Fishing the Dark Months
The Sitka Sound winter king fishery is unique among salmon fisheries in that it takes place during the winter months. Most salmon reach full size the summer before they spawn, but kings spend multiple years at sea, so they’re caught in the depths of winter. Fishing during winter in Alaska is not for the faint of heart, where freezing spray and rough seas are part of the job for the winter troll fleet. Although it can be rough out there, this fishery also gives trollers a chance to extend their short summer season and earn money during the winter. To show what a troller goes through in a day, I joined the crew on the F/V Alaska this January to glimpse what it’s like to catch fish for a living.
My day starts a little earlier than it needs to since I live on an island outside Sitka and must commute by boat into town to meet Isaac. The short winter days give fishermen a taste of what they call “banker hours.” The 18-20 hour days of fishing kings in early July are a brutal grind that winter trollers don’t have to endure. Sunrise today is 8:35 AM and sunset 3:41 PM, so even with the 2½ hour commute to the grounds, we’ll be home by dinner. I’m up and out the door in the dark at 4:30 AM. By headlamp I make it down to my skiff, wrestle the frozen tie-up lines off their cleats, and head to town.
I buzz into town in the dark, scrape the frost off my car windshield, and drive to the harbor where the Alaska is moored. Isaac already has the engine running and the oil stove warming the chill from the air as we head out of the harbor. Isaac has a propane burner, and we start a round of water for coffee while we talk about the rough weather we’ve been having. Sitka is headed toward the snowiest winter in 20 years and some brutally cold temperatures down in the single digits. It may not sound so bad to those of you in the upper Midwest, but being out on the ocean when it’s that cold brings a lot of danger to the equation. Ice forms and makes the decks slippery and dangerous, and if enough ice accumulates it can make the boat top-heavy and potentially capsize. The only way to remedy this is to hammer off the ice with whatever tools you have — a dangerous task when the decks are covered in ice. Another danger is that the scuppers, which let water off the decks, can freeze, so water splashing on deck has nowhere to go and destabilizes the vessel. This morning it’s around 30°F but warming up through the day, so there isn’t much danger of freezing spray.
Isaac’s boat is pretty fast compared to the boats we each fished with 15 years ago. I had the F/V Loon and he had the F/V April L — both efficient and low-cost 32’ fiberglass trollers. One drawback of their efficient engines was slow running speed. At slack tide with no stabilizers, we both averaged around 6 knots (about 7 mph). The thing is, with those smaller boats, we almost always had our stabilizers out so the boat handled better at sea; add a little wind chop and swell, and it felt more like 4.5 knots. In the Alaska, Isaac’s 46’ historic wooden troller, what took us well over 3 hours before, now takes us about two. On the way, we see the navigation lights of other trollers headed to the grounds. Some bigger boats with sodium lights give off an orange hue and are easy to spot in the darkness. Today there won’t be a full fleet out since the weather is still rough — 13‑foot seas, but the wind is dropping to 15 knots throughout the day, so for Isaac it’s “fishable.” His boat handles the ocean well, and he prefers being out when the weather is rougher since it means fewer boats and usually better fishing. He tells me, “Every nice day this place is crowded with yahoos, and I don’t catch shit.”
As the sun rises and the eastern skyline lights up, we approach the grounds. The fishery spans Sitka Sound, but the most productive spot is right at the corner of Cape Edgecumbe. This spot requires everyone to form and maintain a line, so there’s no chaos. Inevitably someone gets greedy and tries to break the train of boats to turn on fish they’ve caught, but the system works best when everyone cooperates and stays about 50–150 yards apart, depending on how many boats are out.
Today the southwest swell coming into the sound is sloppy, and I’m feeling a bit queasy as we put out the gear. Isaac cruises smoothly on his side of the boat, moving with the expertise of someone who has done this thousands of times. I’m learning where the controls are as I try to find a rhythm in the early morning light. We’re using a number 5 Superior Gold spoon and a variety of rubber squid lures called “hootchies.” We lower the cannonballs and, every three fathoms (18 feet), snap on a leader. We set the lines to 40 fathoms (240 feet) and head into the warmth of the wheelhouse. There are two main lines that run off 45’ poles on each side of the boat and lines that drag behind the boat on floats.
By now the diesel stove has warmed the cabin, and we warm our hands as we discuss how the fishing day might progress. These kings are notoriously hard to catch, and many days you only pull in a couple fish with one “clatter.” That’s when you get multiple fish on multiple lines, and that can really make your day or week. As we roll over the swells and hold onto our coffee cups so they don’t spill, we scan the lines for bites. It’s hard to tell in the morning light, and with the swell and chop the lines move around too much to tell if there are bites. We near Cape Edgecumbe and, with the turn, hope to pick up a couple. It’s now around 8:45 AM and fully light; we check our prospective sides. Isaac has a decent king around 11 lbs, and my side is clear except for one small lingcod I release back to the ocean.
Isaac is happy to catch something on the first pass, and now at least his fuel is paid for the day. We retreat to the wheelhouse after the king is bled, cleaned, and packed in ice in the fish hold. We warm up and chat about life as fathers of young children and the challenges and joys that come with added responsibility. I’m grateful to be out here in the weather with someone for company. Isaac fishes the winter season alone, as most winter king fishermen do. Many days end in single digits, and winter king fishing is about putting in the days and waiting for a bite when most of the fleet is tied up at the docks. Isaac had to install a new engine last year, a project costing almost $70,000, and he’s fishing hard to catch up.
Isaac spots a bite on my side, and I hurry out back to reel it in. I’m a little nervous about losing the fish because the price is $11.50 per pound, so each fish is over $100 to the boat. I tell myself I’ve done this a thousand times and calm down. As I reel in, I see the leader shooting off to one side and feel the tug of a nice king. I grab the leader and a gaff hook in my left hand, pulling the 20’ leader in with the gaff still in hand, ready to bonk the king in the water and haul it aboard. I try to land the king quickly before it has time to fight its way off. When the king nears the boat, I bonk it on the top of the head and it’s stunned. It shakes its head side to side, signaling it’s out, and I gaff it aboard. I immediately bleed it and finish tending my side. I get another king on the float line, and Isaac hauls one more off his side.
Four fish by 10:30 AM isn’t bad, and we hope for a quick clatter on our next pass, but there are no takers. We circle the trolling area a few more times with no catch. This is where you just have to keep at it, even when you aren’t catching. My sea legs are getting steadier as I spend more time adjusting to the roll of the boat, and the weather clears nicely. The sun shines. We lunch on venison roast and potatoes that Isaac had started in the oven a few hours earlier. Isaac makes a point of deer hunting for Sitka Blacktail as much as possible in the fall to feed his growing family, and I’m grateful for his harvest. We spend the rest of the afternoon running through our lines and end up with a few more kings, totaling seven. That will gross around $800 for the day for Isaac — not spectacular, but helpful if he can string more days together and if fishing picks up again. Around sunset at 3:45 PM, we pull the gear and head into town. By 6:00 PM we’re back and quickly drop our catch off at Seafood Producer Cooperative. Since the weather isn’t warm, our ice remains solid for tomorrow, and we head back to the stall. I’m back in my skiff and buzzing home in the dark at 7:00 PM with some fresh rockfish bycatch to bring home, feeling grateful for a productive day spent on the ocean.
