Fishing From a Kayak

I bought an inflatable kayak from a friend of mine who used to own a rafting business. It's a classic yellow Tahiti she could only find on eBay. Nostalgia was the main reason she bought it; a distracted lifestyle is why she never used it. So it's mine now (for the lovely price of $100). 

View of shore from on the water

The first time I took it out was on a river east of Shady Cove at a secret swimming hole. Using a hand pump (non-electric from Bi-Mart), I inflated its many parts, including two independent chairs. Fully inflated, it requires two people to transport it from the car to the water. But once in the water, it is heavenly.

The seats are far more comfortable than those of a solid shell kayak (and more adjustable). I can feel the subtle movements of the waterway beneath me, and hang my legs off the sides while rowing. Many boaters never touch the water upon which they're traveling. By design, right? A boat is meant to keep you afloat and dry so you don't have to touch the water. But for me, I go to the water to feel the water. I want to be the water.

Feeling the water

In the summer of 2022, I rented a yurt at Willow Lake near Butte Falls, Oregon. My son and I paddled the kayak out onto the lake with our fishing gear and snacks in hopes of catching a fish for lunch. I believed that at this time, considering the heat of the day and the noise of motorboats and jet-skis on the water, that the fish would be 20-30 feet down. 

Now to preface, my luck with fishing has been nonexistent in the years I've had the kayak. But I had never put the two together. This was my first attempt at fishing in the deeper water that only a boat can access. I'm also not an expert fisherwoman by any means. Although I've fished ever since I could walk, I could count the number of fish I had actually caught in my lifetime on one hand.

Normally, my son hates fishing. He finds it boring. When he was younger, he didn't mind so much because he could entertain himself by playing in the water or sand, or throwing rocks at the water or sand or me. At eleven years old, he still enjoys those nature-approved activities on occasion, but only after being dragged to the car and exaggerating several judgmental eye-rolls, groans, and backtalk later. 

Nevertheless, I convinced him to join me on this outing. 

"Here, you hang onto the canvas bag." I said to him. "We'll use that to carry any fish we catch." I had bought a canvas sack for carrying water from the Army Surplus store. It's collapsible, water resistant, and stands upright when half full. Since I didn't have a bucket, I figured it would work just as well.

We rowed out to the center of our campground's cove, one arm of the larger lake. Fishing from a kayak required a little more balance and finesse than fishing from the shore or a boat. There's very little room in which to assemble your pole or open your tackle box. A single misjudgement of the weight distribution could cause you to drop something overboard or take on water. I never stood up. I maintained a sitting position the entire time. Because I was deep water fishing, I didn't have to risk falling or snagging with casting the line. I just let it drop and sink.

After an hour or so without success, I swapped out lures to a light gray fly with a black and white target pattern. I used weights to sink the hook and asked the lake to grant us a fish for the chance to show my son the joy of the catch and the lessons that only come from seeing a wild animal in real life. 

To my surprise, within minutes of sinking the new lure, I felt a bite. The rod flicked down out of sync with the wind or any other natural forces enacting on us at the time. 

"I think I got a bite." I told my son. 

He got excited. "Really?"

Another tug tripped my rod down. "There it is again!"

"Oh my gosh!" He exclaimed. 

I explained everything I was doing as I did it. "If it happens again, I have to jerk it. That's called setting the hook. I have to help it snag on the fish's mouth so I can reel him in. Otherwise, he could get away."

The rod again jerked and each time it did I jerked back until I was satisfied the fish was snagged on my hook. I started reeling. 

When that fish splashed at the surface of the water, Link and I were in an uproar. "Quick, fill the bag and scoop him up into it." I ordered. 

Link couldn't pull the bag up into the boat with so much water in it. "That's okay, I just need you to lift it around him so I can pull him in." He did so once I had the fish close enough to the kayak to reach with the canvas bag. I hauled the bag in and we laughed and celebrated. The whole cove must have witnessed the event because I heard chatter on nearby boats and clapping from the shore. We were genuinely high on disbelief. 

"Link, we caught a fish! We actually caught a fish!"

"I know. I suddenly understand why people go fishing: for the excitement of catching one."

Totally. You get it, boy. 

I pulled the hook from its mouth with a pair of pliers I keep in my tackle box and instructed him to keep a watch on the bag. "Don't let him jump out. We want to keep him alive as long as possible. So let him splash, but keep the walls up high."

That fly seemed to work well, so I sink it again to about the same depth I had it. Two minutes later: bam! Another bite. "Oh my gosh! Link, I think we caught another one!"

"Whaat?!" He squealed.

This time, the hook got caught in its eye and I had to rip some of its eye goo out to retrieve my fly. The goo discolored the water with cloudy slime, but we had done it: two fish.

Link stared at the fishes in the canvas bucket between his legs. He acted like a kid again. He laughed when they splashed, and periodically updated me on how they were doing. The exuberance in his voice and the simple joy of living in the moment reminded me of when he was younger. 

"Haha. It got me wet." He'd say gleefully when one of them splashed the water high enough to hit his face. 

I smiled inside the whole time. 

Three fish was my target. I didn't want to return to shore until we had three. Given their size, three would provide a quality meal to feed his dad and ourselves.

For another two hours we paddled around the cove, fighting the rising wind and the wakes of faster boats. I made sure we lathered on sun screen, being fair-skinned people who burn easily, and wore sun hats (lame, I know, but so helpful). We ate our snacks and hydrated, dipped our feet in the water, scooped handfuls over our exposed limbs, and repositioned the line and the boat repeatedly. 

Two is already more than I could have hoped for. I transmitted to the lake. But my target is three so I ask for one more. I was determined to will this into reality. But after hours of waiting and resetting, I wondered if it was expecting too much. 

"I need to paddle us back toward the center of the cove. We're getting too far out on the lake." I explain, turning us around. Having paddled hard against the wind on a lake before, I knew kayaking in the afternoon is only worth the extra effort if I can keep it in the cove or near shore. The fact that my son was with me prohibited me from taking any chance of drifting farther than I can travel us back from. 

As I'm paddling, Link points to my dragging line. "Mom, stop. I think there's a fish on your line." 

I peer back at my line and slow down the kayak. Sure enough, a fish splashes near the end of my line. "Oh my gosh! How long has it been on there?!" I reel it in and manage to plop it into the bucket with the others. "We actually caught three! That was my goal. Wow."

"Can we go back now?" He asks while I wrestle with the hook.

"Yes, we can go back to shore as soon as I get this hook out." The hook caught in the cartilage of the fish's lip and would not pry off. It required a great deal of leverage and force to remove it, which stripped the feathers off my fly in the process. Oh well. That fly had a good run. 

When we returned to shore, my son showed off our catch to a few kids and his dad. Of course, when it came time to gutting, cooking, and cleaning the fish, he excused himself. But at least he had the good sense to take pictures.

Our catch of the day: three bass

We boiled two and grilled one. Tiny fish bones aside, the white meat was good. They would have been better with white wine and lemon, but I'm not picky. It was a pleasure to enjoy a meal I acquired with my own equipment and (albeit limited) skill. What's more, a trip my son resisted turned out to be a great bonding experience.