Cape Chacon Part IV

Captain Mac’s note:

Finally...the closing chapter in deckhand Jonathan Bender’s saga of his fishing trip to the fabled waters of Cape Chacon, at the southern tip of Prince of Wales Island, Alaska. My apologies for taking so long to complete the story. The season caught up with me and that was the end of any opportunities to update the blog.

There are three previous parts to the story. This is the fourth and final segment. You will have to back to the blog archives for November of 2009 to pick up the thread in Part I. By the way, Jon’s captain, Brad, mentioned in the story, happens to be my son. Brad is now the General Manager of Mount Spokane Ski & Snowboard Park in Eastern Washington state.

Hope you enjoy Jon’s story.

Ben & Carl at Cape Chacon

At around 3:15, just as we’re about to head back, it happens. Tim cries out, “fish on!” I look over and notice the heavy bend in his rod, the whizzing of drag shooting off of his reel. It could only be one thing! He knows it, and he’s understandably excited, nervous, trying to focus. Feeding halibut on these pinnacles are in an uncomfortable situation—off the bottom—and they instinctively dive when they’ve grabbed something. The other guests sense what’s happening and respectfully bring up their lines, but before he gets very far, Billy, one of the Missouri dads, hooks up. A halibut double! Feeling out the situation, I decide that everyone, even Billy, wants me to focus my attention on Tim. His fish has stopped its initial run now and he’s begun the laborious process of hefting it from the depths.

I prepare the harpoon while coaching him, instructing that he do everything “eeeeaasy.” Slow motion. As his fish nears the surface, I give him the same instruction that I’d given his father earlier, not to lift the fish out of the water, but to guide it up across the surface. He’s fishing with 50 pound test line, and freed from the restriction of the water, the quick jerks of a large halibut would snap the line like thread. Gradually, from the black depths, appears the gaping mouth of this monster. He’s well over 100, maybe 160, I estimate.

I ready the harpoon, the line in my left hand, pulled tight against the shaft in my right. Meanwhile, Brad, our skipper, loads the .410 Snakecharmer for the kill. Tim can hardly contain himself, and in his excitement, he commits the error that I’d warned him about, pulling the giant’s head from the water. As I expected, it makes a quick shake, snapping the line, sending the straining Tim falling backwards into his father. The fish turns, rotating its bulk to head back down. In a last-ditch effort, I lean over, plunging the harpoon toward the fish, now four feet below the surface. I have luck behind me today, and I make contact, penetrate, and in the same motion, I tip back into the boat, pulling hard on the rope. The fish makes a swift kick with its immense caudal fin, but I’m faster, pulling its tail from the water; it swipes against nothing but air. I’d harpooned it close to the tail, and I was afraid that it wouldn’t hold, but my skipper is right there with the 4-10, and as I guide the fish backward a bit, he plugs it with the slug, killing it instantly. We gaff it on board, triumphant. Tim is jubilant to say the least.

Ben & Lingcod

Just then, we all remember Billy, who by now has his fish at the surface, this one just under 100 pounds. Another quick shot from the 4-10 and, much more fluidly, we bring it on board to accompany the other. On the deck lies a beautiful sight: 10 square feet of halibut, in a yin-yang of white and brown, opposing sides interlocking. To complete the photo-op (and to get a visual on the work I have ahead of me filleting), I pull the bright king, the two large lingcod, three big yellow-eye rockfish, and a couple assorted smaller rockfish out of the cooler to completely cover the deck of the boat. After bringing in the rest of the gear, we start to make our way back toward the cove where the planes await.

The trip to the cove, and even the five hours back to the lodge, isn’t enough to diminish the group’s enthusiasm. The sense of satisfaction and accomplishment in the group was infectious, giving added purpose and value to my drudgery.

These are the experiences that I live for; we’d created a life memory for all of us.

* Footnote: The photos accompanying the story are from another trip to Cape Chacon.