Fish In A Barrel

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tacorajim
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Fish In A Barrel

Post by tacorajim »

Fish In A Barrel

Jimmy could not yet pronounce “evolution”, let alone digest a complex food chain theory. But he could rely on childish faith. He honest-to-God believed he could catch a fish in that rusty old water barrel alongside the driveway. Jimmy had cut out a comic strip showing a kid his age catching a fish in a barrel. Presenting this as evidence, he urged his dad to rig him a willow switch with some string tied to a shiny nail bent like a hook.

Next day Jimmy fished. Suddenly he dropped the pole in his barrel and ran lickety-split to hide behind the garage. Warplanes buzzed overhead, and tanks rumbled up the street. Soldiers with helmets and bayoneted rifles marched alongside each other chanting boldly. This boom-kaboom, rat-a-tat-tat, grew progressively louder. Finally a corps of uniformed drummers in tasseled hats of red, white and blue, paraded past the front of Jimmy’s yard. World War II was finally over. Soon Jimmy resumed fishing his barrel. But no fish would bite after all that ruckus.

Thirty-some years later, Jim was trolling upper Southeast Alaska in 31 fathoms on June 28th. He scratched his beard when nearing the apex of both his visual lineups. One was majestic Cape Spencer Lighthouse bisecting the southern hump of Three Hill Island. His other lineup was a white cresent beyond the timberline on a dark mountain due north – when it crowned a trio of mighty fir trees, Jim was on fish. The heavies started pumping, but rarely the shallower tip lines. Jim had his deckhand stow the tip lines aboard so he could troll in a circle. And since these king salmon were feasting on tiny shrimp krill near the bottom, Jim rigged pink Hootchies behind red-rimmed Hotspots. It was all scientific.

Jim’s bonanza dried up after peak high water. As the ebb began flowing he saw a fleet of trollers in formation rounding Icy Point. Jim soon recognized the Hope, the Greta, the Flyer, and several other boats known as ‘The Fairweather Fleet’. Their trips were up, and they’re heading for town, Jim thought. But what if some of them needed a few more fish for topping off?

To keep this tiny glory hole a secret, Jim had to steam around Graves Rocks and into Murphy Cove before those guys could check out his spot. He ordered his deckhand to coil the gear. And cease cleaning salmon to disperse that telltale wreath of screaming gulls diving on tossed innards and krill. Climb out of the trolling pit lickety-split. Come inside until those boats have passed.

Mike the deckhand, had only worked on Jim’s boat for a month, but he was competent, obedient, ambitious, and always pleasant. It was public knowledge around Jim’s home port of Pelican how Mike came to respect his new skipper. One afternoon Jim sauntered into the Pelican Bar & Grill (the ‘Brown Bar’) to spread word that he needed a summer deckhand. A couple of beers later the barroom door crashed open, and in lunged a tall, brawny dude wearing a tan Stetson and matching cowboy boots. “Aw kin whup anybody in this whole stinkin’ joint.” Jim spun off his bar stool, paced over and exploded a brutal left hook to the jaw, knocking the cowboy out cold. By the boots, Jim dragged him out the doorway onto the sunny boardwalk where the cowboy lay limp as a heap of beached kelp. Jim fetched the Stetson and covered the cowboy’s face, then slammed the door shut between them. The locals cheered and bought Jim beers.

Half an hour later came a tap-tap-tap on that heavy wooden door. It creaked slightly, and this large hand reached through the crack with two fingers poking widely upward, like a peace sign. Mike eased slowly in behind his outstretched arm, the other hand clutching the Stetson against his chest, an ancient symbolic gesture of respect. Without the southern drawl, he uttered, “I can whip anybody in this whole joint? Except that guy there.” Mike pointed to Jim asking, “Can I buy you a drink, Sir?” Jim patted the empty red stool on his right. “Sit, boy.”

Mike had flown up from Texas, spending the night in Juneau. He sought summer work on a salmon troller. Fishermen in Juneau’s Breakwater Lounge advised him to catch the mail plane out to Pelican. And if he could bluff the rowdy wimps who hang out in John ‘Dog’ Kelly’s Brown Bar, someone would surely hire him. What a setup. Any loudmouthed dude with a Texas attitude landing on a remote island, in a lawless fishing village where Tequila, dirty pool and recreational combat prevailed, was dead meat.

Years passed until Jim could use a computer to solve the mystery of why that tiny fishing spot yielded so many salmon so briefly. Two mid-day hours surrounding the peak of a big flood. That was it!

Historical data revealed that Sitka’s June high tides over 11 feet rarely occurred during daylight hours, usually beneath a new moon near midnight. Yet, 90% of West Coast highs exceeded predictions, sometimes by 2-3 feet, thereby delaying most tide book changes by 1-2 hours.

Jim reasoned that there was an orifice on that clay bottom leading into a cavern no bigger than -- perhaps a barrel. Under normal tidal hydrostatic pressure, clouds of tiny shrimp krill could seek refuge from predators too large to enter. But the exceptional weight of a 12-13 foot tide might compress the cavern, create a fountain of spewing bounty, a banquet for nearby salmon, and a bonanza for some savvy troller.

The last year Jim trolled for salmon was 1984. Afterwards, he explained his theory in detail to an old drinking partner, ‘Bimbo’ on the Norfin. After marking the spot with an X, rolling up the chart and ceremoniously handing it across the galley table to Bimbo for keeps, Jim added, “Remember what Mark Twain once said, ‘Faith is believing in something you know ain’t true’. This is entirely scientific.”
Salty
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Re: Fish In A Barrel

Post by Salty »

Great story. Thanks! Hit a few of those spots in Cross Sound the last of the flood myself over the years.
tacorajim
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Re: Fish In A Barrel

Post by tacorajim »

Yeah, I think Bimbo's brother Terry Wirta still has that chart.
Salty
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Re: Fish In A Barrel

Post by Salty »

What is amazing is looking at these spots in 3D after you have mapped them a few dozen passes and can get an idea of the "why". Gives you an idea where there might be other "hot" spots.

Gives substance to that line "So many lures so little time." Only "So many spots to find so little time."
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