2 Harbors, 1 Day (Or 3 Casts, 4 Fish)
Three casts, four fish. That’s not a typo.
On that third cast with the Jigpara, I set the hook expecting another spotted bay bass.
Instead…
…it felt weird.
My first thought was that it’d picked up a wad of eelgrass. The fish—and what I assumed was the salad—started making their way toward the surface.
Except it wasn’t eelgrass. It was two spotted bay bass.
Both had eaten the same 10-gram Jigpara on the fall. I slid them onto my stripping apron where they just…
…stopped.
If you’ve ever caught a spotted bay bass, you know that’s not normal. Usually they’re bouncing around like they just snorted a line of pre-workout. These two had twisted themselves together so badly they couldn’t move. They just lay there staring at each other. I’m pretty sure they were both thinking,
“This is your fault, STUPID!”
I stood there trying to decide which one to unhook first while they silently blamed each other for the whole situation.
And strangely enough…
…that wasn’t even the best part of the day.
The Next Step
There are places you avoid for absolutely no good reason. For me, Newport Beach was one of them. Every time I’d pull it up on Google Earth, my brain would lock up. Miles of docks. Endless residential channels. Million-dollar waterfront homes.
Water.
Everywhere.
My OCD brain couldn’t divide it into manageable pieces, so I’d do what every fisherman does when they’re uncomfortable. I’d drive somewhere familiar. Funny how recovery sneaks into parts of your life when you least expect it. One thing I’ve learned over the past year is simple.
Don’t solve the whole problem. Just do the next right thing.
So instead of asking…
“How do I fish Newport?”
…I asked first…
“Where can I launch?”
Turns out Newport answered that question for me. There aren’t many places. Private property owns most of the shoreline, and sandy beaches inside the harbor are surprisingly scarce.
Perfect.
Decision made.
Once I got on the water, something happened almost immediately.
Relief.
Finally…
Structure. Real structure. Lots of structure.
After spending a lot of my time in the Unnamed Harbor, where you can kick forever looking at the same slips and dock configurations, Newport felt like someone had dumped an entire tackle catalog into the harbor.
Eelgrass. Rock. Sand. Outside docks. Inside docks. Boats. Current seams. Bait balls. Natural structure mixed with man-made structure.
My OCD brain was suddenly happy. The giant puzzle wasn’t one giant puzzle anymore. It was hundreds of little ones.
Plan A
Naturally, I ignored all of it and headed straight for the bait receiver because apparently I still believe every bait receiver comes with a complimentary National Geographic moment.
You know. Birds dive. Bait erupts. Bonito starts boiling. Some old pier rat casually hooks a 30-pound yellowtail while smoking a cigarette.
Reality?
A bunch of kayakers dragging around half-dead bait while private boaters politely shook their heads in disapproval, trying not to run them over. The only thing that looked impressive was The Wedge, pushing enough water to send spray over the East Jetty. Low tide at least let me see what would soon disappear underwater. I did manage a couple of smaller fish off current edges and natural drop-offs, but honestly…
I was hoping to get towed around by a bonito.
Apparently I’d gambled…
…and lost.
Plan A officially died.
Plan B
Outer docks. Main channel. Moving current. My type of deal. First cast resulted in a fish on the free rigged Megabass Rock Hog.
Next cast…
Another fish on the free-rigged Megabass Rock Hog.
Then another. The pattern repeated itself on nearly every outside dock I fished on the way back into the harbor.
I hadn’t caught a Newport spotted bay bass since 2012. I’m glad they’re still here, still doing spottie things.
On the kick out, I’d passed one particular boat tied along the outside of a dock that looked absolutely perfect for trying something I’d been putting off.
Light jigging.
Cheat Code
The funny part? I’d already owned the jigs. I’d just been using them wrong.Years ago I watched OG catching fish vertically on these little Jigparas while staring at Forward Facing Sonar. It looked like cheating.
About a month ago I finally dug mine out because all the Japanese harbor guys made them look like an absolute cheat code.
And of course, I “improved” them. I replaced the tiny factory treble with oversized Decoy Pike assist hooks.
Congratulations. I’d successfully taken a beautifully engineered Japanese jig, and turned it into a wet sock. No wonder it hadn’t caught a damn thing at the Unnamed Harbor.
This week I finally swapped the Decoys for a single inline Owner hook. Immediately the jig fluttered, instead of nose-diving, and shimmered all the way to the bottom.
“Okay…”
“You let it sink on slack line until it hits bottom…”
I kept hearing those hilarious Japanese YouTube dubs in my head.
“Then…you jig…and catch fish.”
The jig touched down.
Jig, jig, on slack line. I didn’t get to the 2nd jig before I got the THUNK.
Fish on, first cast.
“Shit…beginner’s luck.”
That bite is primitive. There isn’t any thinking involved. Cast. Drop. Jig. THUNK. Fish.
My second cast into the deeper part of the boat’s shadow produced another chunky spotted bay bass.
“Shit, this actually works.”
It reminded me of flipping tules. No overthinking. No wondering. Just reaction. Of course, you have to know WHICH tules to flip.
I kicked the float tube into the narrow gap between the dock and the boat. I pitched toward the piling. The jig never made it back to the bottom. Hookset.
Weird.
Heavy.
No more head shakes.
I figured I’d picked up another wad of eelgrass.
Then…Two spotted bay bass surfaced. Apparently neither one believed in sharing lunch. Three casts. Four fish. I don’t expect that to happen again anytime soon.
The Move In
After that I wandered into one of the smaller residential channels. Honestly… I wasn’t mentally there. Dock fishing is a completely different game. It’s slower. More methodical. Slack tide didn’t exactly help either. You have to believe every single dock deserves your attention. My brain was still stuck in “chuck and wind” mode. What I did notice was another angler catching fish right out in open water.
Now that’s something I need to figure out. How do you eliminate all that empty water?
I also started noticing how eelgrass positioned fish.
Just like Huntington, Newport has its own personality.
The docks are different. The seawalls are different. Even the current feels different. Every harbor has its own homework assignment.
Departure…Sort Of
Around two in the afternoon I loaded the float tube. Most people would’ve headed home.
I headed to Huntington Harbor.
Yep.
Two harbors.
One day.
See what an addictive Type A personality does? I’d already found a productive shoal the week before.
I launched, kicked over there, and spent the next couple of hours catching another dozen or so fish before heading home around five. I never even touched a dock.
Honestly, Huntington was just my excuse to let Friday traffic calm down.
Not a bad way to waste an afternoon.
Final Casts
By the time I got home, my back hurt, my thumb looked like it’d been sanding drywall, I had a blister forming on the bottom of my foot, and I think my big toe got stabbed by something at the Huntington launch ramp.
I’d do it all again tomorrow.
Because the biggest thing I caught that day wasn’t a spotted bay bass. It was confidence. For years I’d built Newport into this monster in my head. Too much water. Too many docks. Too many decisions.
Turns out…
You don’t have to fish Newport. You just have to fish your little piece of Newport one cast at a time.
When I was a kid playing ball, my mom used to tell me something before we’d play teams that looked twice our size.
“You don’t have to lift and carry them.”
I finally understand what she meant.
You don’t beat something big by trying to conquer all of it.
You break it into pieces.
One launch.
One channel.
One current seam.
One dock.
One cast.
That’s exactly how I learned to break down the Madison River in Montana during my fly fishing days.
It’s exactly how I learned Huntington Harbor.
And now…
It’s exactly how Newport stopped being intimidating.
Oh…
And I think light jigging just earned itself a permanent spot in the rotation.
Gear Spotlight
Rod: Shimano Zodias B ZDS73MPB (7’3″, Medium+, Fast, 5–10 lb)
Reel: Shimano Stradic 2500SHG
Main Line: Sunline Almight PE 1.0 (Pink)
Leader: Sunline Shooter 9 lb
Bait: Major Craft Jigpara Micro 10g – Live Kin Saba
