baiting and untangling the cross lines and starts to look like a guy who’s thinking about football plays. Finally, I hook and drop a thirty-five pound fish that at least makes a little bend in the rebar. Then after Greg caught a few more small fish, he hooked a fish that actually makes a small run and feels much bigger. I continue to wobble and pull myself up as sweat begins to pour out.

Ultimate barn door.

One of the girls asks me if I need the “belt” and not knowing if I have a tire or a big fish I say “not yet”. I’m getting a bit tired, but still the fish is making progress as it goes into gate mode. We see the fish come to the surface and it is much bigger than all the other fish we have been catching. Everyone gets very excited and the usual helpful instructions of “quiet now”, “bring it here”, “don’t lose them” and “maybe that mattress will fit if you put it on end” are shouted on the boat. .

Thanks for the advice.

Captain Scott tells me to hold on a second and he goes to get the shotgun, hmm it must be close to a hundred pounds. Either that or he has taken a supreme dislike to me.

One shot and the fish is duly killed and ready to be tricked and hoisted into the boat.

Phew.

Turns out the fish is only seventy two pounds but that’s enough for me, I can’t imagine what a three hundred pound fish would feel like. I’m pretty sure if I caught a fish that big it would probably outlive me, because halfway through the battle it would croak and be thrown into the ocean to make room for the fish.

I just can’t imagine what a 450 pound fish, Alaska state record, would feel like, I’m glad I wasn’t the one who had to drag it.

Our day is quickly coming to a close, and Captain Scott starts talking about a quick trip to 7-11 to pick up some more chickens. I look around and see nothing but water, so I’m a little stumped, but when he walks into a well-known area that’s teeming with twenty-pound fish boats and cattle, I know what he means. We get there, drop our lines in the water, spend about five or ten minutes in a quick fury catching four or five more chickens, and it’s time to go to the barn.

We have our meat.

The trip back to Homer has us all enjoying the afternoon sun, discussing, once again, the art of tipping your fishing guide and the best way to transport our bounty back to our homes.

We unload at the docks, and are told that the “buttwhackers” will be coming shortly to grab our fish and turn it into filet-o-fish. In case you’re wondering, Buttwhackers are the guys that “bump, stack, and fire” your fish, so all you have to do is stand there and look like the big
fish killer that you are, while the paparazzi fish for souvenirs of your adventure.
The guys make it look easy as “ginsu” work their way through over three hundred pounds of fish in about the time it takes me to clean half a dozen trout.

Then it’s off to Coal Point Seafoods to quick freeze and pack up for the flight home. While the fish is being packaged, we have no choice but to go to the mythical Salty Dawg Saloon, to toast our trip and read the thousands of messages and names of “dollar bills” that are stuck on the walls. The “dawg” was one of the first buildings built in Homer, back in 1897, and has survived many changes, moves, and different owners to now serve as one of Homer’s modern landmarks.

The fish packers at Coal Point have down to a science and our fish is cut, packed and frozen with enough dry ice to get you home.

Yes, it’s time to go home. Eleven different types of fish, a hundred pounds of fillets, and a lifetime of memories from just one week of fishing.