by Cap't. Ralph F. Mariano
rmariano@streport.com

Info on Florida Saltwater Fish -Rules and Fishing Tips


Black Drum

Black Grouper
Black Grouper

Bluefish
Bluefish

Blue Marlin
Blue Marlin

Bonefish
Bonefish

cobia
Cobia

Dolphin
Dolphin

Flounder
Flounder

Gag Grouper
Gag Grouper


Gray Snapper

Kingfish
King Mackerel


Mutton Snapper

Permit
Permit

Pompano
Pompano

Redfish
Redfish

Red Snapper
Red Snapper

Sailfish
Sailfish

Snook
Snook

Spanish Mackeral
Spanish Mackerel

Tarpon
Tarpon

Trout
Trout

Wahoo
Wahoo


White Marlin

Yellowtail Snapper
Yellowtail Snapper

Yelllowfin tuna
Yellowfin Tuna

american_shad_sm.gif (2852 bytes)
American Shad

Swordfish
Swordfish 

Greater Amberjack
Greater Amberjack 

saltwatersportsman.com
Alaska's Lucky Horseshoe

By Ed Mesunas

AK

Salmon

Author Ed Mesunas, right, and guide Mike Halbert with a salmon, one of many species for which Glacier Bay is famous.

"Welcome to the Horseshoe," Captain Mike Halbert announced, moments after his party of four anglers had hooked up with carpet-sized halibut. I heard the smile in our guide's voice, and I was smiling too. Who wouldn't be? The sun was shining, the seas were glassy, and I was pinned to the flounder of my life. The fish put a respectable bow in my stand-up rod, and the braided line, tight as a guitar string, transmitted every headshaking move of the powerful flatfish. I soon gained the upper hand, however, and the first halibut of the day came spiraling up through the chilly depths of Icy Strait.

"Keep his head below the surface," Mike warned, then swung his gaff and lifted the fish into the cockpit with the fluid motion of a seasoned pro. Even though my 25-pounder was "chicken-sized" by Alaskan standards, it was still the biggest flatfish of my fishing career. To a New Jersey angler who gets jazzed over a five-pound summer flounder, this fish was as big and grand as all Alaska!

The upper panhandle region of Glacier Bay is a land of extremes and superlatives, but basic fishing tenets still apply. Local residents from the tiny town of Gustavus make the Horseshoe a regular stop for halibut and salmon. Eons ago, the enormous wedge of ice that gouged out what is now Glacier Bay deposited an underwater mountain of rock, pebbles and sand in the shape of a horseshoe. This delta-like formation rises to within 100 feet of the surface in an area known as Icy Strait, where the depth ranges from 800 to 1,800 feet. Strong tides and glacial run-off clash at the Horseshoe, creating upwellings that tumble herring and sand launce, making them vulnerable to larger predators, namely salmon and halibut.

Horseshoe Halibut

Last summer I spent three days plying the fish-rich waters of Icy Strait with Salt Water Sportsman staffers Phil Troy and Jaye McAuliffe, Betty Henze of Penn Reels, and our host Mike Olney of the Bear Track Inn. We each hooked a number of halibut by jigging in water ranging from 100 to 200 feet. Troy wound up bagging the largest 'but, a 45-pounder, while I managed to catch my limit of two 25-pounders.

"The halibut population here is actually on the upswing," Halbert explained. "We generally release the small ones under 20 pounds and let the really large ones, fish over 100 pounds, go, too, because most of them are females. Besides, the quality of the fillets on the big fish really goes down. The meat becomes too coarse. The best eating sizes are fish weighing from 25 to 100 pounds."

Halbert added that while Alaska is still the country's last frontier in many respects, the 49th state has already implemented measures to keep sport fishing, and the millions of dollars it contributes to the state's economy, healthy for generations to come.

Rock fish

Variety fishing at its best! Numerous species of rockfish inhabit the waters of Icy Strait, providing lots of fast-paced action on jigs and spoons. Huge lingcod also lurk in the depths.

Map

Salmon at the Rock

Halibut wasn't the only treat Icy Strait had in store. During our three-day junket with Halbert, we enjoyed fast action with ten-pound coho salmon off Pleasant Island, just east of the Horseshoe. A prominent, house-sized boulder known as Black Rock was the hot piece of structure this time.

Black Rock sits on a point of the island, creating a giant eddy that concentrates and disorients herring and other baitfish. As a result, all species of Pacific salmon ‹ chum, sockeye, king, pink, and coho ‹ lie in wait for the easy pickings.

But the pickings are only so good for so long. "We have to work the right tides for all the fish we target," Halbert pointed out, "and sometimes we only have a window of an hour or two before the current becomes too strong. Fortunately, when one kind of fishing slows down, we just switch to another!"

A glance at the sides of Black Rock showed the incredible range of tides in Glacier Bay, which rival those of the Bay of Fundy. The floating dock where Halbert keeps his 30-foot Alumacraft, the Stoic, can rise and fall more than 25 feet between tides. Naturally, such extreme fluctuations create fierce currents, especially in the narrow passages.

Slackening tides are best for drifting, downrigging or mooching for salmon. The baits of choice are whole or cut herring, rigged on tandem 5/0 hooks. Another proven salmon technique is jigging slim metal lures that imitate sand launce, or working fluorescent plugs like Buzz Bombs. Baitcasting or levelwind reels spooled with 14- to 20-pound test and mounted on trigger-style or downrigger rods work best on Glacier Bay salmon, which can range from a three-pound pink to a 25-pound king.

Halibut tackle, at least to this Alaska greenhorn, was lighter than I expected. I did see the standard 4/0 and 6/0 reels on other charter boats, but Halbert is a light-tackle nut. One morning he stripped off all the 14-pound mono on the baitcasting reel he was using for salmon and placed it on a custom 61/2 -foot stand-up rod. He then filled it with 50-pound braided line for halibut jigging.

"Braided lines have revolutionized halibut fishing here," he stated. "We're fishing in places and depths we never fished before." The braid's thin diameter cuts through the water better than mono, a decided advantage in the four- to six-knot currents of Glacier Bay. Braided line also has minimal stretch, which lets you feel the eight-ounce jig bounce along the bottom 100 to 200 feet below.

Halibut

Halibut in the 20- to 100-pound range are plentiful at the Horseshoe. Ed Mesunas took this 25-pounder jigging in water ranging between 100 and 200 feet.

Our last day on the Stoic found us running an hour and a half east to an area southeast of Elfin Cove, another picturesque fishing town. The ride gave us a chance to sit back and really absorb the beauty of this wild and still-evolving region. Mile-wide glaciers were gouging out new valleys between the snow-capped Fairweather mountains, whose peaks reached above the clouds. Bald eagles soared over dense Sitka spruce and hemlock forests, or sat guarding their piece of craggy shoreline. Humpback whales, sea otters, sea lions, puffins and seals abounded. And always, there was the awesome silence of true wilderness.

Rockfish Galore

Our destination was a reef ranging from 50 to 170 feet deep. The target was rockfish, and they didn't disappoint. We hooked several varieties, including yelloweye, China, yellowtail, quillback and copper. The especially scrappy black rockfish were a delight on light tackle, but were so numerous that we had trouble getting our Buzz Bombs or jigs through them to reach the larger lingcod, kelp greenling, and halibut. I wish I had that problem on all my fishing trips!

Although we released a good part of our catch, we also kept some fish to eat. The Bear Track Inn will flash-freeze and vacuum-pack the fillets you want to bring home with you. Most guests check the heavily waxed cardboard box as part of their baggage on the return flight, as I did. When I got home, the fillets were still frozen.

Weeks later, my family enjoyed a delicious dinner of grilled halibut on our porch in Pennsylvania. As we finished the meal, the moon rose and the stars came out. Twinkling above was the North Star and the Big Dipper, the symbol on Alaska's state flag. My mind drifted back to Glacier Bay, where the same moon and stars were also shining, welcoming other fishermen to the trip of their lives

 

 

 

 

 

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