When I was about seven or eight, my dad took me on my first “Deep-sea fishing trip,” aboard the First String.  Being on a boat–the First String was one of the finest of the day–was a wonderful experience for me.  As I remember it, we chased barracuda all morning, and ended the day dropper-looping for rockfish.  It was the first time I saw a yellowtail, a blue shark (that ate half of a starry on it’s way to my gunny sack), or a deckhand.  It was a great trip, and one that was to be the first of countless trips on things of all sizes that float.

Up until that day, going fishing had meant doing so with sand, rocks, or pier-boards underfoot.  But there was a certain mystique to the concept of “deep-sea.”  Granted, we did a lot of fishing in 20 to 60 feet of water, certainly not “deep” by comparison with most of the ocean’s depths.  But for a young boy, miles from shore, catching fish alongside his dad, it was deep enough.  The barries were a lot bigger than the perch we had caught at San Onofre or Huntington, and thus, “deep-sea” became synonymous with “big fish.”

It seems that, often times, pier anglers have that same mindset.  The relatively deeper water at the ends of piers seems to beckon most pier anglers the the farthest railing, perhaps with the possibility of one of those big fish that have existed in tale and imagination.  Instead, what many anglers find at the ends of piers are crowded conditions and small mackerel or other baitfish.  Most piers are not deep enough, it seems, to bring in large fish with regularity.

That’s not always true, of course.  Anyone who has pulled on big sharks and rays from the ends of piers like Gaviota, Goleta, Seal Beach, Balboa, or Oceanside knows there are some big ones out there.  The occasional yellowtail will chance a trip through the pilings of Newport, bonito runs can be frenetic and exciting, and many of us have heard stories of bluefin tuna caught from piers in Santa Monica bay a century ago. 

The next time you’re heading for the end, remember that with every step along the pier, if there’s water underneath you, there are fishing opportunities, too.  Perch, corbina, and croakers will take pier-fished baits in the skinniest foam.  Mid-pier areas beyond the breakers are often the most productive for halibut and other gamefish, and in some cases, these fish see the lightest fishing pressure… there’s simply fewer people targeting them in these areas.  And even though they’re probably not supposed to be there, watch out for surfers, waders, swimmers, and other folks who are within casting range, particularly in that skinny water close to shore.

Also remember that every trip doesn’t have to be about “big fish.” Scale down to a trout rod or an ultralight rig, and target perch with a hi-lo rig baited with ghost shrimp or razor clams.  Just don’t forget to bring your landing net to bring your catch safely to your side of the rail, so the decision to retain or release the fish is yours, and not the unfortunate result of light gear.

If mackerel is your thing, then by all means, head to the end and bring your bucket.  If you’re trolley-rigging one of those mackerel for threshers or yellowtail, the end might be just the place for you.  But if you want to try something a little different, find a nice spot along the rail a few steps closer to the beach, and see what’s biting in the shallows.  You might just be surprised what’s swimming around beneath the kids on boogie boards.

Over the weekend, I had the wonderful opportunity to drive up the Southern California coast.  While the destination was my brother’s wedding in Malibu, the journey gave me the chance to drive past–and reflect upon with a variety of emotions–dozens of fishing spots I haven’t visited for a long time.  A few of them had for so long faded into the past that I had forgotten about them.  Yet that “muscle memory” (or is it mussel memory?) kicked in as PCH twisted and turned, the shape of the landscape triggered a long-buried mind file, and my brained whirred with the thoughts of family excursions, solo trips, and great fish stories.  To protect the innocent, this record only contains the names my family assigned to these secret spots years ago, although no doubt our paths have crossed in the sand and stone at these locations over the past three decades.

Perhaps closest to family lore was “The Rock” (pictured), where my family fished weekly throughout my childhood.  Hidden in plain sight along the Palos Verdes peninsula, The Rock provided consistent fishing for opaleye, calicos, perch, cabezon, and a dozen other species.  A few times, schools of barracuda pushed shoals of anchovies right up on the beach, and hit anything shiny that was cast in their general direction.  On one particularly special July 4th evening, my dad, brothers, and I caught and released limits of calicos to 7 lbs. from the kelp, all while watching simultaneous fireworks shows in Avalon, Santa Monica, and Long Beach.

Continuing north, I drove past “Cookie Beach,” a section of beach around Torrance that made catching legal halibut from the surf a near-sure thing.  The stretch of beach was marked by a certain configuration of houses above the iceplant covered hillsides, but if you fished it just right…during the right tides…at the right time of year… with a big “cookie” on your hook (a “cookie” is three or four anchovies wrapped with cotton thread around a 2/0 baitholder hook, so that it looks like a big blob of fish)… well, you just had to make sure the fish you caught were at least 22 inches.  Most were at least twenty-six, and that wasn’t accounting for the huge spotfin croaker that would sometimes beat the halibut to the bait.

Every few minutes, another fishing spot from yesteryear.  The Bubble Hole.  Upside-Downs.  Don’t Falls. Tommy’s Cabezon-Spot.  Jonny Carson’s (a turnout a few miles north of Wylie’s that was awesome for white seabass in the surf.)  Passersby on PCH would have thought me a fool, as I drove up the road smiling, laughing, crying, remembering.

I pulled into the beachfront hotel in Malibu, just south of the pier, checked in, and went to my room.  The breeze on the ocean view balcony felt particularly wonderful, as my toddler, my mortgage, my new job, any number of additional “mys” have kept me from my beloved Pacific for some time.  My eyes gazed down the beach at house after house after house….

And that’s when it hit me.

My spots are mostly gone now.  Sure they’re still there, I guess, but they are shadows of what they once were.  The Rock is now virtually inaccessible, blocked by a billion dollar hilltop hotel that was recently featured on the cover of Westways Magazine.  Cookie Beach has faded into memory, as the landmarks–and the halibut population betrayed by them–have simply disappeared.  Jonny Carson’s is completely blocked off with K-rail and CalTrans vehicles.

I don’t know if these spots are on the MLPA chopping block or not, but really… it doesn’t matter.  Whether or not we’re allowed to fish at many of the locations we enjoyed as children plays second chair to a more direct issues like beach access, parking, and the ever-changing coastal landscape.  I can only hope that someday, many years from now, that big hotel will close, those CalTrans trucks will drive away for good, and my grandkids will amble down small, unmarked coastal trails and nondescript roadside turnouts to find hungry fish.

Yesterday’s history.  I’m setting my hopes on tomorrow.

The kids are starting to exit school and staying home for the summer. Years ago, a lot of us parents now, used to fishing almost everyday at the local pier or shoreline. Summer is a fresh opportunity to hook kids on fishing. It’s a time to hone rusty knot tying skills, straighten-up casting skills, and if the fish are around, perfect fish-fighting skills. Catch and release conservation is another great lesson too while we’re at it. And don’t forget the digital camera.

Kids with fish on!