July 2014

July 2014
July 2014
July 2014
July 2014

Victoria Salmon Fishing?

When one thinks of Victoria, they might think of the this beautiful city as the capital of British Columbia, with the parliament buildings, the Empress Hotel, the beautiful gardens of Butchart, the great shopping, and amazing restaurants stumbled upon when walking the downtown core. But a mere 40 minutes from downtown is Pedder Bay in Metchosin where you're just moments away from some of the finest salmon fishing grounds on southern Vancouver Island. Where you can enjoy the breath-taking natural beauty of the area against the backdrop of the Olympic Mountain Range and the Race Rocks Marine Reserve while hooking Pacific salmon.

It was the last week of May that I had the opportunity to spend the morning with Adrian O’Connor, owner of Reel Obsession Sport Fishing. I met him at the dock at 6:00 am and we headed out on his 28-foot Trophy with twin 225 Mercury's. It wasn’t long before we had the gear in the water. We were using Shimano Technium Medium action 10.5 foot rods with Blue Islander MR3 reels. Purple haze teaser heads with anchovies set up behind a Hot Spot Silver Mylar flasher.

We were fishing near the bottom at about 150-feet when the rod started to bounce, grapping it, I set the hook and brought a 12-pound Chinook to the net. It seemed as soon as we put the gear back down, and resumed our conversation, one of the rods went off. This time the Chinook took the anchovy and was on his way to Japan. It turned out it was a wild salmon about 30 inches long which was to big to keep so we brought it along side the boat and released it.

Effective until 23:59 hours Friday, June 13, 2014 in Subareas 19-1 to 19-4 and Subarea 20-5(those waters near Victoria between Cadboro Point to Sheringham Point), the daily limit is two (2) Chinook salmon per day which may be wild or hatchery marked between 45 cm and 67 cm or hatchery marked greater than 67 cm in length. The minimum size limit in these areas is 45 cm in length.

We ended up releasing all our big fish…. half a dozen, not really a bad problem; catching too many big fish….The water was calm and the tide change was coming, so we pulled our salmon gear and decided to try for halibut.

We headed to Constance Bank where Adrian anchored his boat, got the halibut gear prepared, he was using the Burkley white grubs that he scented with Pro-Cure Bait Scents- Butt Juice. He placed three rods in the rod holder and let the ocean jig the bait for us. We gave it a try for about an hour with no takes, we were getting ready to bring in the gear when a Spiny Dogfish shark decided to take the bait.
Adrian told me that in the last couple of days the halibut fishing had been very good, but they do move around at this time of the year, we gave it a go, but no luck today, it’s called fishing and not catching I have been told
.
We ended our trip with a short run back to Pedder Bay, after our good byes I was back in Victoria by 1:00 pm. I drove straight over to my daughters to give her my fresh from the ocean Chinook to barbecue for dinner that night.

For more information fishing with Adrian out of Victoria or Zeballos check out his web site at www.reelobsession.ca
Or call him at 888-855-7335

Huxley’s Run: 

In my last missive about Weanus, he had just pushed a much larger man — namely UBC Thunderbird hockey team defenceman Ben Schmidt — to the edge of violence. I am happy to report that Weanus does not need either facial reconstruction surgery or a cast on any of his limbs. Ben went fishing instead of fighting.

For some reason Weanus doesn’t realize his humour, his childish pranks, are not only unappreciated but scorned by everyone who knows him.

And so it was on that fateful night, Weanus found himself with four ‘friends’ around a smokish camp fire with rain coming down and a haphazard tarp fluttering madly in the wind. One of the two boats that got us to this remote location of the river had broke down and Rick, Ben’s father, and Ben had to go back and find both the occupants and the boat virtually beached in the trees and bushes of the river’s shoreline. Weanus had been left at the camp site and when the weary rescuers and the rescued landed their boats two hours later, Weanus greeted them with an egg salad sandwich in one hand and a glass of booze in the other.

All the gear lay where it had been unpacked. Nothing had been touched, except the cooler. A fire — at least I think there were a few flames — was close to going out as the rain and wind whipped around.

Now, Rick is the alpha male on these trips. It is he who keeps us safe and fed and he who rescues us when things go wrong. We accept that, one and all. Except Weanus.
 

“So you didn’t think of getting that fire going or putting up a tarp?” he asked Weanus. Weanus became indignant, straightened his shoulders and addressed Rick directly, with egg salad hanging off the corners of his mouth.

“Heh, I was patrolling the camp, making sure no creatures or humans were messing with our gear,” said Weanus.

“There aren’t any critters around and there sure as hell aren’t any people,” said Rick, cutting more wood while the others started putting up the tarp.

“Can never be too sure,” said Weanus, sitting down and then saying, “you guys not have that tarp up yet? What? You waiting until morning?”
 

Tents were put up, the tarp strung temporarily over them. Everyone was beat and hunkered down around the now blazing fire. Most of us were under the tarp and out of the rain. Except Weanus. He stood out there getting wet, explaining the difficulties he had when we all abandoned him and how that fire he built was sure nice.

“Don’t even know enough to come out of the rain,” muttered Rick.
 

“Pardon?” asked Weanus. Rick’s mouth smiled, his eyes did not.
 

The rain and the wind picked up. Conversations became hushed. Sleeping bags called us all. And then one of those freak things that are hard to explain happened. A gust of wind came up and the tarp came alive. It rolled from one end to another, like a roller coaster. Both ends rose up, building a trough in the middle in which the rain collected and then splooshed out in a soaking downpour. Right on Rick.
 

He took every ounce of that water. At first he sat there, not understanding what was happening and then he jolted out of his camp chair. Too late. He was soaked. I and most other members of our group sucked in our breath in horror. Those types of things don’t happen to Rick. And the look on Rick’s face was murderous. We said nothing, knowing a certain beating hung in the air if we did.
 

And that’s when we noticed Weanus. He was bent over and wheezing. And when he wasn’t wheezing he was laughing uncontrollably and, gulp, actually pointing at Rick. I was ready to reach for my medical bag. Rick’s dark fury and glare had turned slowly from the tarp to Weanus.
 

Again Weanus escaped the certain beating he deserved. Rick stripped, put on dry clothes and went to bed.
The next day Weanus had draped wet clothing all around the fire, using people’s chairs to do so. The only one who kept his chair was Rick. To make a long story short I heard Rick say something to Weanus like ‘rocks and ire.’ Weanus listened, but he really didn’t. Weanus puttered around for a few minutes and then sat down with something to eat and drink in his hands and then asked Rick, “What was that you said?”
“Your socks are on fire,” said Rick. Both his mouth and his eyes were smiling.

 

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