La Push boasts a new attitude and great fishing

By GREG JOHNSTON
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER

LA PUSH -- Massive schools of herring are rippling the rolling surface of the ocean on all sides of the boat, seabirds are plunging into them relentlessly from above, and what must be a horde of hungry chinook and coho salmon are attacking them from below.

On 20 or more boats spread out over about 500 acres of this living, breathing, pulsating food chain, anglers are grinnin' and hootin', bracing their knees against the rails, hanging onto poles and leaning into frenzied "kings" and "silvers."

		Karen Ducey / P-I
	A king salmon caught off the Washington coast near La Push.

It's crazy. Poles are bouncing with incredible frequency -- lower your flasher and "hootchie" into the drink and in minutes the tip is dancing.

"It's pretty incredible," says skipper Randy Lato, pausing between releasing undersize or unmarked salmon, netting keepers and rebaiting hooks with herring strips. "As far as you can see are bait (herring), birds and boats, and you know they're all catching. It can't get much better than this." [Note: Lato was misspelled in the original version of this article but has now been corrected.]

Some of these fish are unbelievable. Kings that sizzle out 50 feet of line, turn 180 degrees and slack-line you by racing straight for the boat, then careen into a 90-degree turn and blast toward the bow, turn again for the stern and then keep going.

"When one of those big guys takes hold, they take line," says the affable Lato, making a surprisingly realistic reel imitation, "Zzzzzz, zzzzz, zzzzz, zzzzz. You just hang on and let 'em go. If they turn on you and run for the boat, you've got to reel fast and keep on them."

It's a pretty spectacular introduction to salmon fishing out of the little Quileute Indian village of La Push on Washington's sea stack-studded north coast.

Anglers fled this traditional sportfishing port beginning in the late '70s as tensions simmered over tribal fishing rights, and seasons were cut back to protect weak salmon stocks. But lately La Push has experienced an angling revival. Salmon populations have rebounded to a great extent over the past few years, the fishing is usually good and the tribe is now encouraging tourism. The scenery is almost incomparable -- misty, rocky, primal and rich with wildlife And although people are rediscovering it, it's still lightly fished.

		Karen Ducey / P-I
	Kim Clark of the Tri-Cities reels in a salmon aboard the charter vessel Shelbie Tessa as her boyfriend Dave Bushey, also of the Tri-Cities, immortalizes the moment about six miles west of La Push.

"It's the jewel of the state," says Scott Barber, a Department of Fish and Wildlife biologist who collects catch data up and down the coast. "The tribe's put a new boat launch in, rebuilt the docks. It's more user-friendly. A few years ago you were hard-pressed to get gas there. Now you can get it every day."

A few charter boats operate from La Push now, welcomed by the tribe. Lato, whose father used to be a commercial salmon troller who ran out of La Push in the 1960s and '70s, operates All-Way Fishing Charters aboard his immaculate 26-foot Olympic. Anglers in private boats also are fishing La Push in increasing numbers, although despite the relatively sheltered passage to the ocean on the lee of James Island, it is big water where little boats and rusty buckets ought not venture.

Wind can howl here. Your nautical chops need to be sharp.

However, over the past three seasons, salmon fishing has been as good off La Push as anywhere on the coast, for both chinook and coho -- kings and silvers in angler parlance. In the old days it was known primarily for its silvers, and they still often average a pound or so larger than those caught elsewhere off Washington. But La Push now also is known for its king fishing, perhaps because with better navigational equipment such as Global Positioning System units and bigger, more reliable boats and motors, anglers are ranging farther these days.

Lato's biggest king in the three years he's been chartering from La Push was a 45-pounder, and he says most days during the prime of the season -- right now -- he'll score at least one over 20 pounds.

We catch enough kings and silvers the day we're out to define the word weary across our brows, but none more than 18 pounds.

The daily limit in the ocean is two salmon, only one of which may be a chinook and any coho kept must be a marked hatchery fish lacking an adipose fin. Also this year off the north coast, anglers may round out their limits with one additional pink salmon.

		Karen Ducey / P-I
	It's early morning on the Quileute Indian Reservation as skipper Randy Latos gets ready to ship out from the La Push Marina aboard the 26-foot Shelbie Tessa. After years of decline, sportfishing out of La Push is on the upswing, in part because of the tribe's focus on tourism.

But before we find this immense patch of herring and various critters consuming it, fishing is just average for La Push -- which is very good.

The first thing that impresses you about the place, however, is the scenery on the coast. La Push is at the mouth of the Quillayute River, sheltered by cliffy, tree-topped James Island, where long ago the Quileutes would mount their defense against raiding northern tribes, showering enemies from above with various articles of violence. "They never lost a battle," Lato says.

As you pull out along the islands, you see the sea stacks to the south known as the Quillayute Needles, standing in irregular rows like spooky stone sentinels. These provide habitat for sea lions, sea otters, puffins, auklets, murres, falcons, mussels, crabs, octopus and on and on and on -- this is a vitally important section of the Olympic Coast National Marine Sanctuary.

We run north 15 or so miles to a spot not far offshore where Lato had luck in previous days. In short order we're catching fish, including a white-bellied, marked 10-pound coho -- huge for early July -- that goes directly into the fish box, along with a 12-pound chinook.

Lato fishes with downriggers, which are winch devices that lower lead balls down on a cable, to which the line is affixed with a release device. When the salmon strikes, the line pops free of the cable. Terminal tackle is a plastic attractor or "flasher," and a leader with plastic squid and two size 4/0 hooks, spiked with herring filet, or "strip."

But out here, all salmon techniques work: herring whole or plug-cut, with flasher or dodger or not, trolled on a downrigger or simply "mooched" with a sinker of 4 to 6 ounces, even lead jigs.

		Karen Ducey / P-I
	A coho gives a final kick as it is hauled aboard.

After a couple of hours of good fishing, Lato gets a radio call from Admiralty Charters skipper Larry Williamson aboard the Scamp. He's found the horde up north, boating five kings in short order. We pick up lines and run, probably more than halfway to Neah Bay. We're several hundred yards short of the Scamp when Lato motors down and says, "Look at that!"

Herring "bait balls" are roiling all over the surface. We put our lines down and the melee begins.

"This is unreal,' says Dave Bushey from the Tri-Cities, one of our fishing partners for the day and a guy who has fished such famed salmon spots as Hakai Pass in Canada. "You don't get fishing like this very often, at least I don't."

Other critters are lurking in the brine, too. Bushey's girlfriend, Kim Clark, is playing a coho when her rod dips mightily. We look out to see the scimitar-shaped tail of a shark, probably a common blue of 6 or 7 feet. Shortly the rod goes limp, and Clark reels in all that's left, a coho head.

Usually Lato fishes closer to La Push, and there are plenty of spots. The most heavily fished is the Rockpile about 10 miles west of town, a submerged bank that collects baitfish and salmon. Many of the ledges closer to shore around the islands and sea stacks can produce kings, especially later in the season as the fish move toward the rivers. Any rip current offshore can hold coho.

Also, fishing for bottom fish such as halibut, rockfish and lingcod off La Push is as good as anywhere in Washington.

		Karen Ducey / P-I
	Shelbie Tessa skipper Randy Latos, left, gets into the action netting Dave Bushey's salmon.

Salmon fishing is not always this mind-blowing. But with a large ocean coho quota this year and a substantial chinook quota, it's likely the salmon season will run well into August, perhaps well into September -- when coho 12 to 16 pounds are common.

Plenty of time, you scheme in your mind, to get back this year.