
The bite had gone from nerve rackingly slow to red hot in the span of minutes. It was go time and I needed a giant.
Digging through my cooler of frozen bait, while struggling to keep my feet on the wildly pitching bow of the California Dawn, I found the bait I was looking for.
It was an 18-inch mackerel that weighed nearly 2 pounds. When I caught the mackerel a month before, I’d carefully brined it, wrapped it in plastic wrap and tucked it away in the freezer thinking it might come in handy during the annual High Roller Lingcod Derby.
Pinning a massive 10/0 Gamakatsu octopus hook through the mackerel’s head, I then positioned a scary sharp 8/0 Owner treble hook in the mackerel’s back about 3 inches from the tail.
Easing the rigged mackerel into the water accompanied by a 32 ounce sinker, I slowly thumbed the rig to the bottom. Controlling the speed of the rig was crucial since the last thing I wanted was for that big bait to start spinning and foul the leader at such a pivotal moment.
Presently I felt the sinker hit the bottom. I engaged the big Penn Senator and cranked the reel handle twice. A one pound sinker wasn’t enough weight to hold the bottom, but the two pounder was just about perfect and as a result my line stayed nearly vertical.
I expected action right away but that didn’t happen. Five minutes passed and then ten. Periodically I’d dropped the bait, find the bottom and then reposition the rig just off the rocks.
The strike wasn’t really a strike at all. It was signaled by a little unnatural pressure. At first I thought I might have wrapped another line, but when I felt a pair of weak tugs I knew it was a fish.
I let the ling hold onto the bait for a long time, perhaps 30 seconds or more. At that point, I started to ever so slowly crank the fish.