A Day's Fishing

A Day’s Fishing

A review of Strike Zone fishing charters Maui Hi.

“Hey the sun is coming out.”

“Yeah, time to put on the BBQ sauce.”  Corey and I had ventured up to the wheelhouse and were rubbing-elbows with Captain Jay.  He was right, BBQ sauce, A.K.A sunscreen was a necessary evil.  We had woken up at 5:00 AM in total darkness so we could be on time for our charter.  The sun was just now peaking over Mt. Haleakala and was immediately felt on the skin.

     Captain Jay was a character.  Earlier I had overheard him deliver a well rehearsed joke involving a Catholic Priest and a Jewish Rabbi that had found themselves seated on a plane together.  The punchline, which I missed, had something to do with the resolution of whether or not one or the other had ever succumbed to the temptations of the flesh.  The noisy wave action and distance to the joke-teller precluded me from the punchline which produced raucous laughter from the two gray-haired gentlemen that were privy to the good Captain’s humor.  Darn!

    We were on a combination fishing trip out of Maalaea Bay on Maui.   Captain Jay and his two junior captains, one of them ironically named Junior, the other Carlos were excellent dudes and all three were very good at their jobs.  I am always an admirer of those who are good at their jobs.  Wait staff, carpenters, bank tellers, whatever.  It’s a beautiful thing when people happily excel at work they are good at.  

     Upon leaving the harbor, Junior quickly rigged six trolling set ups; four on the surface, two guided by down-riggers.  Two massive outriggers  completed the boat’s sportfishing setup as we powered up and out of the bay.  We would troll for an hour or so on our way to the bottom fishing grounds where we would have more of a hand in our own fate.  On the way out all sixteen of us drew numbers.  If we were lucky enough to hook a MahiMahi, Oni, Tuna or Marlin, Capt. Jay would call out a number.  If you were the lucky one then you would sit in the “fighting chair” and comense battle for the benefit of all.  Prized meat would be filleted and divided among all we were told.  God I wanted to be that guy!  

    Alas, no Marlin today.  We motored passed the Molokini Crater on our right and a nudie beach on our left called Little Beach. Corey made some joke about wishing for binoculars, but I knew that more than likely the beach would be occupied by a bunch of naked gay dudes, not what he was hoping for.  Several humpbacks surfaced nearby.

We finally settled onto our fishing grounds where we actively fished for a few hours using small strips of squid for bait.  One by one we all had our hand reeling in a smattering of fish the size of rubber-duckies.

Junior helping Corey 

    Meanwhile Junior was busy rigging the bonus-rods out the back.  

   “Number Fourteen!” A high school kid shuffled to the back of the boat and assumed the position. He fumbled his way through the fight taking tips from Junior.  In the end the seven pound Grey Bass was divvied up for all of us which amounted to exactly two fish tacos for us that night.  Way to go kid.

 The guy next to me was from Texas.  “Where you from?” He asked.

“Alaska”

“Wow, Alaska.  In Texas we love one Alaskan very much.”  Here we go. Maybe he followed the Iditarod and was a Dallas Seavey fan. No such luck.

“Sarah Palin.” What a shocker. “We just love her in Texas.  Texas is a very conservative state you know.” No shit?

“Well you can have her, so what’s the weather like in Dallas right now?” Thanks to my clever diversion, our polite little political conversation came to a screeching halt before it even got started. If  I had heard the punchline to the Rabbi joke I could have one-upped him with a bit of sacrilege right-back-atcha style.  It wasn’t meant to be though as the conversation turned to less volatile subjects like the unrestricted killing of feral hogs in Texas which apparently have gotten out of control.  Last summer one of them ate his wife's flower garden.

 “Final final.” Captain Jay shouted.  Junior and Carlos knew that meant last drift and they encouraged us to freshen our bait.  Corey and I did as we were told but, in the end, were unable to add to our pile of two rubber ducks for the day.  Our vision for a fish taco feast was fading.

Rubber Ducky your the one. Nice bass Corey!

    Once again Junior sprang to action rigging the sport fishing gear.  All his fluid movements were done barefoot and it was was obvious that he’d done it many times  before. The boat made a big loop around and everyone oohed and awed  at the whales that were now frolicking and rolling as we trolled our way back to harbor.

  Suddenly the engine was cut way back. “ Number eleven!”

  “Shit, that’s me!” Nice luck.  My fishing brethren made way as I skirted my way port-side.   Rounding the corner I was ready to take my throne.  I was ready to do battle for the village.  I wanted to fight for my peeps and to feed them proper.  For God’s sake, let me feed them!

   But as I rounded the wheelhouse I could see that something was amiss.  I made my way to the stern and it was like a scene from Old Yeller. Long faces, upturned palms, I think I even saw a tear.....shit.  Junior held up the leader-line that was pockmarked with tooth cuts from the wayward Ono.  I sat back down next to Corey along with everyone else and endured the growing chop that had increased considerably on our way back to the safety of the harbor.

   “That will be $27.95.”  The lady at Safeway was smiling and happy and had an easy way about her.   She was good at her job too .  She efficiently swiped my items while seamlessly making small talk about a certain seafood product that I was purchasing on our way back to the condo.  

The sun rises over Mt. Haleakala illuminating our Maalaea Bay fishing grounds as viewed  on a trail run along the Lahaina-Pali trail.

     

Molokini can be seen on the left from the safety of Kamaole One.  Can you pick out Tamra and the kids?

2014 Iditarod- A report from the field

Iditarod 2014

 -A report from the field.

   “Do you want a hot dog?”  He was one of the last.  The grind of the snow-brake brought him to a tidy halt.  

   “Is there any pork in there mon?”  The follow-up questions along with the Jamaican accent was unmistakable.  Newton Marshal.  For the second year in a row he was taking-up-the-rear and gently refusing our offerings.  

   At this point we knew that at least with him, our efforts were futile.  We want them all to take a dog.  It serves as humble validation of what we do.  We wished him well. He thanked us as he pulled the hook and his dogs took him down the trail into the darkness.  I wondered how many pork offerings he would have to turn down before passing under the burled arch in Nome.  Note-to-self: bring one boca-dog next year.

     It was late.  Our party of 15 was disintegrating rapidly.  Supplies were being packed up under the starry night.  Kids were fading.  Hazelee was fast asleep under her mom’s beaver hat in a lawn chair by the fire.  She would protest her exit from the scene but sometimes moms know best.  

     The giant standing spruce tree had bucked up nicely and by now was a burning juggernaut of light and heat.  The bottom four foot section had a big burl and it had served well as a counter-top table and perennial conversation piece.  

Are these big enough?

    Earlier we all watched the Aurora Borealis belt across the sky adding to the already impressive light show put-on by the stars.  The big dipper was easy to pick out along with Orion and Venus then something else caught our attention;  a big owl flew over head.  We had heard the owl the night before. It was hooting in the woods around the cabin.  Maybe like us, he couldn't resist all the activity.  Maybe he wanted a hot dog or two.  I’ll bet that pork would be okay by him.

     Newton Marshal was one of only two nay-sayers this year.  The other was the illustrious Aliy Zirkle. Everyone else took a dog.   Some friends of mine have cabins ten miles down river and they are huge Aliy fans.   Like us, they also build a snow block wall and maintain a bonfire presence each year but in addition to our efforts, they also fly an Aliy Zirkle banner and tend to an unofficial Aliy Zirkle fan club page on Facebook as well.  They always pack-in a big crowd and are notorious for their carryings-on.  The good news is that after overcoming early years’ misunderstandings of intention, Aliy is no longer leary of this crew, who, as a side-note, sometimes come dressed in costume; astronauts, cowboys etc, like the Yentna River’s version of the Village People. I was willing to bet that the Village People fed her.

      As for our camp- we are well and good.  Posting the highest percentage of hot dog handouts ever, this year’s efforts were perfunctory.  So perfunctory in fact that extra time was afforded to shooting-the-breeze, howling at the moon and stoking-the fire (not necesarily in that order).  Perhaps most of the affirmation though comes not from the patting of one’s own back as I am doing here, but rather from the musher’s themselves who make-a-point of thanking us for our efforts.  “ I was so looking forward to this!”, or “ Oh, good you guys are still doing this, thanks!”, or “ I look forward to this every year!”

  Note to the galley:  Martin Buser took a dog from us this year for the first time ever!  He must have read my blog entry from last year’s race.  We would find out later that he would lead the race all the way to Nicoli before taking his 24 hour rest.  Powered by pork.  Best of luck to him.

Amanda Harrison making the handoff

   Adding to the depth and scale of our efforts, we once again conducted our beloved Fantasy Iditarod Drawing.  The “Draw” pits contestants knowledge of mushers along with their ten bucks in a guessing game of Iditarod finishes.   Last year’s winner was my wife Tamra who was proud-as-punch. She used her winnings to purchase a propane-fired camp oven.  Her selfless act brought our operation to a new level.   Keeping the buns warm is now a cinch.  We even baked cookies this year.   Bless her heart, the year I won I think I blew it all on a giant foam cowboy hat and seven cases of cheap beer.

    Alas, another Iditarod has come and gone for us signalling the end of our winter.  I always want it to last longer than it does and feelings of melancholy crop up but are soon dampened by the allure of the springtime sun.  For the Harrison's, traditions such as this one are all part of the rhythm of life and are looked forward-to, planned-for and celebrated.

Hotdog anyone?

Fantasy Iditarod 2014

 Winner’s report:  Last year’s winner Tamra Jo reports that winning was “good.”  

Treasurers report:   100 bucks in the pot from last year.  The other 100 was spent by Tamra. on the following:

 1)$7.50 went to the United way

2) $7.50 went to the “She’s the first” program that raises funds for girls education in Uganda

3) $7.50 went to a bottle of cheap champagne that she drank by herself in the tub.

4) The remainder went to a BRAND NEW OVEN for the hotdogs! ( pause for cheering, hugs, and high fives.  Chest bumping is decidedly out this year. Man hugs are ok.

Rule Changes:

     There are no rule changes from last year.  Below is a recap.

1)     The point value for the winning musher earns ten additional bonus points. 

2)    Rookies’ scores will earn 1.5 times their point value finish. 

3) Red lantern musher earns the same point  value as the winner minus the ten bonus points.

4) A scratched musher earns zero.

5) Dead dog rule:  minus 50….loser!!!!