Erik and I have been great friends and fishing buddies since we were in our early teens. Year before last we bought fishing kayaks.  The last time we fished the mouth of the Petaluma River, where it flows into San Pablo Bay, was about three weeks ago.  Neither of us had anything even resembling the slightest hint of a tiny nibble all day long.  The tides had been huge, sending brown, muddy water rushing up and back from the bay.  The rains up to that point had been negligible.  We hoped last week’s heavy storms might have done the trick to wake up the sturgeon and send them and striped bass up river.

After I stopped to get some live ghost shrimp and a couple of live mudsuckers for bait, we met at 8:30 at the boat launch under the Highway 37 overpass.  It was low tide, so we could fish all of the incoming tide and some of the outgoing.  We had our kayaks in the water in ten minutes.  While a lot of rain had fallen, the water was a deep green.

We headed east three tenths of a mile, to just off the upstream side of the railroad trestle across the river, then dropped anchor.  The anchors held against the strong tide, pointing us upstream.  We cast out, hooks baited with ghost shrimp and held to the bottom with a sliding six ounce weight.  Fortunately, the red and Dungeness crab had not yet appeared this far up the bay, so our bait remained unmolested and alluringly available.  We leaned our rods on the PVC pipe rod-holders Erik had designed, so they would hold still while we waited for the gentle pulls of sturgeon or the quick hits of stripers.

Before long we were both getting hits from small striped bass, as schools moved up river.  I hooked and landed a striper, 16 inches and too small to keep.  But things were already looking much better than our last attempt.

Throughout the morning we heard splashes behind us, around the railroad trestle, but thought they were probably waves slapping against the pilings as the tide rushed through.  When the small striper bites diminished and the tide got close to high, I decided to head to the other side of the railroad trestle.  Bass often like to hide out under the trestle, facing into the current, lying in wait for food to swim by.  My plan was to move slowly along that side of the trestle, drifting a live mudsucker along the bottom on my light action rod, in hopes a striper would dart out and grab it as it passed by.

But as soon as I rounded the corner of the railroad trestle, I realized the splashing we’d been hearing was actually striped bass violently striking bait right on the surface.  There were swirls and tail slaps large and small all around me.  I quickly removed my weight and started casting the mudsucker to the swirls.  I thought a lure might be better, and while I paused to think which one to use – with my mudsucker swimming around on the surface two feet from my kayak – a striper helped himself to it with a fast, strong tug, managing to avoid the hook.

Quickly, I put on a 4-inch white fluke swimbait attached to a very large hook, with no weight.  Maneuvering my kayak so the current wouldn’t push it under the railroad trestle, I started sight casting to the swirls, letting it sink only slightly, then twitching it back just under the surface.  On the second cast, a nice striper hit it hard and started pulling out line, darting this way and that, and sharply bending my light rod.  Pulling it into my kayak, it was about 22 inches long and later weighed in at 4 ½ pounds.  A keeper, I gave it a quick knock on the head so it wouldn’t spike me with the long, sharp spines on its dorsal fins.  I do, eventually, learn from my mistakes.  No time for putting it on a stringer because the feeding frenzy on the surface was continuing, but could stop any minute; I kept casting to the swirls and maneuvering my kayak against the slowing tide.  I wished I’d brought my fly rod, knowing the stripers would have hammered big bright streamers.

I had many strikes and lost a couple before I caught another 16 incher, then landed a 20 inch keeper.  I thought I could pin this one against the side of my kayak with my leg, so I didn’t take the time to dispatch it, and kept on casting.  A few minutes later, the fish executed a beautiful leap straight up and out of the kayak and back into the river as I watched helplessly.  I had to admire his survival instinct and laugh.  Already having a fish big enough for dinner made it easier to be magnanimous.

As soon as the tide started running in the opposite direction, the surface feeding came to a screeching halt.  I moved around to the other side of the railroad trestle, hoping the bass had just taken their show on the road so they could again face into the current.  It was quiet at first, but soon the surface feeding resumed.  I lost a couple in the fast moving current of the very large outgoing tide, and had trouble with snags on the trestle and in keeping myself from being pushed into the pilings.

After a while Erik gave the signal it was time to head back.  In twenty minutes we were back ashore, stowing our kayaks and gear, in high spirits after a fine day on the river.  With more rain – expected this week – sturgeon as big as 10 feet long should start moving up and down the river with the tides.  Erik and I will be there to greet them.