Crabs count, don't they?

The ocean was not cooperating (again) yesterday, but we had a tiny weather window and we were determined to leap into it.  I'm happy to take full credit for the idea to explore the sloughs in search of flounder and striped surf perch.  And even if it wasn't entirely my idea, I'm posting the tale first so I can take credit for anything I want!

We paddled up to a side slough to get started.  I hadn't cast a fly from my kayak in six months and I needed practice.  As it turns out, I needed practice paddling, too, because I kept trying to throw myself out of the Trident when my paddle missed the water.  Yep, missed it entirely, and not by just a little bit, either.  Full whiff.  Try for a power stroke and whoopsie-daisy, I was darned near swimming.

I have days when I'm more determined than I am coordinated, but thankfully, my companion was looking elsewhere whenever I missed a stroke and I only had to listen to me laughing at myself - I'm quieter about it.  No need to involve the guys in the boat yard.

The side slough is shallow and the bottom is a mud flat, but there's one fairly deep channel lined with pilings.  If you've never before visited a spot and you wanted to target flounder and striped perch, it looked like a great spot.  On paper.  Not so great in reality.

There were schools of baitfish thrashing on the surface but neither of us had thought to bring the big flies for big fish with us.  We never did see what was chasing after them, but when I thought about how we were fishing the flood tide, and the odd lack of flatfish and perch, it was obvious, even to me, that all the fish had been eaten by those vast herds of leopard sharks that occupy Coos Bay.

My companion, however, spent most of the day debating whether or not the baitfish were baby salmon, and whether the predators that were panicking them where coho, or maybe sea-run cutthroat, or early stripers.  Folks, I fish with the guy and in four years and I can assure you that every fish that smacks his fly then gets away must - without a doubt - have been a striper.  Me?  I'm happy thinking it was leopard sharks.  After all, it's much more manly to be paddling about in shark-infested waters - especially if you keep trying to fall out of your kayak - than to be paddling about in striper-infested water.  No comparison.

After about an hour of trying to jump-fish the flats in kayaks, my companion nailed a fine red rock crab, but although it had been fairly hooked, he released it.  We'd had some solid strikes but that crab was the only creature either of us landed all day, and he claims that a crab is a shellfish, emphasizing the "fish" part, and that means we weren't totally skunked.

I leave the question to other philosophers to answer: does catching a crab with a fly pole count as catching a fish?  Or, were we well and truly skunked?

The most amazing part of the day, however, wasn't on the water.  It was at lunch.  We dropped by a burger joint and my companion decided on some artery-hardening, heart-stopping mass of meat on a bun.  A burger patty covered by a pile of pulled pork that was easily six inches thick - with not a hint of bunny-food on it, mind you.  When it arrived at the table - and after I got over the shock of it - my immediate reaction was, "He'll never get that thing in his mouth!"

I was wrong.  Not only could he get it into his mouth, but as I recall, all I did was glance up at the wall menu to see what that mountain of meat was made of, and when I looked back, it was gone. Consumed.  Making it through that meal was quite a feat and I am still in awe.  I have no doubt, absolutely none, that if leopard sharks liked meat burgers, they couldn't have finished that sandwich half as quickly.

It made a day spent paddling around on the leading edge of a storm front and catching no fish (I'm assuming the philosophers will, like me, agree that a crab as not a fish) worthwhile.

 

That's a fine read right there.  Sorry to ding your pride, but you were indeed skunked. 

My thought is this...if you were crabbing and all you got was a small rockfish that was stuck in the trap, you'd still say you were skunked, right? 

 

Did it make it to the boat?  If yes, if not it doesn't count IMHO. 

My thought is this...if you were crabbing and all you got was a small rockfish that was stuck in the trap, you'd still say you were skunked, right? 

Oh, no - I'd call it a successful day on the water.  I fish, therefore I lie about it.

My ride was indeed dinged three times yesterday: I kept missing the water with my paddle and it's like right there, you know; I didn't catch the crab; and all I ate was just a plain old bacon cheeseburger and left feeling painfully full - it's lunchtime the following day and I'm still stuffed.

I'm not often totally outdone on these trips and I can honestly say I don't like it one bit.