Tinker:
There's a warning - an "advisory" if you want me to be precise - about poopy water at Sunset Bay, but we decided to act devil-may-care about pinniped poo and go fishing. Eighteen inch swells and barely a breeze can do that to even the most fastidious angler.
We didn't head for Simpson Reef. I wasn't convinced I was up to making the round-trip, and anyway, if the contamination advisory was because of pinniped poo, how much sense does it make to head to where all the pinnipeds hang out, pooing wherever they please? Devil-may-care should never be confused with stupid.
Not many fish were insulted yesterday. In truth, we only caught one rockfish between us, but it was caught by me! Woo-woo! The glory of that feat fades a bit when I have to admit I caught it by accident. Accidentally catching a fish seems an odd thing to say, since I was on the ocean and I was most definitely trying to catch a fish, but while making my third cast of the morning, the fly line slipped out of my hand, the fly plopped into the water behind me, and while trying to get everything back so I could make an authentic cast, I caught the fish.
It's my practice to make an offering to the Lords of Fishing by releasing the first fish of the day, but I didn't put this one back. The fish not only passed my two-taco test, it would have easily passed an eight-taco test - so I kept it. Big mistake, because it turned out to be the only fish either of us hooked up with all day - if we don't count the fair-hooked sea urchin one of us caught later on. Oh, I'll give the angler credit against being skunked if they catch a sea urchin - they caught something, after all - but I won't count it as a fish.
As we reached the outer reef, my companion paused to survey the cracks. It was a low, low tide yesterday and we'd assumed the cracks wouldn't be navigable right up to the moment he started paddling into the third (fourth?) crack. It was the second silliest thing we did all day because we'd just reached the point where the crack narrows down to where one cannot turn around when the first big gush of water poured in over the reef. When you're filling a tub and turn the water on as hard as it will go, you never notice the hole the pouring water makes when it lands. You do notice that hole when it's in the ocean and right next to you. The pucker factor reached 7.5 on that one, but my under-appreciated kayaking skills got me safely though.
Finally in the cove, I caught my one fish. After that, finding nothing else in the area, we started hunting for fish. We could see them, plain as day, on our fish finders, but none were cooperating, so we'd stop every so often, cast for a while, then move on. We pushed into areas were we'd never been before, risked moving right up against the bluff-like reefs and slipped through cracks no one should be in... and then came the whale.
It was a juvenile, I think. Maybe 20 feet long and quite light colored. It joined us in a somewhat narrow passage between two tall reefs and when my companion first pointed it out to me, it was dancing. I can't think of a better way to describe it. It would swim in tight circles, poke it's head up and spin like a trained porpoise, dive down, swim in circles again, then move a bit - towards us - and do the same thing. My first thought was that it was herding bait fish (grey whales don’t do that) but it was obviously having fun. It passed us, going in the opposite direction and about fifty feet away, as we sat there mesmerized. Then it doubled back, this time not dancing, but coming straight at us. There wasn't much room to back up, but I tried. My companion held his ground, betting the whale wouldn't run him down and, I presume, thinking it was best to give a whale the option of passing in front of or behind him, and the whale passed within six feet of his bow.
We saw an adult whale at the mouth of the passage, in open water, and chuckled, "Someone's in trouble now. There's momma."
Continuing on, we eventually rounded the tip of the reef and turned to head down the even more narrow passage on the back side. Half an hour later I heard a whale blow and hollered back over my shoulder, "Hey! Your buddy is back!" It was the same little whale, but I noticed that this time it was interested in me and I realized right way that the kid was going to swim between me and the reef - and I had a fly line out. I started frantically pulling the line back in. Not quite frantically enough because the line touched him - this is a generic "him" because I didn't have time to inquire into the whale's gender - and the kid pulled out a hundred feet or so of my line while I was praying the fly wouldn't snag him. It didn't, and I, always siding with discretion over valor, decided I was in the wrong place and spun around to head over to the opposite side to team up with my companion. There's safety in numbers, you know.
The kid wasn't dancing about this time, he was making good headway until, passing us, he hung another u-turn and headed right at us again, and this time he passed within two feet of us.
Folks, I'm not talking about two vertical feet. The kid was on top of the water and either of us could have reached out and scritched his head. He wasn't rushing along, either, he was just coasting lazily as he passed us by. Once past, he took off, heading for open water and, we assume, his momma.
That was the last we saw of that whale. Thank goodness. He reminded me of my dogs, who, for all their good qualities, can't seem to stop themselves from jumping up on strangers to say "Hi!" That's not a good thing when it's a dog. It's probably worse when it's a whale.
We headed back through a more sensible crack in the reef into the whale-free bay and fished the small coves on the south side for a while. No fish. Then we headed out of the bay and sat in open water for a few minutes, being all touristy, and trying to decide if we wanted to head down to Simpson Reef or simply paddle straight out for a mile or two just to see what the bay looks like from way out there, but in the end we headed north again, to the cove we'd been in earlier that morning. It was approaching high tide and the theory went that if the fish were going to start feeding, it was probably going to happen now.
There's a gap between the tip of the main reef along the north side of Sunset Bay and a tiny fragment of reef fifty yards further out. It's ugly between those two rocks and once upon a time my companion led me through there - when I was young and dumb - into the most confused water I've ever passed through. The rebound off the main reef breaks into surf taller than the tallest swells while the outer rock divides the approaching swells which then try to come together again in that marrow passage. Swells and surf are coming at you from every direction and if anything, anywhere, ever deserved to be called a washing machine, that passage deserves it more.
Yesterday was a high, high tide and the passage seemed passable so I headed through. It may have been tiny two-foot swells, but they were just as confused as ever and it took a lot more effort than I thought it would to get through. But, apparently, we made it.
With still no fish and now no whale to play with, we'd finally had enough. The high tide made it appear possible to shoot over what are normally sand bars separating the cove from the bay - saving us a half mile of paddling - so we headed for the opening closest to the Sunset Bay landing. We were committed before I noticed that, every so often, the tiny swells in the bay rose up to form surf, but I didn't think much of it at the time. I was too busy threading my way around rocks and looking for the deepest water over the sand bar so I wouldn't end up high-centered.
Thirty feet from that little surf line was when I heard the rushing water coming up from behind, glanced over at my companion and saw, out of the corner of my eye, a three foot wall of water following us.
Folks, if you've never seen my companion paddle, Scott can get a kayak up on plane. Instantly. You who think you can get your pedaled kayaks to move can't hold a birthday cake candle to how fast Scott can get a kayak moving, so when I saw his paddle turn into a blur I figured I, too, should get going.
The wave lifted me, the pucker factor reached 9.5, and I was thinking, "Oh poo! Here's where Tinker does a sincere and monumental huli!" and while wishing everything I owned was tethered to me and wondering what horrible things were about to happen when the wave behind me shoved me into the small surf coming from the opposite direction, I suddenly experienced the clarity of thought reserved only for those who realize they're about to die.
"Why, I'm going perfectly straight and all I have to do is sit still and enjoy the ride!"
My reverie was soon shattered, because Scott, who was digging in and starting to skim across the face of the wave, shouted, "Tinker!" and then rammed me. And yes, when he gets excited, Scott forgets my real name and calls me Tinker.
Providence and the Masters of Water were on my side because neither of us rolled over, and in fact, even after being viciously t-boned, my kayak continued going straight ahead, skimming over the oncoming surf as if I'd planned it that way from the beginning. When it was over and we were back in calm water, Scott proudly proclaimed that bumping me hadn't been an accident, he was merely pulling up alongside me so that, if I rolled over, I would land safely on top of his kayak. You don’t meet many people as considerate as that in your lifetime. That's why I go fishing with him.
We calculated we'd paddled seven or eight miles yesterday, but my handy-dandy GPS map proved we paddled 10.2 miles, including that final joy ride where one of us didn't paddle at all. We could have made the round-trip to the Reef, but we'd have missed the whale and the surfing.
It was the first time this year we'd been able to get out together for some saltwater fishing and yesterday made up for the long wait. Not because of the fish, since they failed to play their part in the Adventure, but because we never make two silly decisions in a single trip, never get to play with baby whales, and the pucker factor had never before been higher than a 6.1.
I took 74 pictures and 6 videos of our play date with the whale and the whale isn't in any of them. Well, maybe one - if you know what you're looking for and have a magnifying glass handy. Rats! And you know we both own GoPro cameras, but neither of us carry them. Duh!
And the rockfish? We gave it to a kid who was going ocean fishing for the first time. Scott figured it was the only fish he was going to see, and I figured it might appease the Lords of Fishing after my faux pas of not releasing the first fish of the day. Hope so. I like a fun day at sea as much as the next fellow, but I also like fish tacos.
P.S. It took a while to blow this up and crop the heck out of it, but there's a whale in this picture if you look hard enough...
Noob Noob:
Great story!
Maybe it's a good thing you forgot to take your cameras. When I was child, my mother taught me one thing that always stayed with me because it's always true: books are always better than the movies they're based on. ;-)
hdpwipmonkey:
They say a picture is worth a 1000 words, that's true unless the words are from one of Tinkers fishing reports, those are priceless and pictures can't do them justice.
Great report as always!
Tinker:
--- Quote from: hdpwipmonkey on July 03, 2019, 04:52:31 PM ---They say a picture is worth a 1000 words, that's true unless the words are from one of Tinkers fishing reports, those are priceless and pictures can't do them justice.
Great report as always!
--- End quote ---
Ray, are you suggesting I talk too much? :D
--- Quote from: deptrai on July 03, 2019, 08:42:32 PM ---The only problem with Tinker is that he doesn't go fishing enough. NWKA should sponsor him so we can get more stories.
And whales can be dangerous. I was hit by a juvenile grey whale in my kayak years ago in Redondo Beach. Had to pedal in & change my drawers.
Dave
--- End quote ---
Well, Dave, my dogs think I go fishing much too often and the house always looks like a tornado passed through when I get home, so there's my dilemma. It's been an odd year on the South coast with the winds building into the teens at around 9:30. We hope that changes soon. Then I'll get out more often.
I drifted into a shallow rock because I wasn't paying attention while trying to untangle my lfy line - just a gentle bump - and it so startled me I almost leaped out of the kayak. Hats off for riding it out when a whale bumped you. Nicely done!
DesertPaddler (DK):
Sometimes in not the fishing. It's the adventure.