There are all kinds of signal flags that some ships use to denote different situations such as "diver below," "dangerous cargo" or "emergency on board. Send beer." After the last couple of months, I'm considering flying a few different pennants from my truck's aerial when I drive home from the Spit.

Does anyone know where I can get streamers designating "skunked," "seriously skunked" and "just shoot me"?

During the Winter King Derby, the only thing that paid any attention to the bait we were towing through the depths was kelp and that even stopped ensnarling itself on the line when it became more bored with us than we were stripping it off.

Actually, I was surprised that any fish were caught with the water being that cold. We had to bust ice just to get out of the harbor and that was after blasting hot air from a recorded Al Gore speech on global warming over the slip for two days.

Come to think of it, I'm amazed that some enterprising nutballs weren't at the boat launch trying sell carbon offset credits to the boat captains who were getting ready to lay down a layer of carbon dioxide that would eventually might melt the ice in a highball. But, that's another story.

Let's just say that the fishing was so bad that day a rumor ran through the derby fleet that PETA had salted the bay with bananas just before dawn. If you don't know about the banana legend, ask any charter captain if you can bring some aboard, then step back. His or her answer usually will melt glass and the only fishing you'll be doing is from the dock with a stick and some dental floss.

My fate stayed the same up to and during the day a bunch of us went out to tag halibut for the upcoming derby. I was fired up because in all of the years of participating in the event, I have never failed to bring home dinner. This year was no different except dinner was Mc Fish Fillet-N Fries.

Again, my luck sucked slightly more than the intake of an Air Bus Turbo Jet.

The only action I got was jigging the bait and cleaning the rain off of my glasses when the wind died down. Things were so slow that we started having illusions that we were watching the season change. I reeled up my herring three times just to change the direction it was facing. Seagulls following the boat considered us such losers they took off for other boats leaving one scout behind in case something happened. It fell asleep and was last seen drifting toward Asia.

I must admit that one thing went right. I met a couple that had a fantastic sense of humor and toughed it out on the bow with me for the entire day. Their fortune wasn't any better than mine except he did nail an incredibly ugly bottom dweller and a cod so small the weight had it pinned to the bottom until he reeled in to check his bait. She also caught a mutant creature several times although I don't think that it was entirely my fault that I got tangled in her line.

If it hadn't been for those two, I would have probably tied some life preservers to my feet and tried to walk home. I'm talking a serious dearth of fish, folks. We had around 15 taggers on board and when I looked down the rail later in the day, all I saw were poles in the holders. I figured they had either caught a ride with a passing freighter or were inside the cabin trying to warm up. I was temporarily impressed to spot two stalwart gentlemen still manning their gear until I realized they were frozen to the rail.

Anyway, to sum things up 100 money fish were targeted to be tagged. Sixty of those flats are worth $500, 34 will bring you $1,000, and six are worth 10 grand. I'd like to tell you where they are but since I didn't do squat I'm going to sulk and keep the spot where I dropped dye into the water a secret. Besides, I like the idea that the $10,000 fish are going to be available all though the derby and not just on a monthly basis.

And, I can nail down 10 derby fishing days for $75 this year. Hell, at that price, even Wild Willie can afford to drop a line more often but it still won't help much until he changes the name of his boat. Fisherpersonages rely on each other for info on where the fish are biting but who's going to answer a call from The Dip Ship? The guy will never learn.

When he's not out getting skunked, Nick C. Varney can be reached at ncvarney@gmail.com.