She now rests on her side, sixty feet or so (depending on the tide) below the surface of the Adolphus channel. A wealth of structure, that most important of features nearly all anglers spend their time searching for, the Quetta has become home, apparently, to a galaxy of stonkers that hardcore gear anglers love to tangle with.
I say apparently, because no one seems capable of actually landing a fish after dropping a line down on the Quetta.
If a recent stop there is any indication of what you can expect, it seems unlikely the reputation of the Quetta will change any time soon. Three baited hooks went over the gunwales of a sportfishing boat transporting anglers to Adolphus Island. In rapid succession, all three baits were eaten, anglers wrestled mightily with their rods, each one bent into its handle, and then all three lines went slack.
The three anglers looked helplessly at one another.
What just happened?
The skipper, Kris Tindale, shrugged his thick shoulders.
“Nobody can really say. That’s just what happens when you drop down on the Quetta.”
Late in life, Gray’s angling editor Scott Sadil finds himself growing more and more interested in fishing for fish that some say can’t be caught with rod, reel and, especially, flies.