The Joys of Sportfishing : Skipper Who Gave Up Gray Flannel Suit Loves Seagoing Life

On a gray morning, the fishing boat GW was headed from the Seal Beach Pier toward an unseen horizon. Above its foamy wake, gulls flapped their wings in spirited pursuit. The fresh air smelled of bacon and eggs, which were being cooked in the galley.

More than 40 people with poles and hopeful hearts had selected their places and were standing elbow to elbow along the old wooden boat’s weather-beaten red railing.

Anchovies and herring swam in the bait tanks. Deckhands sold gunnysacks, in which the day’s catch would be deposited, for a dollar. Some of the fishermen sharpened their knives to pass the time en route to Sand Bass Junction, about nine miles out to sea.

Up in the pilot house, Mike Reed of Lakewood was well into another workday. The GW’s captain, Reed has been taking anglers on sportfishing trips for more than 20 years. Although it has not all been smooth sailing, he has never regretted the time long ago when he decided that a loan officer’s life was not for him.

“The skipper is good; Mike knows his business,” said Paul Fuchs of Long Beach, who was helping his two grandchildren with their lines.

By 9 a.m. the destination, which promised a bountiful harvest of sand bass, had been reached. Kyle Reed, the captain’s son and one of the two deckhands, dropped the anchor, which was attached to a rusty chain and long rope.

As hooks were baited, Mike Reed announced the rules over a speaker: “On sand bass, 12 inches is the size limit. The number limit is 10. A lot of fish are right at the border; if they’re a little short, throw them back, give them a chance to breathe.”

Deckhand Gene Mabey stood in his boots on the bait tanks and lobbed bait over the stern. The gulls freaked out over this chumming, and the fishing began.

But below the water’s murky surface, in a 65-foot-deep area where sand bass come to spawn, the fish were not cooperating.

“Normally, we would have gotten a bass by now,” Mabey said as he disentangled two lines. “It doesn’t look good. If we don’t get a couple of bass real soon, we’ll be gone.”

Then someone pulled up a big one, not a bass but a toothy lizard fish, inedible to most people. It was greeted with such contempt that Mabey thumped its head against the side of the boat before throwing it back in the water. “It’ll go down to the bottom and die,” he said. No one mourned.

Short Ones Thrown Back

Eventually, some of the sand bass started to bite.

Shawn Manzo, 12, of Anaheim, caught one and said triumphantly, “He’s a keeper.”

But a skeptical Mabey measured the fish.

“No, he’s short,” he told the boy.

“By one centimeter,” Shawn said.

Mabey threw it back anyway.

Off the bow of the 65-foot, 68-year-old boat, which decades ago operated out of Redondo Beach and is one of the oldest running off Southern California, Mike Reed was fishing himself. A tall, ruddy-faced man of 50, Reed has hair that is similar in color to the fish: silver with a greenish tint. Pliers were in the back pocket of his blue corduroy shorts.

“I like to make sure the fish are out there,” he said.

Reed, who worked on a boat in his younger days and has been a captain for 22 years, once was employed by a finance company. “I got bored in business, I just didn’t like it,” he said. “I was happier doing this.”

Why not? As he wound his reel, he appeared to have an ideal life. However, he said, there are the rough days when the fish are not biting. And then there’s the burden of being responsible for close to 50 people on the open ocean. “You get rumbles once in awhile,” he said. “Guys will have too much to drink, and you have to keep them in line.”

And fish are not the only ones who get hooked. “People get hooks in them, not just in their hands but everywhere,” Reed said. “Most of them I can get out.”

He looked over at a jerking rod.

“Ooh, there’s a bite, stay with it, stay with it,” he encouraged.

The key to fishing, in the opinion of Reed, who as a teen-ager landed a 286-pound black sea bass, is patience and watching other people. “If it’s working for them, it’s bound to work for you if you stick with it,” he said.

‘It’s Relaxing’

The quality of bait and the ability to cast are important, too, he said, but “a lot of people just enjoy this, putting on a sinker, dropping a line down and catching something. It’s relaxing. There’s a lot more stress on that beach in everyday living than there is on this boat.”

If the fishermen, who pay $22 for the three-quarter-day trip, are not catching anything, it is Reed who feels the heat. “They blame me, who else? It feels like 80 eyes are drilled at the back of my head.”

Like his passengers, Reed was catching bass that were below the legal size. But everyone kept trying. “There’s always the chance there might be a big one down there,” the captain said.

About 10 a.m. Reed gave up on the first spot. Mabey pulled up the anchor and the GW motored a couple of miles farther out to where a bonanza awaited.

There were more gulls, but no lulls at the new location. With every drop of bait, the fishermen, it seemed, were getting bites. The gunnysacks were filling up.

Shirtless in the sun that had finally appeared, Mabey caught a five-pound bass, biggest of the day.

Asked what makes his job pleasurable, besides being able to devote time to the sport he loves, he said: “Meeting different people every day . . . the fresh air . . . and out here you forget all your problems.”

Mabey, 23, who was reared in Cerritos and now lives in Buena Park, said that in a year or two he would probably try for a captain’s license.

The other deckhand, Kyle Reed, 22, has gone out on fishing boats with his dad since he was 5. He has worked on the GW the last seven summers. But the future for the blond former Lakewood High School athlete probably will not be on the water--he is a fifth-year student at UCLA studying psychology and business.

Keeping Track

On the top deck, Tracy Bishop of the California Department of Fish and Game, was keeping track of the number of fish being caught. Department workers sometimes ride on the boats to make random counts. “I know I miss some,” she said. “I know I’m within 5% or 10%, that’s what they ask.”

A heavy man in a sleeveless shirt looked up at Bishop and waved a beer can.

“You keeping score?” he shouted. “How many have I drank?”

The fish count was about 200, making it a normal day, Bishop said.

Down along the rail the fishermen never seemed to tire of struggling to bring up the gleaming bass, unhooking them, putting them in the sacks and then going back to the tank for more bait. The only sounds were the slap of the water against the hull and the occasional shouts of “grilled cheese” or “hamburger” from the galley.

Cook Fished, Too

The cook said his name is Rudy and that he lives in Norwalk. He fished, too. “I love it,” he said. “If you’re a fisherman, you can’t beat this. As long as I take care of my customers, my bosses never complain.”

At 3:10 p.m. the captain announced: “OK, watch your lines, that’s all the time we got. Reel ‘em in.”

But all the fishermen kept at it for another couple of minutes, hoping that one more bite might be the big one.

On the way home, Mike Reed skippered the GW at about five knots--”fish cleaning speed,” he said. Down on the main deck, Mabey was filleting the day’s catch.

“I was gung-ho when I was young, now I sit back and take it easy,” said Reed, who works on a straight daily salary for Frank Hale, a Seal Beach and Belmont Shore sportfishing operator, the boat’s owner. The competition is heavy--the GW is one of about 55 sportfishing boats that operate between Marina del Rey and Newport Beach.

“If I don’t work I don’t get paid,” he said.

He suddenly rushed out the door to admonish a youngster: “Quit running up and down those stairs, this isn’t a playground.”

Reed’s days in his year-round occupation are long ones. He gets up at 4:30 a.m. and is on the boat, which is tied up at the Long Beach Harbor, at 6. He doesn’t get home until close to 7 p.m.

‘You See So Much’

He guided the boat past a tanker.

“You see so much out here other people never see because they’re pinned down in the streets,” he said. If there is trouble overseas, Reed sees Navy ships being loaded with ammunition. And he will notice more Coast Guard vessels when there is a crackdown on drug trafficking.

The day had been a good one. The fishermen were happy and so was Reed. Sitting on his red-cushioned chair, he maneuvered the old brass wheel with a tennis shoe and looked out the three small square windows at a beautiful expanse of blue. The breeze that blew in was fresh.

“I don’t make that much money,” he said, “but I sure enjoy what I’m doing.”