Sea Kayaking Success (and failure)

Hello fellow kayak anglers,
I’ve been fishing from my sea kayaks all Summer and Fall. So far, I’ve mostly been skunked, but earlier in the season I had a moment of triumph (followed by failure). After getting up early to fish the tidal stretch of a river near my house, I slid my 16 foot touring boat into the dark waters. It was approaching high tide and sunrise, and I was feeling optimistic.
Fast forward several hours and I’m getting ready to head home. The mid-October sun was high, casting shadows on the banks and a breeze was carrying the golden leaves of maple and cottonwood from the high branches to settle gently on the flowing waters. I had drifted over a mile downstream past log jams, old dock pilings, and creek mouths. The cold water refrigerating my cramped cockpit had my legs screaming, and I had already tried every technique I knew. Banging the banks with spinners, twitching jigs, and hovering juicy, red balls of roe along the silty bottom of the river. Nothing. No bites. Not even our ubiquitous pike minnows.
Deflated, I turned back upstream to go home. Not wanting to waste fishing time, I tied on a plug to pull on my way to the launch. The narrow bow of my kayak slid through the current of the river, pushing a gentle bow-wave to either side like an otter chasing a minnow. The tip of my rod bounced to the cadence of the wiggling plug 15 pulls behind my boat. Suddenly, my rod tip bent over and line began to roll off the reel. I dropped my paddle and grabbed the rod in one motion, my alertness rising as the stagnation of hours of waiting paid off in a single moment. It wasn’t long before I realized my plug had just lodged itself between some cobbles on the bottom. Damn.
Not wanting to leave my plug in the river, I allowed the current to carry me downstream to help dislodge my plug. I felt the plug come loose from the bottom. The familiar back and forth wiggle resumed: right, left, right, SMASH! FISH ON! Blue braid began to flow off my reel as the fish took off towards the center of the river. The bow of my boat begins to fall off downstream as the angry fish fought for freedom. The fish reached the far side of the river, where I knew it was going to wrap up in underwater snags. Fearing this, I put my thumb down hard on the reel and pulled the fishes head up and back. This caused the fish to turn and run back the other way. Now I’m being pulled backwards, the fish pulling us towards the opposite bank, loaded with submerged wood. I repeated the horsing to turn the fish again, and the process repeated.
I must have looked hilarious to the other anglers in their aluminum boats; pin-balling back and forth across the river in a totally inappropriate fishing boat, haplessly yanking on a salmon.
The fish was strong, but eventually he tired and came within range of my net. Awkwardly, I slid the exhausted coho along the surface and into my net. VICTORY! I let out a scream of exhilaration, which echoed up and down the river for a long ways, I’m sure, and the sound of distant applause from the other boats was like a whisper over the sound of my pounding heart. I set down my rod to have a closer look at my catch: a beautiful coho buck. Judging by the way its head and tail poked out past the rim of my net I would estimate he was 28”-30”. I admired my first fish of the fall as well as my first ever kayak salmon: the green back with small black spots, the silver sides reflecting the golds and pinks of the afternoon sun, the sea-lice still clinging to the anal fin. This fish was a beautiful specimen.
I decided it was time to stop gawking and put this beautiful fish in my boat. The awkwardness of this maneuver is extreme. I lifted the net with two hands onto my lap. Holding the fish’s tail, I reached to remove the hook from the corner of his mouth. Big mistake. When I grabbed the plug, the fish decided to have his last stand. He bit down, closing his mouth on the plug, burying the belly hook of the plug into my palm.  He flipped his muscular body, going from convex to concave in the net bag, launching his body off my lap and into the water. For a moment, he hesitated, catching his breath: the plug still conjoining my hand and his mouth. Then, like a torpedo, he took off downstream, tearing the hook out of my hand and nearly my rod out of its holder! With a bloody hand, I grasped the rod as line once again peeled off the reel. I tried to stop the fish’s run but it was too late. I felt the tension on the line build and then snap. Finally, the leader gave way: the weakest link between our two strong wills.
Wounded, and defeated, I turned for home.

“What happened?” Another fisherman in his roomy aluminum Lund called out as I paddled past.
“He got away...” I replied despondently.
 
After returning home to lick my wounds, I was depressed at first. The heavy fall rains were returning, and my chance to chase salmon from my kayak was slipping away with the warm days and calm summer seas. There’s always next time though, and I’m excited for next spring when I can try again.

P.s. I didn’t need stitches in my hand, and it healed OK all things considered. Always carry a first aid kit when you’re fishing.

Those fish get so frolicsome......  I have been replacing the trebles on my crankbaits with single hooks because of that reason.  I have started keeping a first aid kit, a good set of pliers, and a Gerber Vital razor knife (uses replaceable blades) in a waterproof case to help when those fish (or me) bury a hook in my flesh. 

Good story. I was thinking today that the more memorable fish are the ones that do get away. I guess I keep replaying what went wrong in my head.

For sure a good story! No reason to be depressed about losing a fish though - you had a lot more action in your day than on days when you don't get a nibble....A good thing the hook came out of your hand fairly easy.

Wow! Great story telling! You certainly have a way with words!
Keep it up! Better luck next time!

+1 for good story!

Hahaha that's a good one, what a mess. I've had more than one hook stick from a fish