A few weeks ago, I visited Colorado Lagoon in Long Beach to scoop up a bucket-load of enteromorpha to use as opaleye bait.  A city crew was working on the intersection of Seventh Street and P. C. H., causing a traffic back-up all the way to where I exited the 605 Freeway.  I found the grueling half-hour wait was for naught, as there was none of the algae to be had anywhere around the slime pit.  There was barely a thin green film covering it's mud-lined banks, as opposed to two weeks before that, when there were tons everywhere.  It looked as if the coots migrated to town and were chowing down on the green stuff quite voraciously.  I was considering using the old standby, peas, but we had serious rainstorms both of my days off.

    This past Saturday, there wasn't the bait bonanza of months ago, but I did encounter enough of the primo long strands of supple fresh growth at the slime pit to pack a pale.

    Sunday morning I traveled to Dana Point to try the rocks to the left of the Selva Street stairs.  Even though I knew the spot might not be fishable thanks to the swell chart saying there was going to be a two-foot surf, it was to be a low tide, so I decided to give it shot nonetheless.

    Just as I thought, even during the water’s ebb, these rocks are difficult to get around on.  I really couldn't find a comfortable spot to cast from without getting snagged or splashed or both.  Although the swell was small, the surf was of high energy, churning up the sandy bottom until within casting distance from where I stood the water looked a dingy brown.

    But what the heck.  I've caught opaleye from similar conditions off Palos Verdes.  I gave the effort an hour, casting from three different rocks before deciding that here once more I have fallen to defeat.  For being so Dana, I don’t think I’ll ever get the Point.

    The day wasn’t all a waste.  As I walked along the beach toward the staircase leading to the parking lot, I saw a bunch of beer cans scattered atop the sand.  Always one to recycle, I picked up maybe thirty of them, following a trail that lead to one of the eighteen-pack boxes they came from.  Jackpot!  There were seven full ones left in there. The passed-out body lying nearby didn't appear to need them anymore.  This Bud's for me.

*****

    This morning I hopped aboard the I15 freeway out here near the house and was surprised there wasn't the usual commuter rush we've had the past few Mondays I went fishing.  Oh yeah, it's only three o'clock.  I forgot I set the alarm an extra-hour early so I could be standing on Opaleye Point's platform rock casting the blacksmith perch pattern Fish Trap before dawn.  Recent reports have it that the calico bass bite has picked up and the white seabass are spawning off Catalina's backside.  Since my P. V. spot somewhat resembles Catalina, my chances for a white were improved.

    Actually, I wanted to fish a certain rock about one-hundred-fifty yards to the left of Opaleye Point, the one from which I caught both a legal white seabass and a halibut last year.  As I approached I pondered correctly, the tide wasn't low enough to access that spot, so I tried another boulder a little closer to the point, which was more connected to shore.  Thirty casts and no hits later, I found myself cautiously  - with flashlight in hand - making my way out to the platform.

    Once there, I found the makings of a beautiful day.  The flashlight revealed clear water and the waves were down but not too still.  The skies were overcast, which usually keeps the fish up for a little while after sunrise.  I chummed a few handfuls of bait, then at four thirty I had my first hit on the Fish Trap, a four-taco calico bass of fifteen inches.  Fan-casting here and there from the platform, it took about ten more casts before I felt the tap-tap of another taker as I slowly, with a jerking motion reeled in.  Instinctively, I quickly raised the rod tip to set the hook but whatever it was didn’t stick.

    At a quarter to six there was enough light filtering through the thick stratus to shut down any remaining interest from the bass.  I stepped back to the staging rock, grabbed my opaleye enteromorpha bobber rig and tossed out the fifteen or so feet to the usual honey hole slightly to the left of the platform.  An auspicious start to my opaleye day was had when forty seconds after bobber splashdown, it went under and I was tied in to what turned out to be your basic three-taco size opaleye.  I turned around to slide the fatty into my potato sack and there was Breakwall Don rock-hoping out to indulge himself in the burgeoning action.

    Now, usually when there is no wait for your first fish on green bait, The Breakwall Crew and I will fill the bag with a limit inside an hour and even be able to return smaller specimens to keep larger ones as they are landed.  The two of us flipped our bobbers out there again, but the wait was a little longer than half‑a‑minute.  About ten minutes later I hooked up to an opaleye that as I lifted it out of the water looked to be less than two tacos.  The debate as whether to keep it or not was settled when it came unbuttoned in mid air and bounced back into its natural world.  See ya.

    On days when the opaleye are congregating around the rocks we’ll see our bobbers wiggle or submerge half-way as the fish nitpick the bait.  Not today.  The aforementioned two fish and the one I’m on right now all sucked in the whole wad and ran with it.  We were thinking of re-classifying them from nibblers to inhalers.  This one is fighting with much vigor.  I anticipated it to be significantly larger than the others and a quick lift out of the water with the net revealed a toad opaleye that appeared to push two pounds.

    As the minutes wore on, the bite spaced out.  The next three opaleye – to a pound‑and‑a‑half – that I landed were a half-hour between each other and there weren’t many discernable nibbles in the meantime.  In there somewhere I landed one of the other two local sea chubs besides opaleye, a zebraperch.  I tried to fix one of those guys for dinner once but it wasn’t too tasty as they are mostly detritus eaters.

    As nine o’clock rolled around without a bite for over thirty minutes, Breakwall Don – who was skunked this morning while using enteromorpha, shrimp, mussel and smelt – and I departed for home, only to return in two weeks for more anticipated springtime bass and opaleye action.

    And, oh yeah.  It was nice to finally after two months have fish tacos on the dinner table instead of boring old chicken.

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