When I tasted the first bite, I thought about a day on a boat a couple hours from Homer, and the magic of water, fishing poles, and friends. Food can be mystical, especially if you have a hand in harvesting it. And if the source is wild, if it comes from places governed primarily by the rules of nature, you can receive a special kind of nourishment. A nourishment of body and soul. So when I combined a couple chunks of halibut from my freezer with olive oil, butter, lemon, garlic, capers, salt, pepper, paprika, and fire, the spell was complete and the magic took hold.
Through coffee deprived eyes I could see the Homer spit. Our rental house high on the hill gave a nice view of the spit and its distant harbor beneath low hanging clouds and mist. Our early morning appointment was with Captain Jake behind the Salty Dog Saloon, and right on time we paraded down the gangway and dock to board the Nauti Nellie for a day with Jake’s Saltwater Adventures. Jake is a Minnesota boy who got infected badly by the Alaska fishing bug. Throughout the day, I could see it in his eyes. From boat pilot to fishermen, he was in deep. And as larger boats passed us along the way, I could see the dream machine churning. I was pretty sure the Nauti Nellie, his first boat, would not be his last.
A steady stream of charter boats flowed from the harbor and the morning race to fishable water was on. Our objective for this day would be halibut, rockfish, and cod. I’ve never had any issue with motion sickness. From Lake Michigan salmon fishing to small aircraft in turbulence I always handled it just fine, but it had been a long time since I was out on big choppy water, so I took a precautionary pill to offset any concerns for the day and sat back to enjoy the ride out of Kachemak Bay. After about an hour of cruising past sea otters, puffins, and gulls, we tucked in behind an island as the tide came in. Low hanging clouds partially obscured the lush greenery of a surreal view that is a hard to comprehend. Mammoth chunks of earth sandwiched between the continuous movement of water and sky. Surrounded by life above and below in an environment that gives and takes with a simple shift of the wind.
We dropped anchor in 90 feet of water over an extensive flat as the captain instructed his deckhand, Levi, how rig the rods, and in short order and to no one’s surprise, the pro bass fisherman in the group reeled in the first fish of the day. Holding his first ever halibut with two hands (you can’t lip these fish), he flashed a big smile. Regs for halibut in our area allow two fish, one of any size and one no more than 28 inches, so each fish we caught required some decision making predicated on hope and luck. Our captain assured us we’d get the numbers we were seeking, but bigger fish can be iffy, “not like it was twenty years ago,” he said.
I started the day leading the diversity category. My first fish was a bright orange cabezon, or mother-in-law fish, a sculpin with poisonous spines. My second fish of sorts was a three-foot skate. Eventually, however, as I stood watch over my assigned rod, the halibut would come. Later I would catch three in rapid succession and reeling these in over 295 feet of choppy water I was reminded of an analogy – wet carpets.
By early afternoon, the sea became a little rougher making it a challenge but not impossible to stand as long as you hung on or braced your legs somehow. We managed our limit of halibut without too much difficulty, enjoyed some fast-paced jigging for rockfish, and at one stop in rough water, put nine cod in the boat in just under 20 minutes. While never dangerous, conditions were not improving and the chatter on the radio confirmed charter boat fishing for the day was closing down for many. We had a nice number of fish in the boat, and one of our team who suffered seasickness throughout most of the day was pretty spent, so by consensus, we pointed it back to Homer.
Jake confidently maneuvered the chop and swells as Levi somehow fileted a couple fish without losing fingers or being tossed overboard, although after taking on one particular swell that tossed the boat to one side pretty suddenly, Captain Jake and I both looked at one another and then to the stern. Levi flashed a youthful, adventurous grin back at us. It was a reminder of how easily one could get pitched from a boat in big water.
Back at dockside, an employee of a fish processor met us and picked up tubs of fish to be hauled off for packing and freezing while we gathered gear, paid and tipped our captain, and debarked the Nauti Nelli with a couple baggies in hand of the freshest fish possible.
And now, a few weeks later, I consider the impact of these fish. Fish from Alaska, source and method of catch certain. Fish that put money in the pockets of two young men who worked hard to take us out on big water, amidst some of the most beautiful scenery on the planet so we could have this remarkable experience. Fish that pays the bills of those who work at the processor, young people who packaged our precious cargo with care and a smile. Fish that travelled 3,000 miles in boxes through three airports, divvied in my garage, and finally placed in four separate freezers in Missouri to await their final gastronomic fate. Fish that tastes exquisite, retaining all of its mystical power with one caveat, don’t ever calculate the cost per pound. Economics and magic don’t mix well.