Posted on July 12, 2020

Day 1

Left at 9:30 AM and took the long way through Rio Vista, thereby avoiding the Bay Area. Had ice & bait on board, and fishing gear of course, but not much else. Stopped at Trader Joe’s in Petaluma to get provision for 3 days.

There's a good looking Rest Area with overnight potential exactly 31 miles south of Gerberville. I won't need it on this trip but shall remember the location for future runs up the coast.

Arrived in Shelter Cove just before 4pm. I found fresh salmon carcasses at the fish cleaning station, picked up a few heads and filleting leftovers. Fishing must have been good today, they left a lot of meat on the bone.

Met two fellow fishermen who just came in on their powerboat. They unpacked three salmon. Friendly folks, told me that all were caught between the green and the red buoy. Two by mooching, the other one by trolling.

Cooked ravioli for dinner, set up my kayak and eased my way into the sunset. The campground is $40 per night. Due to Corona there are no bathrooms and showers this time.

Day 2

Got up at 4 AM with salmon fever. Conditions looked great. At the launch I saw Eric guide a group of 4 or 5 kayakers. Mooched all day, mostly with cut plug herring, but also threaded, hook through the eye socket, and suspended upside down.

Caught 6 lingcod on the new mooching rod, 4 over 30 inches, and at least a dozen Blacks in the five pounder class, a few Yellowtails and one China. That’s a lot of fish for a 7 hour session but unfortunately not quite what I was hoping for, the salmon bite remained elusive.

Half way through the session I came across Eric and group and took a moment to say hello. Since this is Eric’s job I quickly faded into the background as to not interfere with his paying clients.

The bigger lings were a lot of fun on light mooching gear. I learned to gently guide them off the bottom, otherwise they would make a dash for a cave from where they would be difficult to get.

It was almost 6 pm when I walked over to the fish cleaning station and saw Eric come up the hill. Now was a good time for a chat and we exchanged fishing intel and some memories from the day when he guided me and Nick. The 9-foot thresher was actually his first, I didn’t know that. Also, my halibut was the first he had seen come out of the cove. Now things have changed, halibut and thresher are more frequent sights.

The group of four or five kayaks led by Eric didn't catch a salmon either, but one of them at least played one for a while and lost the fish when he went for the net. The road to a kayak salmon can be long and bumpy.

Day 3

Got up at 4 AM again but wasn't quite sure what to do. Yesterday was actually really disappointing since I fished for salmon all day and didn't get a single bite. I remembered Eric telling me that you can't see salmon on the sonar. Instead of chasing schools of fish, which mostly turned out to be black rockfish, I fished in those stretches where I saw nothing at all. I also fished far away from the fleet of powerboats, in my own little happy zone.

When I reeled up to check the cut plug herring at the end of a five foot leader the unexpected happened. A big salmon chased it down and took the bait just feet away from my kayak. Sight fishing? It was incredible, I could see everything, paid out some line and let the salmon swim away with it. The line began to tighten, I slowly increased the tension, and the barbless circle hook set beautifully.

The salmon began to realize that it was hooked and went on a blistering run. I let it happen offering little resistance, just enough to keep the line taught, as my plan was to tire it out far away from the kayak. After the first big run I increased line pressure and brought the salmon about half way back before it went on another run. I eased off on the drag, the mooching rod was feathering every move of the salmon, and I marveled at the line going out.

I brought the salmon back again, more than half the distance this time, when it suddenly stopped moving. It just hung there and began to lean heavily against the pull of my line. After a minute I became concerned as the fish hadn't moved at all. Was it still on? Was I snagged on something else? A quick estimate told me that the end of my line was in the middle of the water column, a snag would be very unlikely. Five more minutes passed in complete limbo. I had good pressure against the fish, increasing it would risk ripping the hook out of the salmon's mouth. Then, thankfully, the salmon began to move again, not fast but more like a heavy-handed boxer. The fight continued.

Thirty minutes into the battle I had the salmon circling about 8 to 10 feet away from my kayak. The 8 1/2 foot mooching rod was super light and I couldn't get the leverage to bring the salmon any closer. It seemed that the salmon had leverage over me as I had to hip brace quite heavily on my narrow beam sea kayak so that I wouldn't roll. The salmon remained safely out of netting or gaffing distance.

Landing this salmon would be a problem. My net is simply inadequate, a successful gaff shot far from certain. I gave it 50/50 odds at best. The more likely outcome would be that I go over in the process, lose the salmon and make a mess of my gear. So what to do? I had lost three salmon in a row this season. Now with the biggest salmon of my life on the line I had to find success. Meanwhile, the fish had recovered a bit and went on another run, peeling of 150 feet of line in a hurry.

When I started fighting the fish I was by myself but now, more than 30 minutes later, the entire fleet had come dangerously close. One powerboat, the Tuna Runner, damn near trolled right through my line. I brought the salmon closer in a hurry and by the skin on my teeth averted disaster. A few minutes later I was shoulder to shoulder with the Trophy, another powerboat which carried a two-person crew. They watched the salmon circling my kayak while attending their own mooching rods. A thought was forming in my mind, ask for help with netting the fish.

I hesitated for another few minutes. The Trophy crew looked busy and anxious to hook their own salmon. Finally, I swallowed my pride and called for help. The big net came down, the Trophy came around to get a better angle, one quick scoop and the fish was in the net. There are moments when it's not so bad to be on a bigger vessel.

I came close to the Trophy, swells were lifting our vessels and setting them down, my hull was banging against the heavy side of their boat, these rendevouz with power boats are always dangerous. The crew was very nice, two cool dudes on their own salmon quest, and they joked with me when we transferred the salmon to my boat. Like a naval commander I walked them through each step, clipping the salmon to the stringer while still inside the big net, then attaching the other end to my deck rigging, and finally they swung the fish over. It almost rolled me to my starboard side, the salmon was so heavy that I could barely keep things upright. I stowed the salmon below, thanked the Tropy crew for the awesome netting job, and we parted.

This was the fish of my life, my biggest salmon yet, caught under difficult circumstances and after a long streak of heartbreak. Suddenly, everything felt light & easy.

The day was still young and I continued fishing but my focus wasn't there and soon I hung up my rig on the Bread 'n Butter Reef. Catching the salmon was emotionally exhausting. I didn't bother retying the leader, put the mooching rod away and switched to my 2-foot rod. This was a mistake as more fireworks were underway.

I repositioned to a new spot, floated around for a while, and felt a solid pull on my line. It was a heavy fish but didn't run. Oh, a lingcod in the 30 inch range went for the herring in the middle of the water column.

I dispatched the lingcod and rebaited. Within minutes there was another solid takedown near the bottom. The fish went on a crazy run peeling off line in a hurry. No doubt, it was another big salmon and it was on the wrong rod. I did my best to fight it and 20 minutes later had the salmon circling my kayak in plain sight. It was a beauty, a fish that rivaled the trophy salmon I already had in the boat. Once again I went through my landing options. This time I would do it by myself, but before my plan emerged the salmon kicked hard, with a sudden switch of direction and swam off as if it was never hooked. Wow! I was so close to completing an epic salmon limit, and yet, it didn't bother me that this one got away. The short rod is just not able to handle the sudden bursts and direction changes of a large salmon and with barbless hooks they can slip off too easliy. I now knew why I had lost the first three salmon of the season and why I should not fish for salmon unless I use a full-sized fishing rod, ideally a mooching rod.

I went back to the launching point, got my cart from the campground, and began to pull the kayak up the steep slope towards the fish cleaning station. The kayak was heavy with all the gear plus a big salmon plus a big lingcod. Suddenly, I felt the stare of a person. I turned around and there was Terry, my old friend from Shelter Cove. Terry's dad Ken used to be a commercial salmon fisherman and knew the cove very well. Terry just recently returned, landed a new job and an appartment in this small village. She asked me if I could sell her some of the lingcod but I offered to take the whole ling, and at no charge of course, as I was very happy about this amazing salmon. Besides, as a sports fisherman you're not allowed to sell your catch anyways.

In the evening I checked the fish cleaning station one more time as that is the best way to figure out what is moving through these dark Shelter Cove waters. I met a 2-person team with an inflatable powerboat and with a score of halibut. We had a friendly chat and they told me that they were locals and only fished inside the cove for halibut that late afternoon. Together they caught four of them, the largest around 30 inches. Note to myself: there is halibut to be caught at the cove, you just need to know where to look.

Day 4

As the sun came up I started packing. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. My mission was accomplished, and after three days on the salt and in a campground without shower I was ready to go home.