Lingcod Fishing in Half Moon Bay

Giant lingcod, threatening whales and an old friend are subjects of this post. Blood and heartbreak are prevalent themes. Still interested? Then read on.

As the 21-foot Boston Whaler crested sharply down the backside of the wave, I tried to quell a rising sense of vulnerability. Unfortunately, the size of the vessel was the least of my worries. The GPS computer on the boat would turn on and off, leaving us stranded in the middle of the ocean, praying for the computer to reconnect. Pervasive fog surrounded the boat on all sides, giving a sense of isolation. However, these factors only added to the building excitement as the boat neared the GPS coordinate named “lingcod_2”.

But how did I end up on that small boat in the middle of the ocean? I was contacted the day before the trip by an old friend named Francisco. You can check out my other adventures with him here: Rockfish, Lingcod, and Crab abound at the Farallon Islands, Rock-Fishing Cruise: The Farallon Islands, Fishing for Rockfish off the coast. The bottom line is that Francisco helped me foster my passion for fishing during my youth, and is one of the most influential people in my life. So when he invited me fishing for the first time in nearly two years I jumped at the chance. Never mind that it was only with two other people I had never met before in an area that I had never gone out in. I was just excited for the chance to go fishing again.

Back on the boat I dropped my double shrimp fly rig down to the bottom of the ocean. Seconds later, a fish began dancing on the end of my light bass pole. After reeling up through 150 feet of water, I was greeted with two healthy yellows. Placing the smaller one on the top hook I dropped the poor fish down to his inevitable doom. Hopefully, that yellow was going to catch me a lingcod.

The 13 pound lingcod

In hindsight this was a terrible idea. I had 170 feet of line on my bass pole and I was dropping it into 150-155 feet of water with a live yellow rockfish on my hook. But when the tip of the light rod was pulled sharply towards the water I instantly realized my mistake. The lingcod pulled out twenty feet of line before I was able to stop it. I watched in horror at the knot where the braid attached to the metal spool of my reel. With my rod between my legs, left hand gripping the line and right hand cranking furiously I was able to recover zero feet of line. So began the stalemate where neither boy nor lingcod was willing to give an inch. Luckily for me, the lingcod gave in first. After a grueling battle that literally spanned the depth of the ocean, the lingcod was within sight. The net scooped down, the head entered the mesh and seconds later a thirteen pound ling was flopping helplessly on the deck.

The twelve lingcod

Up until this point I had only caught three lingcod in my entire life. Francisco congratulated me as I shakily traded in my bass rod for a heavier blank and a reel with more line capacity. The same shrimp fly rig was attached and another live yellow rockfish was placed onto the top hook. Down went the poor fellow. A couple minutes later the rod was bent over double again.

And once again I had another lingcod at my feet. As I reached behind the gill to pick it up the lingcod thrashed, raking the gill plate across my fingers. Blood instantly welled up across the thin but deep cuts. Pulling on gloves I simply placed it into the fishbox. Putting another rockfish on the line, I dropped the rig down again. And once again I had another lingcod on within a few minutes.

By the time the third lingcod hit the deck, Francisco and his friends were beginning to figure out that live bait was working well. After a quick redistribution of the bait we were all fishing rockfish, and all getting hits. Unfortunately the lingcod were hitchhiking off the rockfish. This meant that they were not actually hooked, and instead were holding onto the back of the rockfish with their razor sharp teeth and refusing to let go. But when they saw the surface they often got scared, releasing their prey and darting back into the azure depths. Luckily for me, I seemed to be getting the lingcod on the trailer hook, giving me a higher catch rate. Eventually Francisco caught three, while his friends caught three total. Believe it or not I caught six lingcod all over 25 inches during the trip. After we limited out on lings we made a couple of drifts, picking up a rockfish or two on every pass. After four hours of fishing, we decided to call it a day and head back.

We ended the day with around 37 rockfish and 12 hefty lingcod. This trip to Half Moon Bay turned out to be the best fishing in my life.

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Rockfish, Lingcod, and Crab abound at the Farallon Islands

Squinting from the sunlight as I hold up two decent sized rockfish

By now waking up at four in the morning had become a routine for me. I packed my rod, reel, lingcod jigs, and food the night before and tried to get some sleep before the morning drive to Francisco's house. My thoughts revolved around giant lingcod as we drove to the Emeryville Sport fishing dock. As we boarded the New Seeker I was trembling with excitement. I kept telling myself this was going to be the day I landed a legal sized lingcod. I had the proper gear, the right lure, the knowledge, and Francisco, who I consider to be the lingcod master. The Golden Gate Bridge, which had at one point captivated me passed by the boat without a second glance. The sickening roll of the boat as the bow plowed through the ocean waves did not affect me. The two hour ride to the Farallons felt like torture as I fingered the treble hook of my lingcod bar. Finally the islands appeared on the horizon and the fisherman began to zip up their waders and thread their hooks. It was lingcod time.

The crabs piling up

I started with the generic shrimp fly, knowing I should get some rockfish in the bag before I began the real hunt. As soon as the fly touched bottom the bite began and within minutes two blue rockfish were sitting at the bottom of the sack. By the end of the hour I had reached my limit with a few small ones to boot. It was time to attach my lingcod gear. Rigging a 16 ounce bar I quickly dropped the lure 150 feet to the bottom. Jigging the bar up and down I felt a strong tug. Excited I pulled up a little harder. And then the lure stopped. I had snagged the rocky bottom and doomed my twenty dollar bar. Swearing, I broke off the lure and rigged the shrimp fly back onto my line. However within minutes something big grabbed the fly. I thought it was a rockfish... until the rod bowed and the line sung from the powerful reel. Leaning my rod against the rail I gently began to reel the lingcod towards the boat. Suddenly my 85 lb. braid snapped without a warning. After much rod pounding and screaming I inspected my rod guide. The inside was chipped, creating a sharp edge that had sawed through my braid. If I wanted to catch a lingcod I was going to need to borrow another rod. I pleaded with the deckhand, and he generously lent a spare rod that the captain had been working to repair. Gratefully I got back to fishing the only shrimp fly I had left. However I soon realized that the reel was not quite fixed. The handle was loose, the drag was broken, and several gears protruded from the reel in various areas. To make matters worse, a lingcod grabbed onto my line.

The Golden Gate Bridge on our return trip

And so the fight began, a strenuous and painful process of rising a large fish from 160 foot depths. My hands were bleeding from where the gears had sliced them and my palms had developed blisters from the salt chaffed handle. I was breathing hard, and the captain wanted to move the boat. Every fisherman was waiting for me to bring my fish in. Twenty minutes later the fish was within gaffing range. The deckhand expertly positioned the gaff under the fish... and missed the lingcod. My heart stopped as he nicked the line. With sudden speed the deckhand repositioned the gaff and pierced my prize fish. The lingcod came aboard, a massive 18 pound beast. Jumping around the deck, I probably looked like a little kid. I didn't care. I had caught my lingcod.

THE LINGCOD

The rest of the day blurred by. I lost the jackpot by half a pound, received a full limit of crabs and journeyed back to San Francisco. The odds had been against me. I had been using a shrimp fly, a broken reel, and old line. And yet I had done it. I savored every spray of salt water that came over the side of the boat. I marvelled at the imposing Golden Gate Bridge. My hands raw and bloody I excitedly told my story to anyone who would listen the entire way home.

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Fishing for Rockfish off the Coast

Some of the afternoon rockfish

It was eight-thirty in the morning, nearly four hours since I had woken up to make the journey to Emeryville marina. My eyes were heavy as we boarded the New Huck Finn at six-thirty which was bound for the Farallon Islands, a rock-fisherman's paradise. But before we were even past the Golden Gate Bridge that captain announced that conditions were too rough to make the run to the islands. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach as I realized that we would be fishing elsewhere. But two hours later I was standing at the bow of the boat, fishing rod in hand squinting my eyes against the fierce wind and ocean spray. The rotting smell of fish mixed with the fresh morning air turning it stale. We were fishing inside Drakes Bay, and the beautiful rocky coast of Point Reyes was still visible, yet the sight of shore sunk my hopes even lower.

The early morning rockfish

Out of all the times I have gone rock fishing I have only fished near the coast once. The action was tough at best, and I ended up with eight tiny rockfish that I felt I bad about keeping. After that experience I was reluctant to fish near the coast again. But there I was, miles from the harbor so I dropped my line down to the shallow bottom of the ocean. The depth of the water was barely sixty feet. Skeptical, I kept my finger on the line settling in for a long wait. And then the line tightened, the rod bent towards the water and my heart shot into my mouth. After a short but satisfying tussle I had my first two rockfish of the day. People began to pull in rockfish all around me with a few shouts of, "LINGCOD!!!" around the boat. The day had begun.
As the hours flew by and the gurney sack around my feet began to fill with rockfish, I felt the stress of the past few weeks begin to fade away. Starting high school has been more difficult than I had anticipated, but riding the boat out into the Pacific provided me with a chance to escape to a more peaceful environment. My mind was transported elsewhere by the throbbing run of a rockfish coupled with the steady ache of my arm.

Group shot, from left: Tom, Jeffry, Francisco, Me, Stanley

I ended the day with over twenty blue, yellow, and copper rockfish, each one averaging around two- three pounds. I used the standard shrimp fly, with a fifteen-ounce lingcod jig on the bottom as a sinker / lure. My good fishing friend Francisco and his brother landed several large rockfish and a total of three legal lingcod with eight ounce jigs. Francisco is a great guy who gives up his time to take me along on these rock fishing trips. Without him I would be left at my house with nothing to do. Unfortunately I did not land any lingcod but I intend to nab the big one next time during the crab combo trip in November.
The New Huck Finn blazed across the water with the wind and waves at it's back, seagulls squawking as they dived at the rockfish corpses being tossed off the back. Inside the cabin people discussed their biggest fish over a drink. Outside a teenager leaned on the rail watching the coastline recede into the distance a giddy smile lighting up his face.

Coming back from a day of fishing

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Rock-Fishing Cruise: The Farallon Islands

In an earlier blog post, I visited Santa Cruz in search of a limit of rockfish. The results were not as good as I had hoped, especially compared to my previous fishing trip to the Farallon Islands where schools of rockfish were thick, so thick that I couldn't drop my line down without pulling up two two-pound rockfish. Yesterday, an extremely generous man nicknamed "Lord of Lingcod" (LoL) took me (not my dad) to the land of rockfish paradise. That paradise is called the Farallon Islands.

The biggest rockfish of the day

The Farallon Islands are about two hours off the coast of San Francisco. The area known as the Farallons are made up of two major islands, the North and South Island. In between and around those islands, deep trenches hold swirling schools of rockfish. Below those schools a large fish known as the lingcod sits sullenly on the bottom.

LoL started the drive to Emeryville at 4:10 A.M.  In the car sat LoL, his friend from college "Jackpot", and me. After an hour of driving, all three of us piled out of the car and met up with LoL's brother "Lendy Lingcod" (LL). The four of us walked down to the dock until we came upon the boat Sea Wolf. Within minutes, we had all got our gear and reserved a seat in the cabin. A couple of minutes after that, we left the dock and embarked on the three hour pilgrimage to the Farallon Islands.

Picture with two of the lingcod 

The ride to the Islands was smooth.  Soon twenty-two excited fisherman crowded the rails of the Sea Wolf each looking for their limit of tasty rockfish. LoL, Jackpot, Tom, and I were clustered at the bow ready for action. Tom was the only one who had a lingcod lure on his line. The "lure" was basically a six-ounce bar of lead with a hook attached, but hey, it catches fish. LoL, Jackpot, and I stuck with the generic double shrimp fly tipped with squid. Dropping the offerings down 180 ft. was a snap with our one-pound sinkers. Soon, all of us hit bottom. I immediately hooked up with a double rock fish strike. Feeling good, I looked around the boat to see how other people were doing. What I saw was shocking. Several people were hunched over bent rods, grimaces of pain on their faces. The boat had just drifted over a school of lingcod.

There are two types of fish most people bring up from the depths. There is the normal rockfish, and there are lingcod. Bringing up a lingcod from the depths is similar to battling a large halibut. It is physically and mentally taxing.  There is often a long battle before an angler gets a glimpse of his/her's catch. Back to the story.

The lingcod that I caught myself

The day proceeded to yield triple limits of lingcod for the skilled angler (limit of lingcod is two). LL had long ago reached his limit and was giving lingcod away to the less fortunate few. LoL was also at his limit with two keeper lingcod and shakers that he let swim free.  Jackpot had a large lingcod and was arguing with LL about who's fish was bigger.

The limit of rockfish and lingcod

Then there's me. At the time, I had almost twice as many rockfish than many people on the boat. I had double limited out (limit for rockfish is ten) and  could not keep the rockfish off the hook. But, I was not satisfied. Without any specialized lingcod gear for myself I was stuck to watching in envy as LoL and LL pull in giant lingcod after giant lingcod. I was getting frustrated. Pinning on two live anchovies I dropped my rockfish rig down to the bottom, where I felt a solid thump. It was bigger than any fish I had felt on that trip. Excited, I settled in for the fight. A couple of minutes later, the fish was at the surface. It was a twenty-inch lingcod, my first lingcod ever. Pulling it up for a picture I measured the fish, deemed it under the size limit, and threw it back in. Maybe someday I'll catch it when it's bigger.

Cheers! My fellow fisherman with their catches

In the end, the entire boat limited out on lingcod and rockfish. It was one of those days that you read about in a fishing magazine, except our picture is out on the front cover. It was a truly special day, one that I will remember forever.



However, I would like to thank "Lord of Lingcod"for taking me out on this trip. Had he not decided to burden himself with taking me, I would never have had this experience. I have gone rock fishing at the Farallon Islands three times and he has taken me each time. He is a truly special guy and I think he is a model for many people who want to provide a child with the opportunity for a fishing trip that will be remembered forever.

Another pic. of the two lingcod

LoL and me on the Sea Wolf

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Rockfish at Santa Cruz

A couple of weeks ago, my grandfather and I decided to go on a rockfish fishing trip. While this would be a first time experience for my grandfather, I had gone on a couple boats before. Usually I would convince a friend to take me to the Farallon Islands. There the rockfish swarm in thick schools, where even the most novice angler can make a catch. However, this time my family thought that we would try to fish closer to the house. This prompted us to make reservations with Stagnaro. They own a boat called the Velocity, a sixty-foot fishing boat that operates out of Santa Cruz. At six in the morning the boat left the harbor with fifty fishermen eager to catch fish.

My limit of rockfish at the Farallon islands

The first leg of the voyage consisted of demonstrations and proper rigging etiquette while we journeyed out to the fishing grounds. When we arrived the air was chilly, the wind is strong, and the morale is high. However as my grandfather and I fished throughout the day, it became apparent to me that Santa Cruz and the Farallon Islands were different. One difference was that in Santa Cruz the ocean is shallow, while around the islands the ocean is deep. Unfortunately, the big difference is that the fishing is much worse in Santa Cruz. When I fished in the Farallon Islands I couldn't keep the jumbo fish off the hook. In Santa Cruz I struggled to catch a single fish as my grandfather pulls in two rockfish. However as the day wore on I get an
idea for where the rockfish are holding, and my catch rate improved. We ended the half day trip with a combined total of fifteen rockfish, eight for me and seven for my grandfather.

The grand total (my grandfather and I) of rockfish in Santa Cruz

What I got from this expedition is that no two experiences are the same. Fishing is filled with failure and only a few pockets of success. Your times will be unique as each trip continues to surprise you. The days can be filled with success but eventually there will be a time when you fail, sometimes losing it all. Never fall into a pattern and expect the same thing each time. Be flexible so that you don't dwell on what you have lost, but minimize your loses. If you experience times of failure do not be stunned when good things come your way. Seize the opportunity and use it.

A man and his pelican

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