This morning Breakwall Darryl and I heard the crashing waves way before we reached the edge of the bluff to begin our descent down the Opaleye Point trail. This condition mixed with a seven-foot high tide at seven o’clock and generally cold overcast breezy conditions meant we better put our rain suits on if we were to catch fish and not colds. At six-thirty I sat on a rock to slip into my water proofing but it was almost too late. A wave splashed up, missing me by mere inches.

All suited up, I stood on a rock that is usually ten feet from the waterline, hoping the opaleye would be there and willing to partake of the enteromorpha we were to provide. Neither of us really wanted to walk over to Long Point, especially when the San Pedro Channel is seething so. On the other side of the cove, the blowhole at the cave rock was spouting water at least twenty feet into the air with each large wave set. Inside the cove, Hawaii-50 style tubes were the norm and at Opaleye Point the swell wasn’t slowly rolling in and out like it usually does. Each wave came racing in, splashing up all the way to the bushes.

Of course there’s that lull between sets that we timed just right in order to rip up. Adjusting the depth of my bait to six feet below the bobber and casting about fifteen feet out there, I had an instant hook-up which resulted in a nice three-taco opaleye being slipped into the gunnysack. Before the next set of waves attacked, I twisted up some more bait onto the hook and whammo, another one pulled my bobber under almost instantaneously. I was very happy to find my favorite spot has come out of its recent doldrums.

Darryl was over there trying to get into it. He saw me standing on my rock continuously being hit up to the neck by waves, but as usual he didn’t bring his protection. Instead he stood directly behind me so he could duck for cover when a wave set came in. Also, we were fishing to the right of the point next to a ten-foot-tall boulder, which might serve as a refuge if he got out of the way fast enough. Upon seeing the next large swell approach, he hopped back to shield himself behind the giant rock but it was just his luck that the wave ricocheted off me, went around the corner, and got him right in the kisser.

Okay, so he’s not going to fish standing right behind me. Now he’s on top of said boulder directly above me. It was dueling bobbers out there, kind of tough keeping track of who’s whose. Nonetheless, he hooked up. And I hooked up. For the next hour, we combined for seventeen opaleye, with about 5 of those tossed back. Darryl caught the largest ’eye of the frenzy, which weighed in at two pounds.

For the next two hours we kept fishing for three taco size fish as the tide zoomed out. Atop his boulder, Darryl hooked what looked like a three pounder. As he eased it toward the net, his line brushed against a jagged rock and with a snap it was gone.

It was already nine-thirty and the tide was out two feet but we were still catching them. I wanted all I could legally haul up the hill so I could fill the smoker for jerky. I didn’t know how long my body was going to hang, though. The cold I had been fighting the past few days was about gone, but the rib injury I sustained last week at Point Vicente when I slipped on a slick rock was hurting pretty good after reeling in fifteen fish. Seeing me sitting on a rock writhing in pain, dear ol’ Darryl took it upon himself to carry all seventeen fish up the trail for me. And all he’ll want in return is a few sticks of jerky. I think I’ll give him...five.

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