THAT was one big fish...

You are probably not going to believe this, but it's true. Readers of this blog know all about our fishing prowess, which went from zippo to adequate last summer only after herculean efforts that would rival walking on the moon, which some still question. Perhaps you could say this is one giant fish for man and one giant fish story for mankind.

There we were early yesterday morning watching the sun rise over the Cascades and going along all tickety-boo in Minstrel, headed for her new home in Sequim… but first a rendezvous with the fishin' hole in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the one where the Ultra Top Secret Map said the halibut would be, the one we can't tell you about. We just wanted a small halibut, enough for dinner. Two hours of jigging, nuthin’. Then...

Codzilla took the double-hook herring bait on 40-lb test line, and--I swear I am not making this up—we, meaning our 8500-lb boat, did not move with the tide for 40 minutes. Seaweed passed us--backwards. The fish tussled minimally, which halibut do, so we knew we weren't snagged on the bottom and were probably hooked onto a lunker. I once caught a 100 pounder in Alaska, and this one was behaving the same way. Jim hung on with every ounce of strength. The photo doesn’t half tell the struggle, but Jim’s new nickname is “Dances With Halibuts.” His hands were aching. He couldn’t turn the reel at all, in fact the drag was overwhelmed and he had to hold it back. He didn’t dare move or else he’d lose the whole rig, that’s how hard and steady the fish was pulling.

Every once in awhile it would struggle, so we knew it was a fish and not the bottom. The brand-new rod bent waaaaay over, almost to the water. We thought it might break. We were amazed that the line held, but we had 150 feet out so it was a bit stretchy. I lifted the rod tip because Jim couldn't, and then I’d lower it fast and he'd crank in a few inches every couple of minutes. We managed to wind in 50 feet over 40 minutes, with 100 feet still out and bar-taut. I mean, it was playable like a guitar string. We knew we couldn’t boat such a fish, but we hoped to get a look at it and perhaps cut the wire leader. Lift, crank… lift, crank. 100 feet to go. Then the line broke. Dang! That was one big fish! What kind of fish will do that? An Ohio-class submarine? We’re taking guesses. Fisherpersons, do some math. How big do you think the one that got away was? We haven't figured out how to make the comments section user-friendly, but if you can, leave a comment.

UPDATE: late May--Jim has bought a bigger rod and reel. 130-pound test fishing line. Heeeeere, fishy fishy fishy....

Photo caption: Sunrise over the Cascades from Port Townsend, WA