Homers Hole, Fishin Hole That Is Most of our Alaska trip was slightly out of present time, five hours of time change and seemingly endless daylight will do that to you. But there is so much to see and do, it doesnt really matter. Day two of halibut fishing was under way and once again, I landed the first halibut. Trying for a bigger one, I released several before keeping a twenty five pounder and another 29. Three sisters were fishing that day and not catching, so I helped with a bit of coaching. One said she had been fishing four different trips and never caught one. I told her that she would have one on the hook within five minutes and got her to drop to bottom. Using the same process as we use for flounder, she was hooked up in under the promised time and had a great big smile on her face as she struggled with a nice keeper. I moved over to sister number two and same results, very quick hook up. Both sisters landed several more halibut trying to catch one under 29. The fish were plentiful and hungry, what was missing was the presentation of the bait and recognition of when to set the hook. Most people try to set the hook too soon, the fish needs to have a moment to enjoy the taste before you try to rip the bait out of his mouth. My newest best buddy, Mel, had caught his limit as well as a couple salmon, as we moved to try for black sea bass. The bass were located and as we drifted above them, they practically jumped into the boat. Fourteen anglers quickly limited out and 42 bass and several salmon cooled their heels in the box. Once again we were on the move, this time to a salmon hot spot. A dozen boats were congregated in a small area that we slid into, the sight of bent rods and silver fish struggling was all around us. The fish were there, but not biting really well. Maybe a dozen came aboard, but none had my name on them. Our fishing time over, Mel and I had another twelve pounds of fillets for later consumption. While in Seward, we enjoyed the company and hospitality of our three couples of RV friends from Florida. As Janice and I were living out of a car and hotel rooms, it was a welcome break to have a campfire barbeque and get to know everyone better. While driving around, Mike and Pam had discovered a brook that the salmon were using to return to a lake to spawn. There was a fish ladder so the silvers could leap up the steps and around a dam. Biologists were netting salmon in a huge dip net so they could study them. Studying them seemed to amount to dipping them and dumping them into a huge fish box, then asking passers by if them wanted free salmon. Mike and Pam must have been nearly first in line for two plump, delicious, free fish, as there was no lineup of locals yet. No proof of purchase? No problem! They gave an official receipt saying where they came from. The biologists were not there when Janice and I arrived a little later, but there were dozens of fish in the small pools and a NO FISHING, CAMERON sign on every tree. Mel and Cathy had to wait in line for two or three hours the next afternoon, once the word got out that fresh, free fish were to be had. We were only a few miles from the ocean, so there was no issue with them traveling long distances and getting slinky and spent. Luckily, bears limited their visitation to night time feeding and simply waded in and helped themselves. Small stream equals easy prey and well fed bruins! Bidding adieu to Mel and Cathy, we motored to Homer, our last stop before jetting home. Our other friends Mike and Pam along with Walter and Dianna, were already there and comfortably camping on the Homer Spit. The Spit is basically a long sandbar, about five miles, by a quarter mile in size, hosting many campgrounds, restaurants, hotels, condos, a boat harbor and my newest favorite spot in the world, The Fishing Hole. Anyone who has visited us in Nova Scotia has watched the tide come and go at Spencers Island, well multiply the sand bar by 100 and reduce the tide height and you would have the Spit. The Fishing Hole is a man made pond, about a quarter mile long and several hundred feet wide, dug out of the middle of the sand bar. An opening was left to the ocean and tidal waters enter and leave. They added several thousand farmed salmon that were placed in the fishing hole to imprint on the pond, now calling it home, before going to sea and returning to spawn in late July, early August. And a fishing frenzy is created unlike anything short of free salmon. Our friends had the noses of their rigs cozied right up to the edge of the bank, with dozens of fisher people slinging a wide variety of hooks, lures and baits at schools of circling silver salmon. Soon after supper, I extended my collapsible fishing rod, put on my prettiest lure and heaved it toward the clearly visible fish. This soon turned out to be harder than it looked, as the salmon were in mating mode and who tries to eat when love is in the air? Eventually, the guy next to me got lucky. A very lethargic salmon, with a detached hook in its mouth was chased by an opportunistic seal till it beached itself and was quickly pounced upon by an almost hairless bear wearing chest waders. Thank you Mr. seal! Not long afterward, I was lucky enough to hook a strong fighter and survive the initial runs for freedom. There was a large crowd of onlookers, given the close proximity to the camp ground and lots of noise every time it seemed I would win. This went on for several minutes until my friend the bear in chest waders suggested he could help, before the ever wachful seals got aggressive enough to mount an attack. With a played out salmon on the shore, he carefully picked it up and gave it to me just as the hook fell out. This still was not a sure thing, the salmon came to life, escaped my grip and was rapidly flopping down the steep bank in round gravel, toward Homers Hole. I pounced as spryly as my bad knees and back would permit and was posing for numerous pictures and an apparent video that had captured the whole event, when he flopped away again. Ever diligent, the seals were watching and rubbing their flippers together, hoping for the fish to win. I could see only one solution and picked up a base ball sized, round rock, fully aware that two dozen men women and children were watching my every move and that the salmon was going to feel even more violated than he already did, I started alternately hitting him in the the head and saying sorry, hit, sorry, hit, sorry, all the time aware of a little red headed girl in pigtails kneeling nearby, almost in the splash zone, looking very much like Ann of Green Gables, calmly philosophizing that Sometimes its a good day to live and sometimes its a good day to die. The video, when I get a copy will verify the accuracy of the event, I hope... Well now it was covered in sand, gravel and blood, but that puppy still flopped away from me and nearly made it to the water! Enough is enough, I washed it with the hose, cleaned it and vacuum bagged it and my friends promised to bring it to Florida this winter! There is more to the story, but it will have to wait. SORRY! Cameron
Posted on: Sun, 24 Aug 2014 15:55:43 +0000
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