Fish Tales : Ocean Voyage Nets Boatload of Adventure for This Family

Every lineage needs one suitable fishing saga to narrate for future generations. Grandpa relishes detailing the infamous fishing trip long ago that he and my husband experienced. As they loaded the boat, my husband’s younger sister asked if she could join the fishing party. Her brother then uttered words that were to haunt him the remainder of his life: “Fish? Girls can’t fish.” That young boy passed a humbling afternoon on a boat in Houghton Lake in Michigan, observing his little sister catch perch after perch, while his line dangled with nary a bite.

Recently, I went ocean fishing with two of my children. The family proved once again that skill level, enthusiasm and gender have little to do with the number of fish one catches.

We called in advance to Helgren’s Oceanside Sportfishing to make a reservation for our Saturday adventure. According to the staff at Helgren’s, weekend trips fill quickly.

The day began at 6:30 a.m. when a 9-year-old boy bounced on the bed and reminded me that today was the day we were going out on the ocean fishing. His 12-year-old sister did not respond as positively to this adventure, but a bagel and a cup of hot chocolate coaxed her out of bed.

We had no sooner turned onto Harbor Drive South in Oceanside than the 9-year-old whelped with enthusiasm at seeing the boats and a scale with a hook attached. “Look at that,” he yelled to his still-lethargic sibling. “That’s where they weigh the really big fish--like the barracudas--and take your picture. Did you bring the camera, Mom?”

For a half-day of fishing, four hours, the price is $20 for an adult and $15 for children. Adults also must have an ocean fishing license, which costs $6 for a day or $18 for a year. We rented fishing gear for $7 a person.

Sounding like my father, who always measured the value of a dollar with relationship to the Great Depression, I was tempted to say to the reluctant pre-adolescent, “Look, we’ve thus far invested $77 in this trip and I would appreciate a little gaiety.” Fortunately, I said nothing.

The boat loaded, we started down the channel toward the ocean, stopping at a bait concession in the middle of the harbor where the boat took on the bait. The employees dipped large fishing nets into the vats filled with the live bait and scooped them into our boat.

Bait loaded, we headed out to sea. By now the 9-year-old had secured a small fish from the bait tank that he intended to secure on his hook. The reluctant fish leaped from his clasp and thrashed about on the deck floor while my son attempted to get a better grasp. “Hey, this is neat,” he laughed as the fish continued to escape his hands and slither between the feet of fellow fishermen.

An attendant came and assisted him in getting the small fish on the hook. Taking his lead from the young assistant who wiped his bloodied hands on his pants, the 9-year-old followed. “Wow,” he said as he ground the mixture of fish scales, flesh and blood into his pants, “you don’t even need a rag to wipe your hands when you fish in the Pacific Ocean.”

The voice over the intercom said we were dropping anchor over a kelp bed and would soon start fishing. Precisely at the moment of the signal to commence, the line of the 9-year-old touched the water. “We’re going to have fish for dinner tonight,” he announced.

Two minutes later, he found it difficult to reel in his line. “I’ve got something!” he bellowed.

“Yeah,” droned a masculine voice four people away from us, “you’ve got my line. Stay still and I’ll come down and we’ll work on getting untangled.”

These are the moments when you appreciate the patience of an adult who remembers the thrill of fishing as a child. The man carefully worked at getting their lines free. One of the assistants on the boat finally came over and offered his service.

My son’s line back in the water, I baited my hook and started to fish. Tranquillity. A boy, a mother, two fishing lines, and endless time to chatter while awaiting the fish.

From above, the familiar sound of a sick child broke the mood.

Unfamiliar voices shouted directions. “Quick, get to the edge of the boat. . . . Someone get the hose.”

Like the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd made way for the seasick child--my daughter--to reach our area. I assured her, as she hung over the side of the boat, that I had an extra shirt and sweater in my backpack.

Unfortunately, she whimpered, she had used my backpack as a receptacle at one point.

Never abandoning hope, I remembered that to offset motion-sickness, it is advantageous to keep one’s mind occupied, so I engaged the 12-year-old in fishing. The picture of this somewhat-green child, in a catatonic state with fishing pole in hand, was memorable.

By now, the 9-year-old had changed to a new bait--squid--and was still patiently awaiting a bite.

“I have something,” the 12-year-old muttered in a monotone.

“I’ll reel it in for you,” her brother responded. “We’ve got dinner,” he squealed.

The 9-year-old was consoled by the fact that Samantha, a girl nearly his age, had not yet caught a fish either. However, his sister continued to snag fish as our boat moved from spot to spot, relying on Helgren’s sophisticated “fish finder” to determine where there were schools of fish.

At one jaunt to the bait area, I heard one passenger ask another who was catching all the fish at the other end of the boat.

“Oh, that kid who keeps getting sick,” was the reply.

Well, the day was good for many. Samantha joyfully displayed her catch. A fellow fishing near us caught a crab for dinner. I actually witnessed my son, for good luck, kissing a small fish he used as bait before dropping it into the water.

Meanwhile, our seasick 12-year-old caught nine fish, nearly the boat record. A record in itself in that she did not have her line in the water a total of 20 minutes the entire trip. Her brother and mother caught zero fish.

“Hey, what should we do with our fish?” the 9-year-old inquired.

“I don’t care,” moaned his sibling as we disembarked.

“No problem, I’ve got them in a plastic bag. Hey, my legs even feel a little funny,” the still-spirited youngster commented as he walked with “sea legs” on the shore.

Later at dinner (in a restaurant), the 9-year-old lamented to his father, “I had the best time fishing today and would love to go again. You know, Dad, I didn’t catch one fish,” and turning toward his sister, “and she caught nine.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Grandpa took me fishing with my sister Beth?” an understanding father started. . . .