New Year's Day 2009

New Year's Day was cold and foggy and it was still dark when we found a spot to park in Pacific Beach. Scott popped the latch on the tailgate of his Explorer, and we slid out to suit up. A nearby breakfast "bar" was loud and busy, I assume with people who had not yet gone to bed. In fact as we grappled with waders, boots and jackets, a couple in evening attire walked by - the girl wearing a paper tiara with glitter on it.

The scene at the beach at 6 a.m. was pretty much the opposite of what I was expecting. I guess starting the new year in the twilight at the beach wasn't so alien an idea. Beside the holdovers from the night's celebrations, there were dog walkers, joggers, and some meanderers. People actually gave us odd looks while we prepared for the first surf fishing trip of the year. In fact, people seemed bemused that we'd expect fish to be so close to shore. Later in the day a possibly demented woman first came straight up to Scott, within a couple feet, to ask if he was fishing. Then she came over to me and did the same, asking "Are the fish here?" I pointed out that it was, in fact, the Pacific Ocean.

Once suited up we crested the sand berm, meant to keep winter surf out of the local homes and businesses, and looked for signs in the shallow surf for holes, troughs or rips. These are the likely features on a beach for providing surf perch with an advantage over the energy-sapping surge of the surf zone. It was still very foggy, and the sun had not yet risen above the horizon. Walkers and joggers were still sparse at this point, but there were a few. Even the occasional girl in street clothes having pre-dawn cell phone conversations - likely rehashing the previous night's fight or fun. Scott had been to this beach just a day or two before and had an idea where some productive spots might be. Of course the surf is a very dynamic environment, and previously productive holes could be filled in, too deep to cast to, or high and dry. But we were able to find some likely-looking water.

Lining up Scott's previous spots to the buildings behind us was made difficult by the heavy fog. Luckily it was pretty obvious where the bottom features were. Casting in the surf requires timing the breaking waves, and giving yourself a nice flat plane to fish, while the perch dart around looking for food. Those flat, foamy spaces between breakers provide the perch with stirred-up sources of food - crustaceans, worms, and even small fish. It sometimes requires timing your back casts so as to not snag a jogger or labrador. But it also affords really letting loose on some nice long casts. There is really no precise target to hit, like trout or bass fishing. There are no trees to avoid to the rear. And the 250 grain shooting lines we use really load up a rod. It's almost an activity unto itself. I find it relaxing and even if I don't catch many fish, and early morning of casting (fishing) isn't too bad a way to start off a Sunday.

Scott probably landed 6 fish before I landed my first, but it was probably only 20 or so minutes after my first cast. I had a small black and brown yak hair clouser tied on, and it really seemed to be doing the trick in the low light. Scott was fishing a fly I tied when I was first learning to tie, it was my interpretation of a popular surf fly, the razzler, only this one was tied in a ridiculous color combination I must have thought would have been good in the bay. It also lacked subtlety and style. I have to wonder if Scott fished it to mock my tying skills. Whatever the reason, he was catching fish, 2 or 3 to my one. It would be maddening if it wasn't the norm. Our most recent trip he caught 13 to my one. I don't let it bother me. He picks me up in the dark, we have a good time and are usually home before 10 a.m., too early to even enjoy a post-fishing beer.

I was having a good day, slow but steady, and eventually beat my previous best day in the surf, in both quantity and quality. At one point a fish took my fly and put a deep bend in my rod. I was shocked by the strength of the fight and assumed I had a yellow fin croaker on. I got the fish close and in its fits flung itself out of the water. It was a perch, the largest perch I'd ever hooked, probably by three times. Then I got nervous. My previous experiences in the surf were not great, and the abundance of "belt-buckle" perch can be depressing. But this was a substantial, furious, muscular perch. It used the surge of outgoing water to pull against my line. Then it used the incoming surf and put some slack in my line, which I furiously stripped in to regain line tension. Frankly, I was too surprised by its power, and excited about the potential glory photos, and within about 10 feet of getting it to hand it came off my hook. It was depressing, and I thought about it for days after. But it also keeps me going back to the beach at 6 a.m. on any Sunday morning it's not too rainy to fish.

We called it a day after a few hours, went back to the truck, extricated ourselves from our gear, and rode home recounting the day, drinking tepid coffee, and probably listening to Tom Waits. I'm hoping the rain holds off until tomorrow afternoon, I'm ready to go again.