Well....here goes the tale of the three day trip.
Uneventful trip to Telegraph Cove except for the flock of eagles in the middle of the road attempting to carry a road killed fawn.
Was greeted with a camp site that more resembled a mosquito infested swamp which we switched quite quickly for closer digs to the showers and had more sun and less critters. Once settled in we launched the boat amid a crowd of German tourist's gawking at the 137 pound Hali proudly being displayed by it's conqueror.
Wednesday morning and up at 3:30 thanks to the public telephone beside the showers. Why do people find it necessary to call home at that time of day is beyond me but to each there own.
Got away from the dock at 5:00 to calm waters and almost no wind with forecasts of the same all day.
Twas what would eventually be called the "pink day". For that's all we got in the morning fish. Pink, pink and more pink's. About a dozen or so before we broke for a late brunch and went in.
Afternoon saw us head in the opposite direction still in search of something bigger. Pinks again....but at least we tagged into a couple of 12 pound Coho’s, which we gladly kept along with one lone Pink in the 8 pound range.
Still no smiley's on this day.
Back at the dock by 6ish and although we saw a number of decent mid 50 Halibuts, it seemed we weren't they only ones Springless today.
Thursday's adventure was started at a more decent hour with both my fishing partner and I agreeing that sleep and a good breakfast outbid the slim prospect for Chinook on this trip.
My wife's uncle from Houston was meeting us at 9:00 for his first foray on the ocean.
What greeted him was just one of those perfect weather days.
Mid 20 degree's, not even a breath of wind and flat calm seas. Another friend would often refer this as water flatter that pi$$ on a pie plate. What ever that means.
We headed of into George's Banks at the entrance of Queen Charlotte Straits. A common place to head for Hali's but since it had been almost 10 years since my last time there...
Broke out the mudrakers and a chunk of herring with a smattering of X10 and started bouncing at 280 feet. Bump, bump and what do you know fish on. Nice little 18 inch Greenling. Had the young lad reel that one up and after the Texan had taken the appropriate number of pictures of said lad and fish, I then decided to rig the catch with a couple large circle hooks and 24 inches of stainless leader.
Off in the distance, I heard the distinct fwhoosh of a whale of some description. Scanning the waters, I finally was able to locate her. Looked to be angling our way and I would have to say about a half mile off. Looked big though.
Down the gear goes for the second drop.
Bump, bump, wham. Fish on. BIG fish on. Took three small short runs that turned the boat 90 degrees to starboard each time. Just when I thought I might be able to subdue what ever was pulling the rod in half and spinning the boat, it happened. One mighty thrust and then nothing. Stunned silence filled the crew. What the he double hockey sticks was that. Brought the gear up and all that was left was the weight at the end of the 120 pound Dacron. No jig, no stainless, no 1/4 inch steel rigging.
Sorry to say that in a couple days this girl will be toast with all the gear that she swallowed. Would have been nice to say hello and released her.
When we had just pulled up to the Banks, I had noted to the boy, that there was a nice living room size herring ball being harassed by an couple hundred Gulls not 50 feet from us. Looked like a spa, was his comment. Within a couple minutes a couple in a late 80's Double Eagle sided up to the frenzy and stopped just short of running the ball over. Out come a pair of mooching rods and they start into some serious jigging.
Buddy was joking, "How often have we seen this tried?"
Do you remember the whale a bit back?
As we were watching this boat not 5 feet from the ball of bait, up comes the Whale, mouth fully agape, inhale the ball, roll and disappear.
There we were, twelve sets of eyes the size of dinner plates, slack jawed and "What the fu** was that?" cried the female half of the other boat.
"Minke." I yelled.
"What?" she replied
"Minke Whale." I said again
"Can you speak English?" she offered.
"Nein. Ich spreche nicht Englisch " says the Texan.
And the conversation was over before it had be begun.
She did grab a camera and scanned the waters for a spell, but grube minke was headed north to reek havoc like a U-boat on night patrol.
Bobbed around for another hour. Baked in the sun. Laughed alot. Had a couple pops and headed over to Alert Bay for something to do.
Great time camping. Fishing could have been better. A couple Coho's and one Pink for our efforts. But being mistaken for German tourists though...PRICELESS...
Off to the prairies tomorrow for a three week stint and back home in time for some serious spring playing...with any kind of luck.
Ich fische folglich mich bin.
