In Pursuit of the Halibut

Perhaps one of the most celebrated activities endeavored in Alaska is to go halibut fishing. This is one experience I had yet to have in all my visits. Stories are told of braving the elements in order to drop a line and let it sink to the bottom where the plank like halibut feed.

Halibut are a strange fish in themselves. The young start out like any other fish, but somewhere along the line they begin swimming more and more on their side. Eventually, they one eye shifts to the other side of their head and they become some kind of bazaar flat fish. 

Halibut can grow to be huge. One picture I saw was of a monster that weighed several hundred pounds. The exact weight escapes me, but nine or seven hundred pounds stick in my mind. It had been taken many years ago, but even today there are reports of fish that weight upwards of four hundred pounds. A lot of sports fishermen are happy with one that is over a hundred. I am told by Jesse and Steve, my fishing companions, the best eaters are less than thirty to fifty pounds. This is what they usually catch.

Some Guy with a 420 lb Halibut

When Jesse asked me if I was interested in going fishing, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. My husband, Rick’s tale of fighting the frigid nine foot swells that almost took his life and made his stomach turn inside out over the side of the boat did set me on alert, but Jesse assured me this would not be the case. We would wait for calm waters. My secret hope was that sunshine would also be part of the setting, and so it was to be.

I prepared to be on standby. My greatest concern was being cold, so I kept clothes to dress in layers readily at hand. Word came, tonight would be the night. Steve would pick us up at 8:00 PM, which sounds a little late, but here in Alaska on June 24^th, it was one of the longest days of the year. Light of day would not be a problem.

I pulled out cache of clothing which included my hikers, wool hat, and gloves. Upon inspection of my garb, Sarah decided to intervene. She assured me I would not want to wear any clothes that would later be worn in everyday setting. There was no guarantee they would ever smell the same again. So, she set me up with a pair of her old pants, an old long sleeved shirt, wool socks, a stocking cap, and two polar fleeces. The pants were short, very short, but they wouldn’t be noticeable because I also needed to wear her rubber boots, locally known as Xtra-Tuffs. I was ready. I looked pretty dorky, (not totally out of the norm), but ready.

Like clockwork, Steve pulled in at 8:00 with his twenty-two foot, well-seasoned boat.  This wasn’t the typical big, beautiful charter boat that most tourists go halibut fishing in when they go out into the ocean, but I wasn’t paying hundreds of dollars, either. This small craft would suit our needs just fine. We loaded up and headed for Anchor Point landing.

It was low tide; really low tide. For the sake of my land-locked friends, tide is something to be consulted like a crystal ball for every outing concerning water. Jeff Foxworthy would say, “You know you’re an Alaskan when you have a Tide Table in every vehicle, spread open on your kitchen table, hanging out your back pocket, and refer to on a daily basis.” Life here revolves around the tide. I won’t pretend to understand it all, but I do know when you have to drive out the length of almost two football fields from the normal shoreline to reach the water, it is low tide. Not necessarily the best time to launch a boat.

Yes, getting the boat out into the water took a combination of brains and brawn. Driving on the ocean bottom made me a little concerned. Though it was firm sand for the most-part, I knew there were places where the dirt was more like quick sand. Driving a Dodge 2500 with a boat trailer on it was not something I would ever do. 

They didn’t blink. Finding the best place to back into the water was the biggest challenge. The tide carved sand bars that ranged from a couple feet to several inches and was never consistent. They put me in the boat, and picked a place. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough to get the boat off the trailer.

Steve brought the truck back up to shore and walked back while Jesse attempted drag the boat into deep enough water to be able to put the motor down. I was instructed to sit in the back, which I did dutifully. There came a point where my weight in the back kept us hung up on a sand bar. I moved forward, then out of the boat (the rubber boots were a good idea after all,) while the guys pushed and pulled the boat to a place that would work. I once again boarded the boat. With a little more effort and weight shifting on my part, we were off.  I closed my eyes and turned my attention to the sensory experience of moving across the calm waters.

The sound of the motor and cold wind on my face brought me back to my childhood days of fishing on Greenwood Lake. My heart melted at the fond memory, until the smell of the salty air brought back to the here and now. I opened my eyes to be greeted by the majestic mountains against a backdrop of blue sky that stood timelessly in front of us. This is the scenic beauty that draws many to Alaska in the first place. Good fortune flooded my soul and was increased as an otter, basking on its back while dining on a clam came into view. I shared in its contentment. 

We passed a mother otter suspended with its pups on her back, a troop of shrewd gulls perched on a floating log, and many other water birds before reaching our destination, six miles off shore.  Let the fishing begin.

I was handed a thick pole armed with a massive reel strung with one hundred pound test line. The pole itself seemed heavy. Steve hooked me up with a gigantic 20-ounce sinker and a heavy metal leader with a huge curved hook. On this, a half of herring was baited. I was instructed on how to use the reel and told to let it go until it hit bottom. The lock was released, the line dropped . . . and dropped . . . and dropped. Finally, it hit bottom, at about what seemed like 100 feet. It dawned on me that reeling it in, even without a massive fish on the end, was going to be a chore, but I was ready and waiting.

The Cook Inlet was still very calm. That didn’t stop us from drifting, and as we drifted, the bait on the bottom of the ocean floor made a pulsating tug on the pole. Jesse told me I would know a halibut took the bait when the bobbing was interrupted with a hard jerk followed by a constant powerful pull.  Then I should be prepared to reel in all hundred feet of line with a sheet of plywood on the end. I waited patiently with eager anticipation.

While I waited, I soaked up of view of the mountains, the sky, and the sea. The wonder and awe of being there engulfed me, and the warmth on my face shed by the rays of the falling sun filled my soul. I was satisfied and content. Waiting was no chore; it was more like basking in holiness.

Every once in a while, there was a change in the steady throb of my line, but nothing that even resembled a bite. After some time, it was decided that we should retrieve our lines and relocate. As I began reeling in the line, it crossed my mind that it was a good thing I didn’t have a thirty pound halibut on the other line. Between holding the heavy pole and reeling, my arms already felt a strain. Then as the sinker and leader became visible, I noticed my herring section had been replaced with an alien flask-shaped creature.

The little brown bugger seemed to have no mouth or eyes, and was the size of a very large grapefruit. The blubbery mass that was heavy for its size. It had a rather ornate design decorating it into sections much like a football. The poor thing must have gotten snagged and came to be an unidentified victim at the end of my large hook.  After I snapped a picture, Steve took the honor of cutting it loose and sending it back into the cold water of the inlet.

This was to be our only catch that night. After a few more hours drifting in peaceful contentment, the night chill and the soon to be setting sun sent us back to shore; empty handed, but heartwarmingly full.

It took the same expertise and effort to load the boat as it took to unload it. Yet, the silhouette of the guys before the red skies and ocean backdrop made this too picturesque; a splendid ending to another Alaskan adventure.  Yet, it was not the finale.

As I drove in the dusk of the midnight sun, the full moon greeted me; climbing over the treetops in the still well-light sky. It hung big and bright as if to say, “This day was just for you. Be blessed.”

There is no doubt, I am.