To the Edge of America for Big Flat Fish

We needed a big adventure, so we signed up for one at the Central Washington Sportsmen Show in February.  We got one, and more.

Homey Kirk Johnson and I hooked up with Captain Don “Determined” Davenport for a run from Westport out to the edge of the Continental Shelf on his charter fishing boat, Ranger.  We would chase big flat fish—just for the halibut—with ling cod and sea bass thrown in for good measure..

Last Sunday morning, at 3:45, we and our new fishing family were aboard the Ranger, mulling the prospect of catching our limits of some of the best eating fish in the Pacific.

We cruised out of Grays Harbor and northwesterly into a breezy gray morning.  It was so choppy that the mere thought of a two plus hour ride to the halibut flats was stirring the stomachs of several of our new kin.  I had taken my Bonine, and managed to keep my stomach where it was supposed to be—for the moment, at least.  Homey Kirk had attached one of those magic patches right behind his ear; and his only concern seemed to be keeping his balance in the rollers.

Captain Don warned us that it would be a long and bumpy ride, but that the couple boats in front of us would keep us apprised of changing conditions.  The halibut and other denizens of the deep awaited us.  The trip out to the edge of America was all he promised.

By the time we reached our halibut flat, several of our compatriots had spent time hugging the aft lee railing.  As we focused on the halibut several hundred feet below us, though, the rocking of the Ranger became simply the rhythm of fishing.  We were a couple hundred yards from the edge of the Continental Shelf.

We quickly were into fish, and shifted from travel to the serious business of catching halibut.  A husband and wife team pulled in 30 and 37 pounders from the bow.  Each drift across the shelf brought another handful of 20 to 25 pound flatfish aboard.  Deckhands Blake and Jason were busy with bait and fish and tangled or snagged lines.  From time to time, someone would whoop over a nice halibut or a big ugly ling cod.  No matter how queasy a fisher felt or looked, any whoop would bring a smile and a sense that his or her rod would be soon controlled by some denizen more than a football field beneath us.  In a bit over an hour, we caught the final halibut of our limits.  Somewhere in there I caught the record small fish of the day (12 pounds or so), and took a short turn at that lee aft railing—my second offering of stomach contents in forty trips on big water.

As my innards settled, Captain Don pointed the Ranger toward his Rockfish and Ling Cod Reef.  It was still choppy, but the ocean grew quieter as the morning waned and we moved toward shore and the magic reef.

At the reef, in much quieter water, and from a fraction of our former depth, Kirk and I quickly landed a couple nice sea bass (black rockfish) and then another.  I was still pretty green around the gills, but that passed as we brought in a couple dozen more big bass over the next hour or so.  At one point, Kirk and I each tied into two five-pound plus fish, which agreed among themselves to tangle our lines.  Working together, we reeled in a scrappy twenty-pound mass of bass.

Homey and I failed to bring in lings, although several six to ten pound lings came aboard.  A couple fish pushing two feet in length, but still under legal size, were released.  Captain Don calls them “swimmers,” and they headed back into the deep with our wishes for growth and a future opportunity to play “fishing for ling cod.”

By this time, most everyone was warming to the brightening day and quieting water.  Hanging over the rail became more and more a distant memory, as fishing took the moment.  In an hour or so we filled our limits of rockfish.  In a couple decades of catching these sea bass, that time on the Captain’s reef was the best I had ever experienced; fast and hard biting, the fish were consistently bigger than I had seen before.

With limits of halibut and sea bass aboard, Cap was determined to make one last charge at lings.  A final stop at a secret ling cod honey hole looked promising, but the current and wind drift kept our tasty baits just out of the lings’ range of temptation.

We declared it a great adventure and successful day as the Captain fired up the motors and pointed us back toward Westport.  We examined and photographed fish as they came up for filleting by Deckhand Blake.  The newly made fish meat went into marked bags; halibut first, then sea bass and finally the lings.

We returned to the dock twelve hours after we left it.  Fisheries agents checked us out.  We thanked Captain Don and his crew, gathered our filets and stepped back onto terra firma.

Thus, we achieved our needed adventure and would do it again in a heartbeat.  Happy spring to you, too…

[Copyright James L. Huckabay, 2013]