By Paul Lebowitz

“Heads up,” Kevin yelled, “a set is coming in!” I looked up, saw a breaker rising and closing fast, and dug on my paddle hard to get some quick speed. In unison, several kayaks popped over the wave as it reared up, and laughs and hoots filled the air. Kevin, slow to respond, just managed to squirt through as the wave curled over his bow, misting him with its spray.

The rest of the set barreled through. Then, instead of heading farther out to fish, the kayak flotilla turned around and headed back perilously close to the break zone. Was it time to call it a day and land?

No, I was fishing with a group of crazies I’ve dubbed the Surf Matadors, kayak anglers who practice a daring dance of dodging the waves to fish the shallows.

Many kayak fishermen stick to the calm, sheltered waters of lakes and bays. Another set launches into the ocean from the beach, challenging the waves on the way in and out. The surf zone is a perilous place for kayak anglers, a graveyard of lost gear, not a neighborhood in which to linger. The Surf Matadors stand this logic on its head to play their game of chicken with the surf. The risk is real, so the payoff must be well worth the trade.

Come springtime, halibut congregate in the surf line off many sandy Southern California beaches. Many years see a second wave of the flatfish in the fall for a “false” spawn. When they are in on the beaches, find one and you’ve found a bunch. And where there are small “dinner plates,” chances are big ones twenty pounds and up are lurking too in just a few feet of water. At times, the halibut can be so tightly packed that it seems they carpet the sand. Some target the stacked-up fish with plastic swimbaits, or even crankbaits more often associated with freshwater bass fishing. These methods are readily available and easy to employ, but where halibut are concerned live bait is king.       

Only kayak anglers can easily employ live baitfish such as sardines or small mackerel in the chaos and uncertainty of the surf zone. The long casts and heavy weights associated with surf casting don’t mix well with live finbait. Besides, keeping the bait alive in an aerated bait well and dragging it up and down the beach is too much of a hassle for most shore pounders. Traditional boats are banned from coming in too close at many beaches. Anyhow, who’d want to risk putting a $30,000 sportfisher up on the sand? No, to get at these halibut you want a kayak. Nerves of steel are optional but helpful.

The first time I joined the Surf Matadors at their sport, I admit I was shy about teasing the breakers. Except for brief forays inside the impact zone, I stayed out in deeper and safer water. Then one of the guys who seemed to be floating about spitting distance from shore shouted those two magic words, “Hook up!” Unable to resist the call of the fish, I ventured in closer and closer, slowly building my confidence as I sensed the rhythm of the waves.

For 10 to 15 minutes at a time we fished our baits in tight, on light line and with only a 1/4 –ounce sinker to keep them on the bottom. Why not longer? Like clockwork, the sea would interject an interruption. Whenever a larger set of waves loomed on the horizon, the first to sense the danger would call out a warning. Then the game was on! Gear was hastily secured and paddles grabbed as each kayaker raced to meet the incoming swells before they could break.

Between the pell-mell rushes to safety, a bunch of smaller halibut were hooked and landed so we knew we were in the right place. I’d had several chances, but each time I’d failed to give the touchy halibut time enough to eat the bait. Understand, there is a certain urgency and anxiety to fishing within the surf zone, hence my haste. I resolved to change my luck. The next time my rod tip bumped up and down, I noted the movement with detachment and then tried to forget about it. I waited an eternity, and then some more, and finally when I thought the fish might have died of old age I put the reel in gear and drew the line tight.

Fish on! “That’s a good one,” shouted Keith as the fish pulled drag. I fought the fish doggedly, all the time hearing a “tick, tick, tick” in the back of my mind. The next set of big waves was due soon. A big brown head appeared out of the murk. It was a 20-pounder or better! I grabbed my gaff and hurriedly swung, but missed. I could feel that next set of boomers bearing down. I wound up to swing again, but as I rocked back the taut line pulled the beast’s head out of the water. No! That set off a frenzy of halibut thrashing, a predictable outcome that left me incoherent and fishless. Nerves of steel optional? Nope.