I called it the “20 lb. monkey on my back”. I caught my first 10 lb. lingcod a few years ago and ever since then I've been stuck in the 10 to 15 lb. range. After diving regularly for four years, I knew that lings weren’t the hardest fish to hunt, the tough part is finding them, the rest is usually easy. I had shot some decent reef fish at home and taken a few pelagic fish on trips, but a big ling continued to elude me. Every spearfisherman wants to land a trophy-sized catch of their dominant inshore reef fish. Consequently, the elusive big ling irked me.
I drove down to Stillwater Cove on an April afternoon to meet up with my good friend & dive buddy, Sean, who was completing his SCUBA certification. Sean’s birthday was earlier in the week so I planned on taking he and his wife out for dinner, staying at their place and diving in the morning. As I drove down 17-mile drive I could see the glass surface of the water surrounding the cove. I quickly made the decision to suit up for an afternoon dive.
I paddled to the opening of the cove and met up with Sean on his way in. He told me that the visibility was decent but he hadn’t seen many fish. Sean had a fair amount of SCUBA gear to put away, so I told him I would check a couple spots within the cove spot and meet him back at the parking lot.
My tool of choice for the day was a 70cm Rob Allen with a 50ft. home made float line attached to the tuna clip of the Vectra gun handle. I pulled up to my first spot, clipped up to the kelp, dropped over, and went down to 45 feet where I laid still and looked around. The structure was fine but as I look from left-to-right I could tell that this part of the reef was currently devoid of life. There were no small rockfish schools and the plant life was on the verge of dying, giving everything a brownish “ghost town” feel. The brilliant, yet obvious, advice, often repeated to me by more experienced divers, crept through my head, “if you don’t see any fish, get back on your kayak and paddle some more”.
Heeding the instructions of wiser men, I paddled to my second spot, one that I've been to before, and drop down to 30 feet. The water was clear and schools of small olive rockfish were roaming around the sturdy granite rock structures. As I resurfaced I felt satisfied with the spot and decide to work it for a little while. On the next drop I came across a large boulder that had several plateaus on its northwest face. The plateaus looked like fields on the side of the hill, however each level receded into the rock in a way that created a deep ledge. I approached a deep cavern, created by the first ledge, and lit it up with my flashlight.
The cavern was 3 ½ ft. high (bigger than most good ling holes) and 6 feet deep. As soon as I saw two big glassy eyes and the thick lips of the upper mouth I immediately knew a big lingcod was in my sights. The fish was quartered towards me, in a manner that almost gave me a broad side view, so I lined up and sent the shaft of my 70cm through the side of its left gill plate. After registering a hit I threw the gun back and to the side of me, reached out and grabbed the shaft, twisted my hand to the left, to ensure the flopper had deployed, and began to retrieve the fish. As I pulled the ling towards the entrance, its head and gill plate flared up, like a cobra, preventing me from extracting it from the cavern. I quickly realized that I wasn't goings be able to get the fish out of the hole on this dive, so I push the shaft completely through the exit wound, leaving just the mono running through the ling. I assented to the surface and began a well-needed breathe up.
Lying on the surface my heart was pounding because I realized I had a chance to land the fish been chasing after for years. The resistance that the lingcod had shown while I tried to pull it out of the hole let me know that there was still a lot of fight in the fish. I went to my kayak and grabbed a small 55 cm gun and cocked it.
After breathing up I dropped down and glided along the floatline that was attached to the handle of my original gun. I followed the line down to 35 feet and into the ledge where I had shot the fish. When the inside of the cavern came into view I saw the line trail out a back exit. For a second my heart sank at the thought that I had lost the fish, but I swam on following the rope around a maze of boulders. After a few quick turns I came to the end of the float line and looked below, relieved to see the lingcod lying on the ground, with the shaft, shooting line and empty gun tangled around it. I lined up a second shot and sent the small shaft of the 55 cm through the left-eye. I let go of the gun and ascended to the surface.
Back on the surface I was struggling to hold back my victory dance, knowing I didn’t have the on board yet. I spent the next dive clearing the float line from the rocks and caverns that the ling had dragged it through. A couple dives later and I hoisted the fish up to the surface, did some quick knife work to the head and strung it onto my kayak.
As I sat on my kayak with the fish on my lap a surge of accomplishment mixed with relief came over me. I had spent nearly three years looking for a lingcod of this size and had been fighting frustration as the time piled on. Now, literally just six drops into an afternoon dive, my search was over.
I tucked the ling into my fish hold and paddled back in, where Sean was hanging out on the shore. As I got clearly into view I pulled the ling out held it up for him to see. Sean, who has many trophy lings under his belt and had been supporting me throughout my quest, let out a cheer. We measured and weighed the fish, which came in at 24 lbs., and was almost 40” long!
Taking that fish represented not only a return on a lot of time and work, something fairly common in fishing and hunting, but was a strong reminder that following good advice does pay off, even if it takes a while. What was ironic, and important to remember, was that I found my lingcod at my regular dive site while doing exactly the same thing that I had done a thousand times before; dive down, look for a deep hole or ledge, and light it up to see what’s inside.
I drove down to Stillwater Cove on an April afternoon to meet up with my good friend & dive buddy, Sean, who was completing his SCUBA certification. Sean’s birthday was earlier in the week so I planned on taking he and his wife out for dinner, staying at their place and diving in the morning. As I drove down 17-mile drive I could see the glass surface of the water surrounding the cove. I quickly made the decision to suit up for an afternoon dive.
I paddled to the opening of the cove and met up with Sean on his way in. He told me that the visibility was decent but he hadn’t seen many fish. Sean had a fair amount of SCUBA gear to put away, so I told him I would check a couple spots within the cove spot and meet him back at the parking lot.
My tool of choice for the day was a 70cm Rob Allen with a 50ft. home made float line attached to the tuna clip of the Vectra gun handle. I pulled up to my first spot, clipped up to the kelp, dropped over, and went down to 45 feet where I laid still and looked around. The structure was fine but as I look from left-to-right I could tell that this part of the reef was currently devoid of life. There were no small rockfish schools and the plant life was on the verge of dying, giving everything a brownish “ghost town” feel. The brilliant, yet obvious, advice, often repeated to me by more experienced divers, crept through my head, “if you don’t see any fish, get back on your kayak and paddle some more”.
Heeding the instructions of wiser men, I paddled to my second spot, one that I've been to before, and drop down to 30 feet. The water was clear and schools of small olive rockfish were roaming around the sturdy granite rock structures. As I resurfaced I felt satisfied with the spot and decide to work it for a little while. On the next drop I came across a large boulder that had several plateaus on its northwest face. The plateaus looked like fields on the side of the hill, however each level receded into the rock in a way that created a deep ledge. I approached a deep cavern, created by the first ledge, and lit it up with my flashlight.
The cavern was 3 ½ ft. high (bigger than most good ling holes) and 6 feet deep. As soon as I saw two big glassy eyes and the thick lips of the upper mouth I immediately knew a big lingcod was in my sights. The fish was quartered towards me, in a manner that almost gave me a broad side view, so I lined up and sent the shaft of my 70cm through the side of its left gill plate. After registering a hit I threw the gun back and to the side of me, reached out and grabbed the shaft, twisted my hand to the left, to ensure the flopper had deployed, and began to retrieve the fish. As I pulled the ling towards the entrance, its head and gill plate flared up, like a cobra, preventing me from extracting it from the cavern. I quickly realized that I wasn't goings be able to get the fish out of the hole on this dive, so I push the shaft completely through the exit wound, leaving just the mono running through the ling. I assented to the surface and began a well-needed breathe up.
Lying on the surface my heart was pounding because I realized I had a chance to land the fish been chasing after for years. The resistance that the lingcod had shown while I tried to pull it out of the hole let me know that there was still a lot of fight in the fish. I went to my kayak and grabbed a small 55 cm gun and cocked it.
After breathing up I dropped down and glided along the floatline that was attached to the handle of my original gun. I followed the line down to 35 feet and into the ledge where I had shot the fish. When the inside of the cavern came into view I saw the line trail out a back exit. For a second my heart sank at the thought that I had lost the fish, but I swam on following the rope around a maze of boulders. After a few quick turns I came to the end of the float line and looked below, relieved to see the lingcod lying on the ground, with the shaft, shooting line and empty gun tangled around it. I lined up a second shot and sent the small shaft of the 55 cm through the left-eye. I let go of the gun and ascended to the surface.
Back on the surface I was struggling to hold back my victory dance, knowing I didn’t have the on board yet. I spent the next dive clearing the float line from the rocks and caverns that the ling had dragged it through. A couple dives later and I hoisted the fish up to the surface, did some quick knife work to the head and strung it onto my kayak.
As I sat on my kayak with the fish on my lap a surge of accomplishment mixed with relief came over me. I had spent nearly three years looking for a lingcod of this size and had been fighting frustration as the time piled on. Now, literally just six drops into an afternoon dive, my search was over.
I tucked the ling into my fish hold and paddled back in, where Sean was hanging out on the shore. As I got clearly into view I pulled the ling out held it up for him to see. Sean, who has many trophy lings under his belt and had been supporting me throughout my quest, let out a cheer. We measured and weighed the fish, which came in at 24 lbs., and was almost 40” long!
Taking that fish represented not only a return on a lot of time and work, something fairly common in fishing and hunting, but was a strong reminder that following good advice does pay off, even if it takes a while. What was ironic, and important to remember, was that I found my lingcod at my regular dive site while doing exactly the same thing that I had done a thousand times before; dive down, look for a deep hole or ledge, and light it up to see what’s inside.