Learning to Love the Lingcod Charter
I’ve been going to Westport, Washington a few times a year for about 20 years. There is something about the last 20 miles of the drive along the south side of Grays Harbor that makes me think of a watery American Gothic. Low forested bottomlands-the still waters of the evergreen bayous reflect lichen covered branches below the often-overcast sky. When I find myself overheating in the summer, I know I can find relief along this raw, cool coast.
I’ve gone there to surf, or row, but most often to go crabbing in my rowboat. I seem to have a lot of luck out here. Most often I’ll drop my traps in Half Moon Bay (yes we have one in Washington state too) and row to the dock and walk past all the charter boats on my way to the Blue Buoy diner. After a fried oyster omelet, I row back out to collect my traps.
Maybe it’s because I’m there with my own boat that the idea that I should join a charter never crossed my radar. That changed this spring when my buddy reached out and asked if I wanted to go. They were going after rockfish and lingcod. I’d never caught them before and was suddenly enchanted by the idea of walking onto a boat and walking off at the end of the day without having to take any responsibility for the vessel itself. It sounded…relaxing.
As a transatlantic rower and cargo tallship hand, relaxing is not often how I take my fun. Maybe I am getting a little older? Maybe not everything has to be a challenge in the first place?
Getting After Rockfish
Our party of four included me, Rick the organizer, his brother Joe, and our buddy Tristan. We cruised out midday on a Friday arriving early enough to spend some time on the beach in Half Moon Bay, check in for our charter, and enjoy some fish and chips before taking the advice of the waitress and heading to the Knotty Pine to take in the local vibe before a reasonable 2100 hours bedtime. We had to be up early for the fishing.
No matter what time I go to bed, 0330 hours comes way too fast. We layered up and began the two-minute walk to Slammer, the boat that would take us out. Two deckhands were already firing on all cylinders managing rods, hooks, and other gear with ballet like precision while also greeting each guest politely, making small talk and ensuring everyone knew about the large thermos of coffee.
We were out of the harbor well before 0500 hours, soon past the channel buoy and charging out to sea. It was a long time before the sun rose high enough to find a horizon. By the time I could tell the sky from the sea I had given myself a 50/50 chance of puking.
Slammer reached the rockfish grounds a little after dawn. The captain gave a quick tutorial. By the time he finished the deckhands had 18 stations readied around the boat. Some folks, veterans of the charter, had already claimed their spots by tying bandanas around their rod holder of choice. I found an empty one and started following the captain’s directions. In less than five minutes I had caught my first two and within ten minutes the deck was thick with fish. Deckhands zipped from station to station, making sure gear was clear and working, fish were pulled in and properly stowed.
The senior deckhand was the only one counting the limit—what I gathered was a bit of a superstition for the captain and crew. No one was to ask him what the tally was, and no one else was supposed to count. When the boat had caught its limit, or what amounted to seven rockfish each, he let the captain know.
Then the captain gave an order and we pulled gear, rods went back in their holders, and bait was changed as we headed to our next stop. The action had vanquished any feeling of seasickness for me, but Tristan was not so lucky. He was down on his knees with his head over the railing feeding the fish.
Limiting Out on Lings
Our next stop was flounder, the baitfish for lingcod. A quick lesson followed and we dropped our gear. This prey proved elusive for me, but the boat fished till it met its numbers. Once the boat caught two flounder for each guest, it was on to the next spot at a pace that may have felt frenetic if the crew and captain were not so well tuned.
Now we were after the prize fish for this charter—lingcod. Another terse tutorial on using slices of herring for bait and it was gear down again. Like the rockfish, the lings soon started to bite. As each big-mouthed monsters surfaced, a call would go out and a deckhand soon arrived with a gaff to bring the fish to the deck.
Lingcod are much bigger than rockfish and demand more work but still came up with enough regularity that I never doubted that the boat would limit. Having come from a background where my youthful formative fishing adventures were more often exercises in patience and disappointment, I could not help but admire the skill of the captain and the apparent fecundity of the fishery.
There was a pause in the action, a jump to another spot, and a final lesson in using the flounder as bait.
“Drop the weight to the bottom, reel up five cranks and wait. When it bites, count to 30.”
By the time I’d cranked the reel three revolutions I felt one on my line. I counted slowly to 30 and let the ling chew. I reeled steadily and like clockwork the fish surfaced. A deckhand gaffed it and baited a new flounder. Five minutes later I had another ling. At noon the captain called to bring gear up.
Now the most impressive part of the operation began. We had caught our limit—seven rockfish and two lingcods each—for 18 charters guests, a total 162 fish. While the captain raced back to shore the deckhands folded out fillet stations and began to work on the fish. Before we passed the last buoy they handed each of us a plastic bag full of 12 -15 lbs. of fillets. By the time we entered the marina the fillet stations were cleaned and broken down, and they were ready with dock lines.
We tipped the deckhands on the way out. All that was left was to ice down our filleted catch in the cooler waiting in the car and grab a bite at the Blue Buoy before driving home. It wasn’t even 1500 hours!
As someone who enjoys the experience of figuring out things on my own, (read: often making it harder than it needs to be), it was good to be reminded how relaxing it can be to hand it off to the professionals and enjoy the ride. I’ve always had a soft spot for Westport, and it felt good to support the talented locals that make this experience so smooth. This fishing adventure made me inclined to keep an eye out for these types of charters in whatever part of the world I’m traveling to. I might go again and maybe you should consider it too.
Slammer Charters
The author enjoyed his experience with Slammer Charters, a family-owned operation out of Westport, Washington. You can learn more about the outfit and pricing online at:
