By Paul Lebowitz

Some people look a gift fish in the mouth. They scoff, refusing to see how good they have it. Take the state’s bays and marinas, for example.

Incredibly, some kayak anglers not only take them for granted, they want no part of the excellent fishing they offer.

“I’m not a bay guy. Give me the big water and big fish,” goes one chest-thumping line. If that’s not enough testosterone, try this one on for size.

“Fish for bay bass? Are you kidding? That’s like fishing for bait. They’re both small. Wake me when you catch a real fish!” I’ve heard it, read it, seen it, lived it.

Ok, I’ll fess up. Most of that blowback is nothing more than good-natured bluster, sort of a ‘My dad is bigger than your dad’ deal. I’m not going to debate which is better, the wilder world offshore or the usually mellow water behind the breakwater. They’re different, and excellent in their own ways. Waiter, bring me the steak AND the lobster.

Bays and marinas are often seen as places for new kayak anglers to earn their ‘Water Wings.’ Oops, I slid back into Big Water Bill territory for a moment. But it’s true; a calm bay, a warm day, and lots of willing fish are just what a new kayaker needs to develop confidence. Skills learned on the bay – casting, fighting, and landing fish from the kayak – transfer directly to the Big Blue Salty.

But hold on a minute, you doubters. It’s not necessary to ‘go outside’ to get your big fish fix. Particularly not if you live within driving distance of San Pablo Bay.

San Pablo, a part of the vast San Francisco Bay complex, is ground zero for kayak sturgeon fishing. It takes a hardy individual to soak up the pounding that often raucous San Pablo dishes out. Fearsome wind and the constant slap of an icy chop are enough to make some successful sturgeon anglers cry out ‘no mas!’ once they punch their hard-earned cards.

“How the heck can anyone sit still for hours in cold weather, waiting for that little bump?” asked Joel Lotilla, although I’m sure he knows the answer. Lotilla put in four full seasons to earn his first victorious ‘dino’ sleigh ride this January.

“You’ve got to put your time in,” deadpanned Lotilla. When he triumphantly hit the beach with his California-legal 47-in. dinosaur, Lotilla immediately gave away his sturgeon snare and other tools of the trade. Evidently he wanted to retire at the top of his game.

“Rainy season is sturgeon season,” said Erik Kunz, sturgeon guru extraordinaire of the NorCal Kayak Anglers online community. Kunz said good spots to soak grass or ghost shrimp are best accessed via China Camp, Black Point, or the Dumbarton Bridge.

From the forgoing, you might conclude the sturgeon game is for experienced kayak fishers only. You’d be right. San Pablo Bay is a challenging winter environment.

Come springtime, San Francisco bay area fishing options will multiply.

“Everything kicks into gear in April,” said Kunz, meaning stripers and halibut will be on the menu. Area kayak anglers unsure of the best local fishing spots should visit the NCKA website for up to date information.

Farther south, bay-bound big game is rare. There are the occasional oversized halibut of the back bays, rare but thrilling catches, and that so-called ‘mud marlin’ the bat ray, more of an incidental than a typical kayak target. No, in Southern California, the fishing is more about numbers than size.

Oh, but what numbers, and it’s a year-round cornucopia. A dozen, 20, even 50 fish days are within reach. Three varieties of saltwater bass, barracuda, halibut, and bonito – they’re all here at one time or another. And something very special, a hidden tropical treat. More on that in a bit.

Bays such as Mission, Dana, Newport, and King Harbor are all popular kayak fisheries, and not just with novices. The water’s relatively warm even in the dead of a so-called Southern California winter (even the present chilly one), and there’s almost always a little corner sheltered from the worst of the wind. No wonder so many new kayakers cut their teeth in the bays.

There’s a breed here that’s just as dedicated as the sturgeon hunters up north, and maybe even more prone to obsession: the kayak bass fanatics. Something about bay bass, especially the mean little red-eyed spotty, inspires a single-minded devotion to catch (and release) bigger bass than the other guy.

FISH OF THE FROZEN FINGERS – The hardcore kayakers who suffer for sturgeon in chilly San Pablo Bay pay heavy dues, making eventual success so much the sweeter. Here’s Joel Lotilla with his first legal ‘dino.’ PHOTO COURTESY NCKA

NOT GODZILLA BUT PLENTY BIG – NCKA member Sean White shows off a nice California keeper-size sturgeon during one of San Pablo Bay’s nicer days. That large white pole is a sturgeon snare, used to control the fish for measurement. Fish that don’t fall into the legal slot limit (expected to be 46 to 66 in. in 2007) are released unharmed. PHOTO COURTESY NCKA

BAYSIDE ‘BUTT – It’s not all bass for Southern California bay anglers. The sheltered waters host a population of flatfish, some of which reach up to 40 lbs. Brian Sanner got his in San Diego Bay. PHOTO COURTESY OKUMA

BEHOLD, THE SPOTTED BAY BASS – Something about this small red-eyed fish makes Southern California bay bassers a little bit crazy. You can’t catch (and release) just one. Ed Whited caught this typical specimen in Mission Bay.

Why? I think it’s the addictive nature of saltwater bass fishing. These fish aren’t too hard to catch. They’ll latch onto just about anything you’ll find in the freshwater bass aisle at the neighborhood tackle store. Some days you can toss a Berkley Frenzy back there and troll up a couple dozen without really trying.

It’s not always that easy, and some days it’s brutally difficult. Consistently lassoing the cranky bruisers of the bunch? That takes artistry, and explains why kayak bay bassers are always on the prowl for their next secret weapon.    

Bass baits of all sorts will get a workout when Plastic Navy and Western Outdoor News launch Tournament Trail 2007 over and across several California bays. See KayakFishNation.com for the full scoop on this fun and prize-laden kayak competition.

Remember that tropical surprise I hinted at? It’s hiding in plain sight way down south at the very end of San Diego Bay: the legendary bonefish. Most accounts date their appearance to a 1980s El Nino cycle. Since then, if they haven’t exactly flourished, they have at least established a solid foothold.

An average San Diego bonefish runs around 18 inches. These aren’t the grey ghosts of the Florida Key flats, but the frenetic little fish can still spin a kayak in circles. Most are caught incidentally on the small plastics that are so effective for the area’s spotties. To up your odds, opt for live ghost shrimp or imitations.