VHF Weather Radio

March 19-20, 2007 — We headed out of Sitka on the afternoon of Monday, March 19. We originally were going to head out into the Gulf of Alaska through Salisbury Sound and anchor in Portlock Harbor, which is north of Salisbury Sound, tucked in the jagged islands on the shoreline of the gulf. From there we would get an early start on Tuesday morning, set and haul the halibut gear, then go right into hauling the blackcod gear the next day.

On the way out, George tuned into the weather-radio channel on the VHF radio. The report was for 40 knots starting on Tuesday night. This changed everything. Now we were headed right out into the gulf to start fishing right away. The funny thing was that the weather was FLAT CALM. Well, there was a bit of a swell, but it was really, really nice. I have such a hard time with making plans according to a weather forecast because nine times out of 10 they just don’t come true. Nonetheless, here we were stepping up the pace to beat the storm!

We couldn’t fish for halibut right away because if we set in the dark the sand fleas eat the halibut right off the hooks (it is amazing how fast those things can eat a halibut down to the skeleton), so we went right into blackcod. We set two strings out at 10 p.m. and started hauling at 2 a.m. on Tuesday. Next, just after daybreak when the sand fleas are dormant, we slapped out all three strings of the halibut gear.

Normally we would wait a few hours and start hauling, but since we were on storm watch, we hustled back over to the blackcod gear and started hauling on string number 2. Fishing was pretty good; we had more than 14,000 pounds of fish on just these two strings. I begged Roald to slap out another one (we still had another string of blackcod gear baited) but he wouldn’t budge. I even tried taunting his manliness, but that didn’t work on the stubborn old salt.

The first halibut string brought us more than 2,000 pounds. The weather was still quite nice, but there was a big swell. I noticed the birds were really fighting for the bait scraps, and they were washing themselves. These are two sure signs that there really is a storm coming. But what I could not figure out was that we had never, ever stopped fishing because there was a storm coming. Usually we just go fishing, and then whatever happens, we ride it out. If it gets too rough to fish, we just drift. It is a really shitty existence for a few hours, or a day — or over two days one time — but hey, we always get it in eventually, we always get our fish, and we NEVER go in early because of some spooky weather report.

By the second string the weather had picked up just a bit more, but it was still nothing to even give a second thought to. I tried one last time at dinner after the second string to convince everyone we should slap out the rest of the blackcod gear and keep working through the storm, but there was no way it was going to happen.

I had the privilege of hauling the last string. Fortunately, almost as an afterthought, I put my ski mask on, just in case it did get a bit breezy, which it did indeed. Almost as soon as I stepped up to the roller, the wind increased. It finally blew hard enough to kick up a few white caps. Then it blew up a few combers.

It was blowing the boat all around when I was hauling gear. Then came the hail, which fell for almost the second half of the string, and which was not falling straight down but rather in a horizontal direction. That was a really painful experience when I had to look up to steer the boat. My face was met by thousands of tiny icy projectiles being hurled at my face at 40 knots. Ouch!

Well, I was eating my words and my ideals now. It is true we had fished in weather worse than this. Did that mean we had to now? I guess after all these years somebody on the Discovery had gotten smart, and it wasn’t me. I would have had us fishing the next day, getting our miserable butts totally kicked. This is one instance I was glad I didn’t get what I wished for.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Destination: Sitka

March 13-19, 2007 — Tuesday, March 13 was the day the Discovery left Bellingham to embark on its 2007 longline season. I had to drive my beater blue truck because my other truck called in sick with a leaky transmission seal. For the past three years the Blue Bomb has been the launching pad for our giant rope swing we have in the yard — the kids climb up on top of the cab, jump off, and swing out over the yard on the end of the 60-plus-foot rope hanging from a fir limb.

Because of its unusual service, the top of the cab is all smashed in from the immense weight of children, and it leaks right through onto the front seat when it rains. And because it just sits there amongst the trees, it has grown a dense coat of green algae all over its northern-facing quarters.

Despite its shortcomings it made the journey to Bellingham, algae and all. I nearly missed the ferry off San Juan Island because the truck decided not to start. I had five minutes to get out my house before I would miss the ferry, and when I went to turn the key — the battery was dead. I had that thing hooked up to the charger within 60 seconds. Next I pulled my wife’s car into position to jump start just in case the battery didn’t charge in two minutes on HIGH.

Miraculously, it started. With zero minutes to spare, I pushed that 1970 3-speed truck to its upper limits (which really isn’t saying much), earning back a couple of precious minutes on the drive in. It’s a good thing I didn’t back down because I made the ferry with just a minute to spare.

The rest of the morning’s procedure was as routine as always: I napped on the ferry; I got groceries at Costco with Brett; the guys said, “What took you so long?” when we returned to the boat with the groceries. And then we were off.

The run north went a bit quicker this year because Mike put a new engine in the boat. We must have gained a quarter of a knot, but over the course of hours and hours, that added up to a very tiny time savings. But any gain is appreciated on this slug of a boat.

The biggest highlight in the galley was when I filled the salt shakers up with a bag of salt I found in the galley drawer. When we sat down to eat we discovered each and every bite was crunchy. Whether we were eating green beans or the pot roast I had been stewing for hours, it had a distinct, gritty, flavorless crunch to each and every jawstroke.

It turns out the salt I added was actually a bag of sand Mike kept handy to use as nonskid when painting the floorboards in the engine room. It might work well in the engine room, but this sand should definitely be kept out of the galley!

We hit the Petersburg nightlife on Friday night, March 16. We had a leaky steering line so we had to wait until the morning so we could fix the line. We pulled in around 10 p.m. — just in time for the town to wake up. Well, it turned out Petersburg doesn’t sleep in the off-season months of winter; it falls into a coma from which it seemingly is absolutely dead.

The most exciting thing was when a guy smoked one of Brett’s “roll your own” cigarettes that I had filled with parsley flakes. He took one hit and looked like he was either going to puke or pass out. He was a bigger guy and I’m really glad he took it in good spirits. It’s a good thing he didn’t get the one I filled with cayenne pepper; there is a good chance he might have kicked the living daylights out of me!

We got the steering fixed the next morning, and we were on our way by 11 a.m. on Saturday, March 17. We started baiting halibut gear, sticking a cut-in-half piece of squid on each hook. We arrived in Sitka in the wee hours of Sunday morning, March 18. We baited all day Sunday, and departed for the fishing grounds on Monday afternoon to catch both halibut and blackcod.

TO BE CONTINUED…

San Juan Fish Sales

October and November 2006 — In my fishing endeavors, I have always sold my own fish to the public. Unfortunately, my sales history is best described as chaotic. I never developed a rhyme or reason to my routine. It was just one renegade fish-selling adventure after another. I had a couple of tricks that seemed to work consistently, but even those never held a solid footing that resembled anything close to an organized business practice.

My San Juan Island, Wash., fish-selling experience has been completely different. I have fully developed a niche and technique for selling fish in a fun, efficient, and totally organized manner, and it all has to do with my wife and the Internet. Our fish list is the most wonderful sales tool I have ever experienced. We just shoot out an e-mail, and the customers are there the next day. It is like MAGIC!

Every time I returned home from a fishing trip, I brought fish to sell. The most I brought was 130, and the least was 30. The 30-fish time was a joke. They were gone in just a few minutes. I could have sold more, but I was gone fishing so much I didn’t want to put my time into hanging out on the corner selling fish when I would rather be hanging out with my family.

The highlight of the season’s selling was the community Halloween fish feed we sponsored at the elementary school. A gal named Lynette was the mastermind of this event, although I masterminded the fish and the promotions.

Lynette’s idea was to use the couple of hours between the time school gets out and when it is time for the kids to go trick-or-treating. Instead of a sugar-ridden after school party, she was looking to feed these kids a wholesome meal. She lined up soups, salads, and all kinds of volunteers. All I had to bring was the fish.

And fish I did bring. I earmarked 20 big, beautiful fish for the event. I had volunteers come and learn how to do the magic No Bones About It fillet cut I developed where the pin-bones are cut right out of the fish while it is being sliced into quarter-serving-size chunks. The chunks are small enough to keep grabbing and not worry about looking like a pig for eating so much fish.

We made admission free for all kids, so it brought a lot of people in from the dark and scary night. I barbequed the fish in a frantic pace — the experienced cooks suggested I start cooking 20 minutes before I fired up the grill, because they knew that barbeque could never keep up with the rate of consumption, but I ignored their warnings — I like to feed it to people right off the grill.

Needless to say, it was a madhouse. I was high-grading all the skinny pieces from the pile of seasoned chunks of fish, because they would cook faster. And cook they did. There were a couple of times when I had just a few people waiting, but I pretty much kept up with consumption the whole way through. What a gas!

TO BE CONTINUED…

Fawn John’s Awesome Tide Rip

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…

Selling to SeaFreeze

October and November 2007 — The market to which I sold my fall chums this year was Smoki Foods, which is based out of the SeaFreeze cold storage plant on the Duwamish Waterway in West Seattle.

They pay the low price, and they don’t give a bonus for ice or dock delivery. In any normal circumstance I would never, ever sell to them, but they have a few things going for them that enticed me to their dock and made my personal fish-selling endeavors way easier.

When I came to the SeaFreeze dock I had the fish for Smoki Foods in one bin, and in the other bin I had the fish I was going to sell at home; bled, iced, and dressed, all ready to go. I pulled up to the hoist and they took off their fish, then they took off my fish and put them on the dock with a full tote of ice setting next to them.

I gave the boat a quick cleaning, then they dumped a load of ice right into the tote I keep in my hatch, thereby setting me up with a load of ice for the next opening. Those steps took about five minutes if you don’t consider the time it took to pitch all the fish off the boat. If I did all that on-and-off-the-dock shuffling myself it would take an hour and a half.

When the fish were off the boat and it is all set to go for next opening, I let loose the lines and headed for my commandeered spot at the Port of Seattle tugboat float. On the way I made my fish ticket, and called the information into Olympia on the QuickReport line. I sneaked into my commandeered spot, tied her up, and got the hell off the boat for the remainder of the week.

Next I headed back to SeaFreeze with my empty tote in the back of my truck. I pulled up to my fish and the tote full of ice, shoved my tote onto the pavement next to my fish, then loaded it up with all my fish and LOTS of ice. Those fish were packed in there so nice they could stay there for two weeks and still be No. 1 grade (but they seldom stay there for more than two days!). When I was done loading my tote I waved down the forklift guy and he lifted it into the back of my truck. As easy as that, I was done messing with my fish.

SeaFreeze is also a great spot to unload my eggs. I put them on the scale and the folks in the factory office handed me a bill of lading showing my eggs delivered to Franco Fish in Tacoma. Two weeks later I got a check in the mail for those eggs. It was great!

It is just so convenient there I can’t believe it. The year before I was running around, always wondering where I would get my ice, which I would have to pay for, whereas the ice at SeaFreeze is free.

Once I did get ice, I had to shovel it onto my boat before the opening. Then, after each opening, I had to pull under the crane, get the key from the security guy at Fishermen’s Terminal, then screw around hauling the fish off my boat in brailer bags, which I swung into the bed of my truck and iced them into my tote there. What a hassle.

It was a convoluted mess that never had any consistency to it. When I finally was finished messing with the fish I had a bunch of brailer bags to clean up plus a whole boat that needed a scrubdown.

It was a lot of extra work, and I’m not sure if can go back to the old school method without some drastic changes in my program. I might have to take a crew guy with me to reduce the workload and hasten the long process of getting the fish off the boat. But if I can get just $0.10 more for my fish I am selling to the processors, it might just be worth it.

My life would be so much easier if I didn’t sell a portion of my fish to my loyal customers. But then, from whom would they get their fish? What would they have for dinner? Would they have to choose a land animal over one of my beautiful chum salmon?

NEVER! I am fully devoted to my civic duty of bringing fresh fish to the public. Fear not, fish-eating consumers of the San Juan Islands and greater metropolitan Seattle area, Matt Marinkovich is here to provide you with the greatest fish on Earth!

TO BE CONTINUED…