Opaleye Point 12/30
Have you seen the price of a California resident fishing license lately? At $33.35 to fish freshwater, and saltwater south of Point Arguello, it’s the nation’s steepest. And you can’t even catch a striped bass or use two rods in lakes and reservoirs without snagging and breaking off another $13.40. If you plan on partying at The River and maybe dunking a line while beering up in a lawn chair, you better not buy a 12-pack. Bring only a sixer because the three bucks those extra half-dozen brewskies would have cost you will instead be needed to apply a special stamp to your annual permit in order to fish there.
Well, Breakwall Dan and I figured we should get one last use out of our 2002 licenses before we have to go out and collect two trash bags full of crushed cans each to renew. Since So. Cal. sportfishing landings are still reporting sizable catches opaleye from their vessels, we headed to Palos Verdes to check our usual haunts during the morning’s 6am high tide.
Breakwall Darryl and I found descent opaleye action fishing a rock from his boat just north of Point Vicente back in November, so at dawn this morning, after stopping by the slime pit to harvest a bucket of enteromorpha, Dan and I were peering down the cliff at Via Vicente – the end of Hawthorne Blvd. – to see if the Swell Chart was fibbing about six‑foot swells pounding the shoreline there. Nope, pretty darn accurate that swell chart. Large waves were washing effortlessly over the rocks.
Next stop was the old standby, Opaleye Point. It was a lot calmer there, with just enough surf to churn the waters nicely by the occasional three‑foot wave. I chummed a couple handfuls of bait before we donned our rain suites, then from a high rock just to the right of the point, we tossed out the usual opaleye bobber rig.
It was kind of slow going for the first half hour, with only a couple bites each noticed. Then, as I announced, “This place sucks, we should move,” my float went down and I was on. Hook‑up, a fat 1-10 opaleye worth three tacos was safely tucked into the gunnysack.
Ah, here we go, we found the secret passwords; a day’s mantra I guess one would call a ‘catch’ phrase. From the safe casting rock we were using, we both started to holler, “This place sucks, we should move,” as if shouting louder would spur more action.
That bit of psychology was working as a short while later I was on again. This time I hooked a rare jumper opaleye as we watched it leap over the surface. Not really, it was just an over reactive angler in an adrenaline hazed power rush yanking the fish’s sub‑pound ass clean out of the water upon setting the hook. At a disappointing one taco, this one was thrown back.
After another toss, my line hit bottom, dulling the Owner 1/0 flyliner live bait hook, and as I was back at the staging area tying on a second, Dan yelled out HOOK-UP. I readied the net as he muscled in a two-pound opaleye worth 3.5 tacos.
A hoot, holler and high‑five later we were back on the rock flipping out our rigs just beyond the white water yelling out our passwords. Still slow, it took almost another 20 minutes before our next hook‑up, a fish that attached itself to my hook I thought fought much more ferociously than its 1-14 size. But who cares. With a smiley face I slid our third keeper opaleye of the day into the bag.
As eight approached, the tide zoomed out speedily, as did whatever bite we had. After a while this spot really did suck and a move to another locale was immanent.
We marched over to the Marineland Ledge where for an hour we had a few bites, but nothing big enough to stick to the barb.
Back at the truck, we looked at each other with that, “Now what?” look on our mugs. From the top of the Opaleye Point trail we could see our usual third spot, Long Point, was washedoubtful, so we concurred we should give Via Vicente a lookie-see.
From the top of the cliff we viewed the rocks below as being exposed enough above the tumult to be worth an effort and as a bonus there was no competition in sight to deal with. I set up where the rocks jutted furthest out, reinstalled my rain suit, baited up and tossed out. Moments later Dan rejoined me for a cast of his own. As we were standing there looking more stupid than ever, our attentions focused on a six‑foot wave heading right for us. I backed off and bolted over to save the bait bucket and as I turned to run for drier ground I was tripped up by whitewash knocking me to my knees as if I were praying to Lord God King Neptune not to take me just yet. As the commotion subsided I found myself on my back, neck deep in a small tide pool rolling around helplessly trying to hoist my sorry ass out, all the while imagining how pitifully hilarious I must have looked to the five anglers fishing from the safety of a higher rock across the cove to the south. There’s a clue for me. They’re way over there because it’s too Dangerous over here. No wonder there wasn’t anybody was fishing this spot.
Undaunted, I cast out once more and in seconds found myself running for cover as another bruiser rolled in. Screw this, Dan and I packed up to try a calmer spot a little to the north. Fish traps and green bait produced nothing in a half hour so we tried over to the south. The time was already approaching noon, well past the usual opaleye feeding frenzy and with no nibbles noticed, back up the trail we went. Looking back from the top we could see at least a half‑mile of the best casting rocks in town, vowing to return some day for another high tide when the chart reads swells of two feet or less.
In conclusion, Opaleye Point proved to be it’s usual self. We nailed our four fish within the hour‑and‑a‑half after high tide, which occurred right at dawn. What I have noticed throughout the years, and what we need to have to be more productive here is a high tide a little later in the morning, like 8:30, so that there will be three hours of high water holding the fish close. This will happen Saturday, January 18 when there will be a 6.5 peak at that exact time. Barring adverse weather conditions, we’ll be here.