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?