Hogmaster
08-22-2002, 10:34 PM
Yes folks, it is time for another episode of "As the Impeller turns" in Hogmaster's adventure file.
This one is for all the newbies to salmon fishing in the upper tidewater area of Tillamook Bay. For once, it doesn't involve the Red Sled, although it does involve the propulsion provided by Hogmaster, as you will see if you continue to read.
The year: 1986 The Month: May
The situation: Hogmaster, being a newby to salmon fishing in the greater Portland area after moving up from God's Country (sorry, Keta, not K-Falls but instead the beautiful Rogue Valley), convinces his friend Greg (now known as "Donny" but that is another story) to take his hand-me-down fiberglass Larson 16' ski boat to Tillamook. The boat, passed down from Gramps, had seen better days and wasn't really a skier as it was equipped with tired 18 and 20 horse Johnsons. They were connected to a steering wheel on the red and white wind screened craft. It even had a name - Sock it tu'em
The Story: We, being adventurous sorts, decided that we should hit Tillamook Bay and fish spinners for the spring Chinook that were to be had from reports heard at "Larry's". Some of you remember Larry's don't you? Well, I being the kind to fully investigate the rainbow I want to chase, learned that we should launch at some place called the "Oyster House" and then look for the "deep hole". If we concentrated our efforts in said hole we would surely limit out in no time 'tall we believed.
Mind you, neither of us had ever been to the Oyster House launch before but we got good directions and preparations were made to get up at O'darkthirty to get down and catch us a clutch of hogs early in the day. Tide? No idea about that.
As usual though, with Greggie, the trailer lights didn't function, the boat wasn't loaded, the lunch needed to be made and the constitution was calling after I arrived at his house in the morning at the prescribed leave time. So after everything was er, addressed, we got a late start.
We got to the ramp about 7 or so, and of course in May that meant it was full daylight. But we were pleasantly surprised to find we were basically the only folks launching there. Didn't occur to us that might have been an indicator.
Anyway, we launched Sock it tu'em without incident and soon were motoring out from the Oyster House. Now, where is the Mecca of salmon holding water, that "deep hole"? Away from the ramp we notice the water go from 9 to 10 to 11 to even 12 feet on the sophisticated Hummingbird depth finder (the only piece of modern equipment on the boat, including our gear). "No hole here", we say to each other and decide the hole must surely be out there toward the middle of the bay somewhere.
I point out to my Captain with great certainty that I know the Wilson River comes into the bay down aways, probably around that far point, and there probably is a big scoured out area down there. Surely that is where that "deep hole" is. So off we motor, although relatively slowly and, thank goodness, only with the 20 horse turned on.
As we made our way toward the middle of the bay slightly turning around that point I noticed the bottom was coming up rather quickly. I suggested that we slow to idle speed to get through this little area that must be a bit shallow before we get to that salmon nirvana spot. It was then that we noticed for the first time that even at idle the Sock it tu'em was traveling with a fair amount of speed. You see, the tide was running out very rapidly at this moment and, scraaaaaaaappppeee. "Geez! What the heck! Follow that channel!" says I. "I am!" says Greg. Scccccccrraaaaaaaape. "Dang!!" (edits for ifish here folks!). "Follow that channel" "I AM!"
Well, we followed a snaky channel for several hundred yards as it became increasingly narrow like you would follow a capillary out of a vein. All the while not realizing that, probably on the first bottom rub, the shear pin had done it's duty and we were basically using the two motors as rudders and the Johnson that was running was not actually propelling.
We discovered this when I finally convinced Greggie that the capillary was closing and we needed to 180 or we were going to be sand fishing.
He turned the wheel and Sock it tu'em responded by turning broadside in a ditch about as wide as her. But when he applied power the engine revved but lo' and behold our new boating position: Stationary.
Oh oh.
The boat, while almost totally out of the water, was now situated approximately 37 miles from real dry land. Other capillaries, veins and arteries of water extended in every direction as far as the eye could see. There would be no walking away from this one.
Now what? Well, being industrious and understanding the principle of outgoing tide and that we were not likely to go anywhere without quick and decisive action, I did the only logical thing. I took off my wool pants.
OK, I took them off as well as my socks, shoes and wool shirt and, in my boxers and Tee, jumped overboard into the foot deep water and gruffly said, "Gimme the damm bow rope!" (Now I would have said "line" but I wasn't that sophisticated then). I started a human tug effect while Greggie looked at me somewhat in disbelief that I would think we were EVER going to get out of this mess. I remember him asking me what the Donner party would have done.
Frankly and somewhat to my surprise I decided we were not going to stay there until the fall rains and that was that. The boat slowly responded and actually finished the 180 turn with my pulling and then I started dragging her up channel. After about 20 minutes of this exercise, Greg finally got enough tilt on the 18, which we hadn't wanted to risk losing the pin on it too (he hadn't learned the "spare parts" concept yet), that it actually hit a slurry that was at least somewhat wet so he added some churn propulsion as well. After some extra hard tugs I found myself in knee deep water and knew we had a shot. We wouldn't starve after all. The boat was still floating as I jumped aboard and slipped back into my woolies, mighty glad to have brought them after all.
So with eyes peeled on both sides we managed to sneak back up the snake channel and got back near the launch. Greg, fit to be tide (sic), said, "We're outa here!". We trailered Sock it tu 'em and headed for home. It was 8:30.
Moral of the story:
1) Know the precise location, not the general one, of the rainbow you are chasing. Newbies, straight out from the launch IS the "deep hole" We were looking for something 30' or so deep.
2) Know what the tide is doing if you are boating in tidewater. We found out later it was a minus 1.7 and had a couple more hours to run out. Oh, and newbies, the best time to be spinner fishing is on the incoming.
3) Know current data. ifish was not in existence then so we got advice from a guy in Oregon City who had probably never fished there in the spring. There was a reason there were no fishermen there that day. It had to do with the fact there were no fish there that day either.
4) You are probably stronger than you think you are. I weigh all of a buck and 1/2 and I found I could drag a ski boat upstream in sand with a rider. Still don't know to this day how I did that...
5) If you ignore all of these pointers, bring a big lunch.
Hogmaster
[ 08-23-2002, 06:20 AM: Message edited by: Hogmaster ]
This one is for all the newbies to salmon fishing in the upper tidewater area of Tillamook Bay. For once, it doesn't involve the Red Sled, although it does involve the propulsion provided by Hogmaster, as you will see if you continue to read.
The year: 1986 The Month: May
The situation: Hogmaster, being a newby to salmon fishing in the greater Portland area after moving up from God's Country (sorry, Keta, not K-Falls but instead the beautiful Rogue Valley), convinces his friend Greg (now known as "Donny" but that is another story) to take his hand-me-down fiberglass Larson 16' ski boat to Tillamook. The boat, passed down from Gramps, had seen better days and wasn't really a skier as it was equipped with tired 18 and 20 horse Johnsons. They were connected to a steering wheel on the red and white wind screened craft. It even had a name - Sock it tu'em
The Story: We, being adventurous sorts, decided that we should hit Tillamook Bay and fish spinners for the spring Chinook that were to be had from reports heard at "Larry's". Some of you remember Larry's don't you? Well, I being the kind to fully investigate the rainbow I want to chase, learned that we should launch at some place called the "Oyster House" and then look for the "deep hole". If we concentrated our efforts in said hole we would surely limit out in no time 'tall we believed.
Mind you, neither of us had ever been to the Oyster House launch before but we got good directions and preparations were made to get up at O'darkthirty to get down and catch us a clutch of hogs early in the day. Tide? No idea about that.
As usual though, with Greggie, the trailer lights didn't function, the boat wasn't loaded, the lunch needed to be made and the constitution was calling after I arrived at his house in the morning at the prescribed leave time. So after everything was er, addressed, we got a late start.
We got to the ramp about 7 or so, and of course in May that meant it was full daylight. But we were pleasantly surprised to find we were basically the only folks launching there. Didn't occur to us that might have been an indicator.
Anyway, we launched Sock it tu'em without incident and soon were motoring out from the Oyster House. Now, where is the Mecca of salmon holding water, that "deep hole"? Away from the ramp we notice the water go from 9 to 10 to 11 to even 12 feet on the sophisticated Hummingbird depth finder (the only piece of modern equipment on the boat, including our gear). "No hole here", we say to each other and decide the hole must surely be out there toward the middle of the bay somewhere.
I point out to my Captain with great certainty that I know the Wilson River comes into the bay down aways, probably around that far point, and there probably is a big scoured out area down there. Surely that is where that "deep hole" is. So off we motor, although relatively slowly and, thank goodness, only with the 20 horse turned on.
As we made our way toward the middle of the bay slightly turning around that point I noticed the bottom was coming up rather quickly. I suggested that we slow to idle speed to get through this little area that must be a bit shallow before we get to that salmon nirvana spot. It was then that we noticed for the first time that even at idle the Sock it tu'em was traveling with a fair amount of speed. You see, the tide was running out very rapidly at this moment and, scraaaaaaaappppeee. "Geez! What the heck! Follow that channel!" says I. "I am!" says Greg. Scccccccrraaaaaaaape. "Dang!!" (edits for ifish here folks!). "Follow that channel" "I AM!"
Well, we followed a snaky channel for several hundred yards as it became increasingly narrow like you would follow a capillary out of a vein. All the while not realizing that, probably on the first bottom rub, the shear pin had done it's duty and we were basically using the two motors as rudders and the Johnson that was running was not actually propelling.
We discovered this when I finally convinced Greggie that the capillary was closing and we needed to 180 or we were going to be sand fishing.
He turned the wheel and Sock it tu'em responded by turning broadside in a ditch about as wide as her. But when he applied power the engine revved but lo' and behold our new boating position: Stationary.
Oh oh.
The boat, while almost totally out of the water, was now situated approximately 37 miles from real dry land. Other capillaries, veins and arteries of water extended in every direction as far as the eye could see. There would be no walking away from this one.
Now what? Well, being industrious and understanding the principle of outgoing tide and that we were not likely to go anywhere without quick and decisive action, I did the only logical thing. I took off my wool pants.
OK, I took them off as well as my socks, shoes and wool shirt and, in my boxers and Tee, jumped overboard into the foot deep water and gruffly said, "Gimme the damm bow rope!" (Now I would have said "line" but I wasn't that sophisticated then). I started a human tug effect while Greggie looked at me somewhat in disbelief that I would think we were EVER going to get out of this mess. I remember him asking me what the Donner party would have done.
Frankly and somewhat to my surprise I decided we were not going to stay there until the fall rains and that was that. The boat slowly responded and actually finished the 180 turn with my pulling and then I started dragging her up channel. After about 20 minutes of this exercise, Greg finally got enough tilt on the 18, which we hadn't wanted to risk losing the pin on it too (he hadn't learned the "spare parts" concept yet), that it actually hit a slurry that was at least somewhat wet so he added some churn propulsion as well. After some extra hard tugs I found myself in knee deep water and knew we had a shot. We wouldn't starve after all. The boat was still floating as I jumped aboard and slipped back into my woolies, mighty glad to have brought them after all.
So with eyes peeled on both sides we managed to sneak back up the snake channel and got back near the launch. Greg, fit to be tide (sic), said, "We're outa here!". We trailered Sock it tu 'em and headed for home. It was 8:30.
Moral of the story:
1) Know the precise location, not the general one, of the rainbow you are chasing. Newbies, straight out from the launch IS the "deep hole" We were looking for something 30' or so deep.
2) Know what the tide is doing if you are boating in tidewater. We found out later it was a minus 1.7 and had a couple more hours to run out. Oh, and newbies, the best time to be spinner fishing is on the incoming.
3) Know current data. ifish was not in existence then so we got advice from a guy in Oregon City who had probably never fished there in the spring. There was a reason there were no fishermen there that day. It had to do with the fact there were no fish there that day either.
4) You are probably stronger than you think you are. I weigh all of a buck and 1/2 and I found I could drag a ski boat upstream in sand with a rider. Still don't know to this day how I did that...
5) If you ignore all of these pointers, bring a big lunch.
Hogmaster
[ 08-23-2002, 06:20 AM: Message edited by: Hogmaster ]