Planning opaleye adventures got complicated last week. Breakwall Don made arrangements with me to fish Sunday. He even offered to visit the slime pit to harvest a bucket of enteromorpha for bait.

Then on Thursday, Pilot Larry called asking if I wanted to go up with him and his pals Sunday. I called Don to let him know flying took precedence over opaleye. I was fishing Monday with Breakwall Darryl anyway. So on Saturday, I stopped by the slime pit on my way to work for my own scoop of bait to be used Monday.

Somewhere in the mix Breakwall Darryl called indicating he would have to fish Sunday because he had to work Monday. I left a message for him saying, can’t fish Sunday, will fish Monday, catch you next week.

Then Saturday night, Larry called saying the weather prognostication had everyone turned off of flying, will try another time. I was at work and didn’t have Don’s number, so I dug into my brain’s memory bank and pulled out his email id and sent an unauthorized note from the company system. Can fish Sunday, are you still going? He replied, see you down there at the trailhead at six-thirty. Then I called Darryl and left a message saying flight’s cancelled, can fish tomorrow, leave a message at my house if you want me to pick you up. After arriving home, a quick check of my answering machine revealed Darryl recorded a message long before I called him. He said he changed his schedule to work Sunday and fish Monday and that I shouldn’t bother getting bait, because he already did. Oh boy, that makes three of us.

Anyway, yesterday morning Don and I met right on time at the spot. I grabbed a wad of bait out of his pail and walked down the Opaleye Point trail first, fishing just to the right into an incoming tide. I could tell right away it wasn’t going to be very good there. The fifteen minutes I spent only produced one little guy, which was thrown back. Don was watching for about ten minutes before he picked up and moved across the cove to the ledge. I was right behind him.

Over at the ledge, we fished the part closest to the cove. Sets of four-foot swells coming in with the tide prevented us from fishing the hot spot at end like I did last week. It wasn’t too bad where we were. With my fifteen-pound bobber rig I caught two 2.5 taco opaleye and another .5 taco specimen that was returned. I saw my bobber twitching quite a bit so I knew there were a bunch of fish around. At one point I hooked the bottom and lost my terminal tackle.

Don tried something different. He rigged up with a hook tied to the line above a torpedo sinker and baited up with a squid head, then flung the whole schmear out as far as he could. About fifteen minutes later I saw him over there hooked up and cranking in something that was putting up some resistance. Since I was busted off and not doing anything at the time, I hopped over with the net and readied myself for the big moment. Ah shucks. Half-way through the tussle the fish lodged itself in a rock and the line went *PINK*.

Next I used my medium-size ten-pound-test stick to splitshot a wad of bait out to the spot where I had all the bites earlier. I rated the bite as okay. In the next hour I caught three more fish, keeping only the two that went 2.5 tacos apiece. I only caught seven in the three hours I was there, keeping four. Breakwall Don caught a two pounder...last Thanksgiving.

At eight-thirty, bites were hard to come by and I had to work that afternoon, so at nine we were up the trail heading for home.

I gave Breakwall Darryl a call from the office Sunday evening to confirm our plans for today. He said he was going to work Monday because I said I was fishing Sunday. Uh, I never said I wasn't fishing Monday. In the midst of all the confusion, I finally talked him into going. He would work after fishing.

I went with the same plan as yesterday. Try the spot to the right of Opaleye Point early and if there isn’t any action in fifteen minutes, forge to the ledge. Today the surf was up about another foot or two and some low-life had taken a Mike Dudu right next to the rock from which I cast. However neither high waves nor fecal stench could keep me from catching fish. Five minutes after my first cast I hooked a big one, or at least it felt like it. Turned out it was only a pound-and-a-half, but it felt larger.

Fully covered by plastic, I jumped out to a rock that was continually being washed over by waves. Since the high tide of 6.2 wasn’t until nine o’clock, I had about an hour before I had to abandon that boulder for another one on higher ground. That was just enough time to catch five more opaleye, all keepers in the pound-and-a-half range.

For some reason, Darryl wasn’t catching much. I saw him toss one up near the gunnysack, but I was so into what I was doing, I didn’t realize that was the only one he caught the whole time. He usually catches more and bigger ones than me. Maybe next week he’ll be on the rebound.

I tried the splitshot technique with the light line, but a stiff breeze began to blow across the current creating a very inconvenient uphill condition. I went back to the bobber rig with minor success. From seven-thirty until eight-thirty I caught four more three-taco fish, then the bite went kaput.

At nine we thought about going over to the ledge, or maybe Long Point, but we could see the waves pounding those spots making them too hard to fish. I already had fourteen fish for the two days, so I said shine it and went home to get some more jerky going.

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