Last weekend – Labor Day Weekend – was “Ilwaco Tuna Weekend” for Hucklings, Homeys and former Homeys. We started planning it when I booked Captain Rob’s Katie Marie right after he returned us and our fish to port a year ago. 2015 was extra special: Last-of-the-Hucklings Edward and fiancé Anna drove up from Los Angeles; adopted Huckling Jonathan – Edward’s kid brother – flew in from Colorado; former Homeys Bruce and Michelle Seivertson arrived from Eureka, California; former Homeys and fishing nuts Brandon Rogers and Margo Aye drove from the Tri Cities; and Homey Lee Davis and I worked our way down from Paradise.
Monday – Labor Day – was calm and clear as we headed for the barn. Jonathan and I stopped in Clatskanie, Oregon, to catch up with salmon fishing buddy Steve Souvenir and wife Sue. I filled him in on our rather amazing weekend tuna adventure. When I finished, he stared at me with his trademark look – a look, no doubt, forged during way too many years spent inside a paper plant – and said, “Nobody died. Nobody got hurt. You’ve been saying all summer that this is a weird year for your outdoor stuff… So?”
A weird year for fishing and outdoor stuff? No question about it.
The long-anticipated February steelhead trip Homey Kirk Johnson and I had planned on the Quinault River with Chopper vaporized as unusual rain, water levels and weather all collided.
Our annual halibut and ling cod trip out of Westport came together as I hooked up with Kirk and his sons-in-law Ben and Morgan on The Rock and Roll. Missing was my Boyfriend-in-law Brian, who had injured his back. Brian’s agony over missing our annual chase of big flatfish was both physical and mental. As it turned out, that trip in rougher-than-expected seas cost Kirk a couple cracked vertebrae. We caught a lot of fish, but at a cost we really didn’t want to pay.
Kirk was up for river fishing, but every trip we planned or attempted was scuttled by warm rivers, low stream flows and stressed fish.
Homey Bill Boyum and I were invited to fly to Alaska and fish the Kenai for sockeye salmon – a sure-fire, limits-every-day fishery. You may recall that very low numbers of sockeye were making it into the river most of the days we were there. The refrain bounced from fisherman to fisherman and local to local: “Wow, this is just a really weird year…”
Then there was that Cascade Crest 100 Mile Run a couple weeks back; 150 runners battered by the worst recorded summer storm to hit the Northwest.
“Well,” I kept thinking, “we will have our great tuna adventure.” Our Labor Day Weekend tuna trip was looking better and better as the weeks, days, and finally hours, passed, even though Kirk’s slow-healing vertebrae and Brian’s sudden abdominal hernia caused them both to drop off our team. On each of the days leading up to our Sunday trip, the weather had been perfect: sunny, comfortable and calm. Each day, Captain Rob brought the Katie Marie back to port early, full to the gills with fat tuna up to 40 pounds. The forecast for Sunday – our day – was for light off and on rain, ending in mid-morning, and mild wind and wave action out where the tuna play. What a year!
As we rolled out of the campground toward the dock, a light rain began to fall. By 3:15 a.m. we were all aboard the Katie Marie, and the rain got serious. Cap gave us a rundown on the forecast and our safety reminders, loaded live anchovies for the big fat tuna awaiting us, and pointed the boat west.
By the time we were 12 choppy miles out, six of the ten fishers were chumming the ocean with whatever they had eaten over the previous 24 hours. I was relaxing and thinking about big tuna, when Captain Rob came into the cabin. “This is a lot rougher than forecast,” he said. “It does look as if it is getting better, but it is rough and sloppy and wet. What do you want to do?” At that point, we all chose optimism and on we went.
Half an hour or so later, Cap was back. “Look,” he said, “it’s not better out ahead. Some of the boats already there are heading back in heavy rains and pitching seas. It’s just too dangerous. A wet, slippery, tossing deck it just too dangerous. I’m not willing to get someone hurt or overboard for any fish, so I’m turning us back. Pacific Salmon Charters will refund your money, of course. I’m sorry folks.” And that was that.
So, now what? We got back to port, collected our refunds, bought a few tuna filets (Well, we were there, weren’t we?), and said a collective prayer of thanks for a captain keeping us safe. Then I booked the whole boat for Labor Day Weekend, 2016. (After all, what could go wrong?)
I’m still bummed about the fishing. But I’m deeply grateful for family and friends together. And, as Souvenir observed, nobody died and nobody got hurt.
So now, as Huntmaster Steve Kiesel and I head to Wyoming for the 19th Annual Antelope and Deer Safari, one regular has opted out. The forecast calls for mild, dry weather, with an abundance of game.
But it’s been a weird year…
