36°

Labor Day, 2009. It's an excellent day. Pockets of blue sky escape thick layers of stratus clouds. The wind is still and signs of fall are all around. The marine forecast for Southern Lynn Canal is three foot seas and 15-knot winds, a nice forecast for this time of year. My friend Drew Spence and I are hoping to catch a little halibut.

The water's flat calm as we head north out of Amalga Harbor. For the past several weeks the fishing reports had been highlighting Benjamin Island as one of the hotspots for catching halibut, so we decide to give it a try. Across the water, breaks in the clouds expose the jagged peaks of the Chilkat range. The ocean waters turn milky gray as we cross over the Eagle River delta, then smoky green as we near the south side of the island.

"Front or back?" Drew yells out, wondering which part of the island I wanted to fish.

"Front" was my response.

"Inside or outside?"

More questions, I contemplate the options, but knew it really didn't matter.

"Inside?" I call back.

The truth is that I really didn't know where to fish. Years past I had good luck catching 20-40 bound halibut between Benjamin and North Island, but lately my "hotspot" hadn't produced. My plan was to cruise north of Benjamin and look for the heavier boat traffic and then cross reference it with more likely spots on a nautical chart.

About a mile north of the island we come across two boats that appeared to be anchored on a large underwater hump. It had the potential. As we move in closer, we look for landmarks to gauge our position on the hump, to the west Vanderbilt Reef, to the east Yankee Cove.

"We should be close", I tell Drew as he calls out the depths.

"240... 220... 200..."

At 180 we cut the engine and drop anchor. As I give thought to what to use, I watch the other boats, but none of them seem to be giving away any secrets. Though I love the fight of a big halibut, I have a general disdain waiting for one to bite. With my attention deficit-like tendencies I prefer to be moving. So while halibut fishing, jigging is my usual choice. My favorite one is a 12oz, Solvkroken. Made of stainless steel, it doesn't rust and it comes with a razor sharp treble hook. It's simple, easy to jig and catches a lot of fish. I clip it to the end of my line and flip it over the side. Drew decides to use herring, blue label size. He places it on a halibut rig composed of a single large hook separated from 16 ounces of lead by a spreader.

"Down she goes" Drew announces, as the 60 lb monofilament peels off his reel. Drew cranks his line two strokes after the lead finds bottom. With earnest I start jigging, taking long strokes with my pull up and down. Only five minutes into fishing and I get a firm hit. The fish pulls with little intensity, however, as I steadily crank it up from the depths. A small Pacific Cod comes up sideways as I haul it out of the water. It was the first of several cod that we were to catch that day and it was snagged under the chin. Good for fish and chips, cod grow to behemoth proportions, but it isn't what we were looking for, so I throw it back. The fact that we were catching cod wasn't all that bad as halibut feed on them among other things. After catching three more, Drew looked at me with mild disgust, "you got another one!"

"That's three to nothing Drew. You sure you don't want to switch over to a jig?"

Feeling he's seen enough Drew rummages through his various tackle boxes and finds a 10 oz diamond shape lead jig.

"Looks like it's jigging time" he says with a newly found vigor.

Quickly he changes over his line and sends the treble-hooked jig fluttering to the bottom. Ten minutes later Drew is deep into the cod, most of them a couple of pounds or less. Yet as quickly as we land em we toss em back. We want halibut.

There was about an 18' tide that day, so the jigging was tough. The light jig I was using made it even tougher. Each time I raise and lower the rod the line carries far out from the boat. It was as if I were jigging a spot 100 feet back. After a big heave of my pull I let it fall, and Wham! A solid hit. The tip of my rod jabs twice in succession as I rear back on the line. I hear the sweet hum of my drag as the fish runs deep. It has a familiar feel, a halibut feel.

"I think I've got something a little nicer this time Drew" I announce.

With anticipation I crank hard till the weight of the fish forces me to pause. The fish gives line and I start to crank again. This time I get a better feel for its weight and realize it wasn't the monster I was hoping for, but it was a halibut I was sure. Drew asks if I need the net and I give him a nod, as I rear back on the line one more time.

"Looks like chicken" remarks Drew.

It is. A small halibut, four maybe five pounds and 28 inches at best, floats to the surface. I consider throwing it back, but it's late in the season and I'm afraid I won't be able to make it back out. A little halibut after all is better then none.

We fish an hour past high tide and catch one more small halibut. I offer it to Drew, but he declines, wanting it to grow to a larger size. Though the state allows you to keep two halibut of any size it makes sense to keep only those halibut in a certain range. Halibut live to be over 50 years old. They grow slow. Over the years I've seen the size of the halibut coming in to the docks decrease. Places I use to catch sizable fish seem only to produce chicken sized now. I toss the fish back and we move closer to North Island. In a towering spruce a flock of crows raise a cacophony of sound as they harass a lone eagle. We fish another hour, catching nothing except a piece of kelp complete with stem and root.

"They're good for pickling" Drew says, as I toss it back. "You can pickle em and sell em on Ebay."

I chuckle. Drew's dry humor and off-hand remarks always adds to our trips. I guess chicken's for dinner.