
Alaska's Lucky Horseshoe
By Ed Mesunas


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

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.

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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 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.
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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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