Back in the days (80s-90s) when the salmon were hitting at Pacifica the railings were lined with anglers and, I think, that's when/where I first heard the term Manila Mafia. It was best not to grab an end spot unless you knew what you were doing. Letting a salmon tangle a group of lines was definitely a no no.
The salmon, mostly king salmon, began to show up in the early ‘80s and reached a crescendo-shattering peak in the ‘90s when Pacifica became famous in the as the state’s number one producer of pier-caught salmon. During one weekend alone, July 8-9, 1995, over a thousand salmon were landed on the pier. In fact, July 8 may have seen as many as 1,000 salmon landed on that single day. After a while, most people gave up on trying to keep an accurate count of the fish (although regulars tend to agree that it was over 800 fish). So many fish were landed in fact that the Fish and Game deputies finally came out to the pier to check on the action. Most notable was the citation to one angler who had caught 17 salmon all by his lonesome self, a figure that is (if my math is correct) about 850% of the 2-fish limit.
When the salmon were running the pier was filled with anglers hell bent on catching one of the good-sized, good fighting, and good eating fish. In ‘95 the anglers would be joined by reporters and cameramen sent to film the frenzied scene. Almost all of the Bay Area television stations, and newspapers in and outside the state, had stories about the salmon being caught at the Pacifica Pier. Accompanying pictures showed large salmon being hauled onto the pier and anglers lined up elbow-to-elbow along the railing. In addition, some less-than-accurate articles appeared in fishing magazines.
A natural result of all this publicity was that more and more anglers flocked to the pier and it became even more crowded (especially in the coveted spot at the end—“Little Manila”). The crowding caused new problems including tangled lines, shortened tempers, occasional arguments, and a general thrashing of the pier. Although the pier had become famous for the salmon, many viewed the pier as a place to be avoided because of the crowds and the other problems experienced at the pier (one critic noting “garbage everywhere” and the “sickening smell of urine along the further reaches and L of the pier”). Most agreed the pier was a zoo during the prime salmon season and many saw little piscatorial pleasure in such surroundings. Eventually one angler gave it a new name — Pathetica Pier.
There were alternative views. One angler said, “All the negative aspects seem insignificant when anglers start to pull up salmon and stripers.” Another PFIC regular, thecrw, said, “I pose this rhetorical question: Is it Fanatical Fishing or a Hard Earned Fish? At first glance, the crowded pier and tangle lines may put many of us off from fishing for salmon at Pacifica. But, like banging around in a Mosh Pit, it could be fun for a select few. Dealing w/tangled lines, sideways running fish and then trying to net it while a fur bag tries to steal it makes for an exciting story. I haven’t participated in this mayhem, but hope to, just to say I was there.” The arguments raged on—as did the publicity.
Unfortunately, the picture presented by the media was a little misleading, at least if you are trying to tell the full story of a pier. But that was never the intent. If you’re going to make the evening news you need an exciting story — you need something to grab the viewer’s attention! A crowded pier filled with anglers jostling for space (or lamenting a lack of space), animated fishermen fighting fish, onlookers yelling advice in a half dozen languages, bloody trophy fish being hauled up to the pier, and crowds gawking in appreciation and jealousy presented that excitement. There was always an eager angler willing to show his or her fish and to present his or her story. Coming up on the 11 o’clock news—big crowds and big fish at Pacifica! It definitely was an exciting time at the pier.