Sharkathon by Kayak

     On a windy October day in 2013, a husky man with a reddish-blond beard paddled his kayak hard to overcome crashing waves, determined to deliver his cargo. He was 150 yards away from the beach; just another couple hundred yards and he could throw the chunk of fish, skewered on a giant hook and hanging haphazardly off the back of his vessel, into the water. But the next wave hit him unexpectedly hard, knocking him into the surf, and as his kayak flew backwards, the plastic-coated metal line flailed, wrapping around his neck. The sudden jerk of another wave compounded his situation, jabbing the tip of the great hook into his neck before burying it past the barb. Only sheer luck and the help of nearby fishermen saved his life, but rather than being airlifted to safety, he doggedly drove himself to Corpus Christi, had the hook removed at a hospital, and drove back to continue fishing in the biggest tournament of the year. For some people, Sharkathon is life. 

Sharkathon 2014

 

       Each fall, hundreds of anglers head to Padre Island National Seashore (also known as PINS) to compete in the largest shark fishing tournament in Texas. The following was supposed to be an epic account of my weekend at PINS, where I observe the beautiful wildlife, kayak-surf through killer waves, and battle massive sharks by rod and reel to win the $20,000 grand prize. Super fun tips along the way would explain the ins and outs of shark fishing from the beach, and how anyone can do it, providing an intriguing and educational read... Maybe next year.

Welcome to PINS

     While waiting in line to check in for Sharkathon on Friday morning, I overheard two sun-baked contestants with several missing teeth discussing last year's tournament. They spoke of the angler in the story above, who found himself wearing a rusty necklace after flipping his kayak in the surf. I looked out uneasily at the crashing white-capped waves and felt my stomach doing gymnastics. 

Passing some typical Sharkathon constituents....

     My job at Sharkathon has always been to kayak the baits out, often fighting heavy currents and pounding waves. The further out you can drop off a bait, the greater your chances of landing a prize shark. The key is to get past the sandbars, thin areas where the water is suddenly shallow, that divide the water into deeper and deeper guts. Sandbars can be identified by the breaking waves, or "breakers" that crash over them, with the first sandbar being pretty subtle and close to the shore, depending on the tide, and the second and third being further out and marked by larger waves. Beyond the breakers lies the promised land, where the sea is generally calmer and deeper, and large sharks roam.

    It took over 3 hours of driving, over rolling mounds of sand and wild grasses, to reach the 55-mile marker, beyond which the "road" appeared impassable. We had hoped to make it 60 miles to the rocky jetty that marks the endpoint of PINS and also protects the last mile or so from some of the seaweed, a shark fisherman's worst nightmare. But at least the spot we picked to camp and fish at was mostly weed-free, as opposed to the rest of the water we had passed on our way, although the waves appeared rougher here than they had been near the entrance...

"Do a Barrel Roll!"

 

    Over the next day and a half, I only made one successful run at dropping a bait. The following video summarizes every other attempt:

           Oh yeah, I finally got a GoPro to record video while paddling! It really doesn't capture the brutality of the waves, as on this particular trip, the problem had more to do with the power and number of waves as opposed to sheer height. (Frequency and Wavelength vs Amplitude if I remember physics class correctly)

Shark Bait #1

    At one point, the waves knocked my kayak into my friend's forehead while he steadied the vessel for me to jump in, opening a slit above his left eyebrow. It bled for quite a while, and I regretted not bringing sutures and Lidocaine with me from work like I had been considering. It could have been fun to do some wilderness first aid. Oh well, bandages and Neosporin would have to do. I had also been tossed into the water about ten times by now, and seaweed had crept in to tangle our line, so we knew our fishing spot had become obsolete.

Notice the two bird species. To the left, a flock of pelicans, aka a "pod". To the right, A Flock of Seagulls flies (so far away)

   Fed up with the conditions, we moved to the 60 mile marker on Saturday morning, day two of the tournament. The drive was rough, but we finally made it onto a large sandy platform right by the jetty. Unfortunately, the waves looked almost as violent here, but there was no seaweed, so we gave it a shot. The only other group that had made it this far still had their kayak tied atop their SUV, choosing instead to cast baits out as far as they could and catch whatever the first gut would offer between crashing waves. They looked on in disbelief and shook their heads as I began to paddle out, surviving the first set of breakers thanks to my friend giving me a good push.

Shark Bait #2, Skipjack (or Ladyfish, I can't tell the difference)

     Bait Drop Soup

 

     I paddled forward and aimed for a weak spot, where a large wave appeared split into two parts. The kayak bounced over with a thump before another wave smashed my face, but the vessel held steady. I was past the second sandbar, but the third loomed ahead. And beyond that, I could see that the waves were capped with white all the way to the horizon. There would be no calmness after the breakers.

    As the next set of waves pounded me, blinding my eyes with a salty spray, I wondered what my last thoughts would be if a hook skewered my neck. The kayak rocked sideways, but I got lucky with the timing and missed the worst of the wave. I was out about 300 yards from the beach now- far enough to catch a good shark. I continued forward, but panicked when 3 consecutive waves towered like mountains ahead. There was no going through, and I was seconds from getting thrown into the water. My brother could see this, and garbled something through the walkie-talke, but I already knew what to do. I yanked at the line, hurriedly dumping it all, followed by the weight, and finally, the fresh skipjack into the churning water just before a huge wave punched my kayak sideways and sent me somersaulting through the surf.

The sea rages

   When I got back, we celebrated our only successful bait drop and began to wait and hope a shark would join our party soon. I knew that in these conditions, it was a drop like this that could win the tournament, and wished that we had used a more durable bait, like a stingray. Sure enough, the skipjack got chewed up, probably by a pup shark that missed the hook, and only lasted an hour. By that time, it had started raining, the wind had picked up, and kayaking was no longer possible at all. The tide had also risen, and we began to worry that the sandy cliff we were parked on would collapse overnight if the weather became stormier.

     Survival Mode

     The wind nearly picked up our tent that night, so we crammed into the truck for shelter from the rain. Not only could we no longer fish, we couldn't even drive home early. We had driven too far and now we were stuck, and there was no way of knowing when the beach would become passable again. I couldn't believe we were stranded; what if we were stuck here for days? What if the tide roared up to the sand dunes in a storm surge, swallowing the truck, with us inside? 

Kayaking Tip #6: eat lots of fiber so you can stay regular while camping in the wilderness with no amenities....actually, no, cancel that tip

    I prepared to reprimand my friends, since I had voted to head home much earlier, but they were already ahead of me. "What kind of idiots do something like this?" my brother asked rhetorically. We all came to the realization that the kinds of people whose lives revolve around Sharkathon each year are probably not the kinds of people we wanted to emulate. There was a vast, wild world out there to explore, and I'd be happy to huddle in a tent, pounded by rain, if I was traversing a new country, backpacking through a mountain range, or floating hundreds of miles down a river. That was the whole point of starting a kayaking blog, to try new things, not get stranded in the same place with the same people, catching the same fish...

Proof that my team and I have actually caught sharks on previous trips. *Colors removed to indicate throwback nature of picture

      With no phone signal, and only enough gas to drive back, we wondered how to pass the time in the dark cabin of the truck. I snatched a bag of chips from my friend, "This is now a SURVIVAL situation, stop eating!" Sleep didn't come easy, and I remembered my waterproof journal, picking it up in hopes of writing something creative or doodling a fun comic.

Dear Diary Journal,

    Morning finally came. The rain had stopped and the tide was low enough to expose drivable sand, but waves smashed through the water harder than ever, and the surf was now brown with sand after the evening storm. Zooming past the 55 mile marker, we were relieved of our morbid ideas about dying at Sharkathon, and swore blood oaths never to come back. Well, until next year anyways, as long as the weather forecasts weren't awful again and we could build a safety latch to hold the hook inside the kayak. Twenty grand is twenty grand after all.


     For now though, I think I'd like to head inland to explore the next paddling trail. There are actually 58 left to go, since the TPWD added another one just the other day. Freshwater ho!