January 4, 2019 — Dishes fly across the galley. Water gushes through the scuppers and onto the deck. Five crew members on the 17.5-meter commercial halibut boat Borealis Iwalk like drunkards, holding onto anything stable. “We’re going to get bounced around a bit,” Dave Boyes, the boat’s captain and owner, deadpans.
My day started at first light, about six hours ago, watching the crew let out 2,200 galvanized circle hooks laced with chunks of pollock, squid, and pink salmon to soak across 13 kilometers of ocean bottom. Then, we ate breakfast and rested in cramped, cluttered bunks while the boat bounced on 1.5-meter waves and—below, in the cold unseen depths—the hooks sunk deep into the lips of the predatory halibut.
Now, the crew readies for battle, cinching rubber rain gear and running crude gutting knives across electric sharpeners—a portent of the bloodshed to come. When Boyes toots the boat’s horn, it’s game on.
My love of halibut got me here—in Hecate Strait, off northern British Columbia—as did my disdain for the price. Salmon are held up as the iconic symbol of the Pacific Northwest, but the way I see it, halibut is king, offering superior flavor and texture. When I can afford it, I serve the white fish baked with a glaze of butter, mayonnaise, and whole grain Dijon mustard.
During a summer visit to my local fish shop—Mad Dog Crabs in the Cowichan Valley of Vancouver Island—fresh halibut fillets sold for CAN $6.38 per 100 grams, compared with $5.28 for sablefish and $3.74 for sockeye salmon. “It’s the prime rib of the sea,” explained fishmonger Scott Mahon, who fished commercially for over 20 years. “Better taste, better quality, and better shelf life.” Unlike the farmed salmon industry, halibut aquaculture remains a relatively nascent enterprise and does not offer a less-expensive alternative to consumers.