November, 2006 — Fawn John and I both like to fish off of his house, which lies about a mile south of Alki Point. It is close to port, and a good spot to fish. I found that laying out in the same spot every time, which is pretty much right off his house, whether on the flood or the ebb, is a safe set that usually produces a few fish.
John likes to explore a bit more. While still in eyeshot of his house, he’ll try sets up and down the shoreline, close in and far away from the beach. More power to him; an explorer is never without a dull moment.
One time, down south by the point below his house, a tide rip descended on him that tried its best to take our net to the bottom and not give it back. He was fishing that night with one of his landscaper crewmen, Sergio.
John said he had just set out and was hanging on the end of his net, engine off, when he heard a strange rippling sound swirling by the boat. He looked out into the night and saw the jack light speeding down the beach at what seemed to him to be 10 knots.
That was the signal for John to fire up the boat and start hauling. The first part was fine; like the first 50 fathoms. Then the corkline started to sink a little, then it went straight down toward the bottom. The hydraulics were straining as the sunken net rose from the depths of Puget Sound. The corks, which were compressed by the waters depth to resemble sun-dried raisins, popped as they were squeezed tight on the reel as it struggled to haul the net aboard.
The Satisfaction was in 100 fathoms of water, yet barnacles and starfish came up in the net. Then the sticks came; of course there was a huge shit rip that this super-suction of sinking water drew into itself, and while it was still floating, our net was made sure to catch every stick it could.
There were branches, twigs, sticks, logs, bark, plastic bags, condoms and hypodermic needles. And John and Sergio and had to pick them all out. All the while the boat was spinning in circles in the tide swirls, twisting the net in a mysterious code that could only be unlocked by setting it out later and fighting the twists through the whole length of the net.
The set itself from start to finish took about three hours to haul. Then they screwed around with the twists for a couple hours more. It was a good thing John had recruited Sergio to be his gillnetting crewman for the night. That made the work easier, more tolerable, and ultimately more enjoyable for the both of them. Through it all they still managed to strain 30 fish from this crazy sunken-net set.
It was from this set we determined we had to add more corks to our net. The corks were spaced too far apart, and they were tiny, old-school KS-14 corks that didn’t have enough buoyancy in the first place.
The problem was that this under-corked net had sunk a few times before, and the pressure from the depths of the water squeezed the air out the corks more and more each time. Eventually they were reduced to the near-buoyantless raisins that existed more for decoration rather than floatation.
One would think John might view this as another message from the gillnet gods, telling him to go back to his Bobcat and paver stones. But from my observations he is so addicted to fishing I believe he actually enjoys such antics as these. Besides, even with the huge setback of the sunken net set, John still managed to land 240 fish for the night. His first and last sets were good, and of course he was still gettin’ ’em, even when he was picking starfish in the shipping lanes!
Go John, GO!
TO BE CONTINUED…
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