The varieties of fish I’ve been targeting the past few trips are of a nocturnal genre.  My previous weekend schedule disallowed me to arrive at the spot early enough for there to be ample dark time to have a chance at the calico and sand bass and the white seabass, therefore a simple adjustment to the plan was required.  Instead of running errands at one-in-the- morning, then dropping off the goods at home while loading the truck with fishing gear and heading down to the beach, I went to work yesterday with a vehicle fully loaded.  At twelve‑thirty this morning I said see ya to my relief, drove down to Cliff Drive in Laguna Beach, parked, then keeled over for a forty-five minute siestita.

    I was fishing by 3 am.  The first place I cast the five-inch Fish Trap was the same rock Breakwall Tim and I both landed a legal sand bass last month in pitch black, the end of the rock to the left of the staircase.  I wasn’t so lucky this time.  An hour of lure flinging to several spots in the general area produced no teeth marks on the fresh plastic.  I moved it over to the spot a little south, where last time I caught a calico.

    For thirty minutes I was feeling so lonely standing there in complete darkness, just me and the waves, then BAM, it happened.  Something hit about ten feet from the rock.  It pulled really hard like a four‑pound calico would do.  I said to myself, “Honey, we’re eating tacos tonight!”  The fish powered hard to the left, taking some line off the tightened drag, then lugged mightily until it pulled more line out to the right.  It splashed its silveryness atop the water and I knew right then it was a white seabass, but by the short tussle, not one of legal size.  Still, after bouncing it atop the rock, it eyeballed in at five pounds before being released.

    I retied my lure and cast again in anticipation of there being some legal size (28 inches) whites swimming around in a school.  It was looking good when, BAM, number two hit three casts later.  The fish on the end of the line felt identical to the seabass landed moments ago.  Sure enough, after lifting it out of the water, it was the exact same size, about five pounds.

    I let the fish go and retied the leadhead.  I pinned a fresh plastic body thereupon and had at it once again.  Maybe these two fish were indicators that the big ‘n’ bad boys were about to invade the beach.  Well, after fifty wide-eyed casts and no hits, it was apparent this was not going to be the case.

    I took a jaunt a quarter‑mile south along the beach to fish another three‑acre rock surrounded by sand and surf.  The waves over here rendered the place unfishable, so I went back to the spot where I landed the seabass.  By that time it was ten until five and already getting light.  Instead of fishing the white hole, I walked out to the sand bass spot and tried a few casts with the Fish Trap there.  Nothing much was happening on the lure, and the burgeoning bass‑bite killing light was upon us, so I dropped the Fish Trap and went with the opaleye mussel bobber rig.

    There are scads of very large mussel covering these rocks, the perfect bait to catch just about anything that might be around.  Just then another angler stopped by and shucked a few.  He was after sargo and said he usually catches a bunch here.  I dunked a wad of the orange goop seven feet under my bobber and before too long it submerged and I was the owner of an eleven inch sand bass.  After tossing that back, I tried again.  I was getting lots of hits, but obviously the fish were very small not to get hooked on the number ten treble.

    My new neighbor rigged his mussel using a dropper line about three feet up from a very small weight, letting it sit on the bottom about fifteen feet from the rock.  BAM he was on in two minutes and landed a three-pound sargo.  I was impressed.  Next I caught one, but it was only about six inches long and released.  Homer caught another one-pounder, but I only had a lot of nibbles while using my eight‑pound outfit rigged similarly to his.

    I asked him where the opaleye are and he said he has not caught any here for a while.  He said there are more opaleye down south, near Dana.  I told him I had a whole breakwall crew fish Dana several times but we didn’t see much.  He said the best spot for opaleye is near Monarch Drive.  A scouting mission will be undertaken soon.

    Meanwhile, at seven‑thirty, I bid my cohort a fond adieu and was out of there.  He said, leaving already?  I said I had been there since three.  He smiled and said, oh, you’re a hardcore fisherman.

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