Triple Treat in Alaska
by Doug
Olander
We've got to get that bait right up off the bottom, or we'll get another darn
halibut!"
That was the advice offered on a July day by guide Ted McManus out of Elfin Cove
Sport fishing lodge.
"I talked about catching all sorts of pink salmon on light tackle in tide rips and they (local residents) looked at me like I was nuts!" Greg Moore, a fisherman from Lake Stevens, Washington, was referring to a conversation on another summer day.
These comments just hint at the incredible salt water sport fishing opportunities Alaska offers. Elfin cove, a tiny fishing outpost in Alaska's southeast "panhandle" is an ideal location to sample a variety of the state's unspoiled salt water fishing.
Elfin cove is snuggled into the base of a little inlet on Chichagof Island, at the northernmost entrance to the famed "Inside Passage" waters, 75 miles west of Juneau. From here, you can fish "outside" the open edge of the Gulf of Alaska, or you can fish the protected waters of Cross Sound, along the northwest edge of Chichagof, and its many islands, reefs, bays and fjord-like channels. In almost any direction, at almost any time of the summer, there are fish to be caught.
The
"fish to be caught" in most visitors' minds
are
Chinook (king) salmon. Accordingly, I took Ted's advice and kept my bait up off
the bottom. Actually, it was not a bait but a metal jig called a Point Wilson
Dart. The long, narrow lure is designed to imitate a "candlefish" (eulachon or
sandlance) of the same shape. Candlefish are an abundant baitfish in these
chilly north Pacific waters, so abundant that their splashing resembles tiny,
silvery raindrops. That day on the calm surface along Lemesurier Island, where
Ted McManus had taken Eric Lucas and me for Chinook, lots of candles were
blinking.
Eric had arrived at Elfin in late June, several days before me. His partners had dubbed him the "halibut king". "I've caught eight halibut over 70 pounds since we've been here," he hold me, adding that most had been released. Big kings were his target and now a narrow, swirling slot about 12 miles north of Elfin Cove between Lemesurier and a smaller, neighboring island was where Ted had chosen to find them.
Lucas soon got his wish, as the sizzling runs of a salmon had his reel singing. During that same drift, shortly after he landed the 20-pounder, I was snapped from my reverie when the two-ounce jig at the end of my line offered no weight. I reeled quickly and, when I caught up with the jig, I found a fish attached to it. For just a moment the fish seemed willing to be pumped upward. But suddenly the angle of the line began decreasing quickly and, some distance behind the boat, a 20-pound salmon cleared the water. It was an exhilarating 15 minutes later before I was able to bring the fish to the boat, using the tiny bait caster and four-pound monofilament.
We ended that afternoon with our limits of two kings each, the largest a chunky 35-pounder. We boated none of the 60-pound monsters taken in these waters each summer, but couldn't have been more delighted anyway.
Once, when my jig did fall to the bottom, 90 feet below, just as Ted had warned, I found myself hooked up with the tremendous power even a small halibut exerts. This small one proved too large for my light gear, and after straining carefully for nearly an hour. I broke it off. I also discovered that, nearly everywhere in these waters, one-to-three pound greenling abound and pounce mercilessly on jigs like the Dart if they are left near the bottom.
Sport fishing at Elfin Cove (and southeast Alaska generally) can be classified in three distinct categories: Chinook, halibut, and surface feeding salmon. Trolling is the standard procedure among most Chinook anglers here but, at Eric's request, Ted agreed to drift-mooch, basically jigging with plug cut herring or metal jigs. Ted confessed that he has been known to use a Dart himself.
Trolling for kings involves typical northwest salmon gear, large level-wind reels with 20 to 40 pound line on long medium action rods with herring, whole or plug cut, or strips, as well as spoons or plugs. Downriggers are preferred for keeping offerings near the bottom in 10 to 20 fathoms. While June is perhaps a peak month for big Elfin Kings, they're picked up throughout the summer.
Also taken while deep-trolling for kings are halibut, which will certainly rise off the bottom to strike.
Some anglers who travel to Alaska consider Chinook the fish and any other species a nuisance, but most anglers welcome the opportunity to catch one of the world's largest and most prized and most valuable bottom fish, the Pacific Halibut. Just before I last left Elfin , for example, Ted's party had decided not to keep any halibut of less than 100 pounds. By day's end, two fishermen had released a half-dozen of the flatties, including on Ted estimated at 80 pounds and another at 90 pounds. Oh, they did get an estimated 120-pounder to the boat, but the hook slipped out just before Ted could sink the gaff.
Halibut are scattered throughout these waters, although not all are monsters. Babies of a few pounds are pests at times. Fish of 20 to 80 pounds are generally easy to come by, while several over 200 pounds are brought into Elfin on sport gear annually. Dan Baxter's (the lodge owner) younger brother, visiting the lodge one day recounted having just seen a 327-pounder there, muscled from about 15 feet of water a a river mouth!
All sorts of baits and lures entice these aggressive flatfish, although herring, large metal jigs or spoons and lead head jigs with large plastic curly-cue tails account for most. Some fishermen claim a long belly strip or even a whole fillet from three-to-six pound pink salmon is best. In any case, the essential thing is putting a bait or lure in front of a halibut. That means slow-trolling or drifting over a sandy or gravelly area. There are many know halibut holes, but you can expect these fish pretty much anywhere.
Most serious halibut anglers rely on heavy gear with lines testing at least 40 pounds, and for a really large halibut, that's none too heavy! I've caught many on light tackle spinning and bait-casting tackle with 8 to 12 pound line. Such tackle provides a great challenge, but only for the angler willing to lose a really large fish and will to spend lots of time working on those of even modest proportions.
Anyone
who has had much experience muscling in halibut will tell you that this sport is
also work. Halibut don't go in much for long sizzling runs or grey-hounding
leaps. They just resist, stubbornly, inexorably, powerfully, using the great
surface area of their flattened bulk to fight the pull of the line.
Large lingcod and even some big Chinook may do more sitting and sulking than running, but hooked halibut resist in a unique way that reveals their identity. They frequently shake their heads up and down, rather that side-to-side as would most conventionally-shaped fish. Their sudden, powerful jerk-and-release at the rod tip means "halibut." The deeper these jerks, the larger the fish.
Several species of salmon, all considerably smaller than Chinook, form the basis
for a third sport fishery in southeast Alaska. Coho (silver), and to a lesser
extent pink (humpy), chum (dog) and sockeye (reds) salmon, feed extensively at
or near the surface.
Beginning in August and building to an early September peak, the Coho runs
attract a great deal of attention. Then, large schools of Coho 10 to over 18
pounds are associated with rip lines. They are generally caught on herring strips
or lures trolled near the surface, but casting jigs or flies will produce.
Silver are wild fighters, particularly on light gear. They are the most prized salmon, after Chinook, but I've had tremendous action in rip lines from other species as well, catching Coho, pinks, sockeye and chum all in an afternoon.
Pinks are most abundant and tend to be taken for granted, but fishing for humpies with four-pound line provided some of the wildest light-tackle action I have ever enjoyed in the Northwest.
For three afternoons in a row, my wife Jackie, Greg Moore and I persuaded Capt. Ted McManus to take us back to a huge rip that built up at flood tide on the outside of Three-Hill Island. On calm days, we could see not only diving birds and wheeling gulls gorging in candlefish, but salmon and rockfish thrashing and leaping in all directions. All of us fished light line and cast metal jigs, generally Buzz Bombs, Darts or Nordics.
Often the salmon were so plentiful we could see swarms of them in the clear water, cruising past in foraging packs or darting about the lures we'd jig up and down. The opportunity to watch the fish this way led Moore to a surprising discovery; strikes were more likely when the jig was moved gently and regularly rather than jigged quickly up and allowed to flutter freely back down. The frenetic excitement of those fish-every-cast drifts will not soon be forgotten by any of us. I vividly recall the many times every rod had a fish on, with the simultaneous screeching of drags and salmon leaping or greyhounding along the surface. I recall the shouts: "Look at 'em-there are salmon all over down there!" "Hurry up and cast, a bunch of them are following the one I just hooked!" "He's coming up and he's going to jump!" And, inevitably, "Net! Quick, it's right here at the boat!"
Many times it was self-service, since everyone else was either fighting or netting fish already. It hardly mattered. Many were lost and many released.
Elfin Cove
can be counted on for more than the terrific salmon and halibut fishing which
draws folks from thousands of miles away. The area is surrounded by some of the
most spectacular scenery in the world. On a calm, clear day the mountains and
glacier of Glacier Bay and Mount Fairweather (15,300 feet) tower over the
northern horizon. Steep, craggy cliffs rise abruptly over sounds and straits and
inlets. Humpback and grey whales are a common sight, as are pods of killer
whales. Bald eagles are abundant; their piercing cries frequently split the
still air. These sights and sounds are frosting on a cake made up of tremendous
salmon and halibut fishing.