Alaska Halibut Heaven
by George Poveromo
Talk about a sudden change! Within 15 minutes the current had siphoned us out of a tranquil, picturesque cove into a raging rip where screeching gulls capitalized on a herring massacre, fueled by stocks of ravaging pink salmon. A glimpse at the solid image on the color fishfinder proved just how fish-packed the water was, and catching salmon was simply a matter of picking up our six-pound spinning gear and flipping spoons overboard.
A chilling drizzle peppered us, its only penetration being an occasional drip rolling down my visor and onto my cheeks and leaving that all-too-familiar cold, stinging sensation. My hands were numb, yet I couldn't let the cold interfere with the sensational bite that kindled childhood memories of visiting those pay-per-catch stocked fish ponds that cropped up along family vacation routes.
And it didn't matter what type of spoon we used either, Pixies, Devle-Dogs, or whatever, as long as they were retrieved along the rip's edge we'd hook all the five and six-pound humpies we wanted.
Despite
the fabulous salmon action, it was the fabled halibut fishery that convinced
Mark Bradfield and I to fly up from the East Coast, well-equipped with
deep-jigging gear. Our destination was Elfin Cove Sport fishing Lodge on
Chichagof Island in Alaska's panhandle. The lodge is owned and operated by Dan
Baxter, with thirty years of commercial and sport fishing southeast Alaska
waters.
With twenty years under its belt, Elfin Cove is a prime resort, smack atop a small village comprised mostly of commercial salmon fishermen. Other than a fish processing station and a fleet of salmon boats overnighting in front, you'll have to venture to the backside of the cove to find a school, post office and a smattering of small stores designed to accommodate 40 people or so.
Elfin Cove can be a red-hot halibut spot. The coves and points within reach of the resort's fleet of modern, 30-foot 'Tom Cat' catamarans are so plentiful that devoted fishermen always have the option of probing "fresh" bottom. Fish are so numerous that only those exceeding 100 pounds are logged onto the books of the lodge. An average of 12 fish above 200 pounds come in annually, with a 350 pounder topping the roster. Detailed reports from those who have fished out of Elfin Cove confirmed our findings: halibut fishing is a surefire bet once you locate them.
On the afternoon of our arrival, with just three hours of fishing time, we found solid action just around the corner from the lodge. Our first halibut encounter came on my third drop, an estimated 90-pounder that escaped just before being gaffed. The action varied from good to sensational with the only lackluster day being our final one, when an approaching frontal system apparently knocked the fish off their feed. Even then, we were able to piece together a ten-halibut day.
Our
object was to abandon the time honored halibut tactics of jigging heavy metal
spoons with heavy tackle, and the productive drift-mooching technique using
extra long rods and plugcut herring, in favor of the tackle and deep-jigging
methods developed in the southeastern US. Our collection included a pair of
6-1/2 foot, 15 pound
test,
graphite bait casting outfits for general jigging and a set of heavier, 20-pound
test fiberglass setups reserved for outsized halibut and those deep drops
requiring heavy jigs. Leader material was limited to 40-pound-test-monofilament,
and our jig box was filled with both arrow and lima-bean-style jigs in varying
weights, plus an assortment of Mann's Jelly Worms. The theory was simple: try to
work the bottom effectively with the least amount of lead and terminal hardware.
This should maximize the jig's action, which, coupled with the low profile of
mono line and leader, should result in more fish.
Captain Ted McManus, who has been fishing the local waters for over ten years, piloted our craft just offshore of Yakobi Rock, about ten miles southwest of Elfin Cove. Eyeing the fish finder, he shut down in 48 feet of water, about 200 feet up-current from the shelf's edge, where the bottom plummets to 300 feet. Bradfield and I broke out our jigging sticks while Henry and Lorraine Vatne, 11-year Elfin Cove veterans, baited with herring. The action in the shallow was slow, and it wasn't until we reached 80 feet of water that we hit pay dirt.
Concentrating solely on the bottom, I gently swept the rod to lift the five-ounce jig off the ocean floor, allowing it to free-fall back until the ride terminated with a "thud." The jig was kept within three feet of the bottom and I was banking on a nine-inch blue worm to provide extra attraction.
Benefiting from the feel of the light monofilament, we could determine the varying bottom types as the lead continually pounded them, and we were also able to monitor the ever-subtle pecks and nips from sculpin, greenling and rockfish. However, something big forcefully froze my jig in place on about the dozenth drop. The bend in the rod and stubborn resistance on the opposite end came from a halibut that only grudgingly gave ground. As I worked my fish through the mid-water depths, Bradfield connected with another.
Holding my fish about a foot beneath the surface to prevent the typical hand-grenade affect caused by pulling a halibut's head out of the water, Ted slipped a landing hook onto its mouth and heaved on its safety rope. The commotion caused by lifting the fish above the water almost overshadowed its fight all around until the fish finally succumbed. We slide it over the gunwale and into the fish box. It fish later weighed in at 68 pounds.
Bradfield's fish, about a 20-pounder, was release unharmed. Good fishing continued for all onboard, with the lead jigs showing a distinct advantage. Ironically, halibut seemed to be in greater quantities in depths between 100 and 140 feet, regardless of the area. Shallow areas often proved fruitless, and those deeper than 140 feet housed schools of gluttonous lingcod that were so turned on by the jigs that we rarely got through to the bottom. In fact, Bird Rock, the deeper area in the Tower Rock/Column Point vicinity harbored the heaviest concentrations. Triple and quadruple hookups were the norm, with the largest lingcod (38 pounds) caught on a lead head jig.
According to Capt. McManus, halibut fishing seem most productive during small moon phases, mainly because there's less current to deal with. Stronger tides can move water up near ten knots, requiring extra weight to reach the fish. We found that arrowhead shaped jigs sliced more efficiently through the current and held bottom better than the flat-sided ones. Also, practically every strike came just a foot or so off the bottom. Working a jig through the entire water column proved little more than an physical exercise, even with the numbers of salmon around.
The
hot spot of the trip was found at Fern Harbor,
a sheltered cove eight miles due north of Elfin that's renowned for 20 to 30
pound class halibut. The shelf, part of the Brady Glacier washout, rises from
950 feet of water, with the best fishing between 100 and 150 feet. In four hours
we tallied 40 halibut between 20 and 40 pounds (only three were kept), 32
lingcod, and about a dozen true cod. With the action coming on hot and heavy, we
experimented with the jigs and made some interesting discoveries.
The least productive results came from plain jigs. If you really worked at it, you'd manage a fish every so often, but not with any consistency. White seemed the best color to use (over yellow and red). However, we found that tipped with a nine-inch blue worm worked wonders, out-fishing the herring baits. Changing worm colors to purple and red produced another sharp decline in action.
The most dramatic advantage came from scent. During various passes over the grounds, I soaked my jig and worm in the herring brine and noticed a big increase in hookups. And, as you probably guessed, a herring-tipped jig was simply devastating.
As mentioned earlier, our most productive jigging technique required the lead to be bounced off the bottom, highlighted by gentle rod sweeps. In come instance, the current was light enough to keep the jig down during the entire drift. Otherwise, it was necessary to reel up and re-drop when line planning became too overbearing.
Mid
June through late September is prime halibut time. Although this fishing can be
fantastic, to come to the region with pure tunnel vision would be a great
injustice. Wee took numerous breaks from halibut fishing to sample the salmon
(pink "humpback"
salmon
dominated during our July trip). Ted even ran us up a river mouth with the
lodge's jet drive skiff to witness the pinks performing their spawning ritual in
the fresh water run-off. It was an incredible sight!
Elfin Cove is a modern lodge that can accommodate 18 guests. Fishing takes place
aboard their three 30-foot 'Tom Cat' catamarans. The food is great and after
dinner socializing centers around the color TV in the lounge. The anglers at the
lodge during our stay came from all over: New York City, Florida, Alabama and
Washington. However, they all had one thing in common - plenty of yarns on what
great fishing they had each day!