A Photo Journal of the Silver Anniversary of Boys' Weekend

(Special thanks and credit to my old friend, Dr. Joel Schmutz, who took the majority of these photos.)

Wow.  25 years.  We're old.  Twenty-five years of doing the same thing every November.  We must be crazy.  Or addicted.  I choose to go with the latter.  We also are nothing but a bunch of friends/family who enjoy being with each other.  And while the premise of our weekend might be getting a line wet, the promise of the weekend is a great time of being with guys you love.  And GREAT FOOD!  On to the report.

The "Weekend" started Tuesday evening when Ted and Joel showed up -- Ted from Devon, PA, Joel from Anchorage, AK.  As I know that Joel NEVER gets to eat salmon, (joke) I had hickory smoked sockeye with a pecan and raspberry honey mustard glaze, waiting for dinner, with a nice Russian River Pinot Noir.  Parke joined us for dinner, and it was a fine start to the festivities.  Then, we got our rods and prepped them for the next several days' worth of activities.

The next morning, we got up and went off for a little kayak fishing before a serious weather front was supposed to move in.  The wind was going to pick up, but as the tide was coming in, hopefully we'd be okay for a couple hours.  We got out on the water and the fishing began.  Long story short:  over the next couple hours the only thing caught was a 12" speckled trout by Ted.  Still, it was his first speck ever.  But knowing we were going to need some dinner, we looked down into the shallows and saw no shortage of beautiful oysters.  We picked up just enough for a good appetizer, and paddled to shore as the winds picked up.

Ted and me casting for trout or rockfish in a tributary of the Nansemond.  No luck this time, but at least we got to enjoy some oysters for dinner.  So we did have seafood two nights in a row.

A trip to Bass Pro Shop for a 9' heaver rod, then Dick's Sporting Goods for a reel, and we were set to head home as the winds picked up more.  But the rain held off -- at least, for now.

I put some charcoal on the grill, got the coals ready, then we enjoyed some fresh steamed oysters with butter, hotsauce and cocktail sauce.  Delicious.  And with a couple of beers, I was reminded of Jimmy Buffett's song, "Tin Cup Chalice".  "Give me oysters and beer, for dinner every day of the year, and I'll be fine."  We were fine.  We went inside, finished working on our gear and got packed.  It was a good day.

"Tin cup Chalice" and "Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season" are two awesome songs on Jimmy Buffett's old album, A-1-A.  You don't have to be a Parrothead to appreciate them.

Early the next morning, the weather was miserable.  In the rain and wind, we loaded up Ted's Expedition (the 4WD worked now -- we hoped) and hit the road.  A couple hours later we were down at Mike's cottage, where Jeff was already waiting for us, having arrived the night before to prepare the food.  And "prepare the food", he did.  Boy were we in for a treat this weekend!  Jerry was right behind us, and Mark arrived shortly after that.  Finally, Mike rolled in.  Let the weekend begin!

We stopped by TW's, picked up bait, and hit the beach at Oregon Inlet.  It was windy, but the rain had finally come to an end.  It was supposed to clear off, but be cold that night and the next day.  While the water had been clear and perfect the last few days for trout, it was now muddy and choppy.  We could only hope it wasn't too muddy for bait fish -- and puppy drum.  I wasn't holding my breath.

Now last year when we were down on Hatteras, there was "Percy the pelican", who was so used to being around people that we could hand feed him.  Well, apparently Percy is not alone.  It wasn't long before another pelican came walking up to us on Oregon Inlet, for a snack.  We named him Pavlov, because he was so well educated he would drool and walk up to us every time we walked over and opened one of our coolers.  Unfortunately for him, we were hitting the beer cooler harder than the bait cooler.  Still, he stuck around for a while.  But this bird did please our resident ornithologist, Dr. Joel.

Joel and Pavlov both had to squint to keep the whipping sand from getting in their eyes.  We all got exfoliated quite nicely on Thursday from the sand.  I found it in my ears later, too.

Then, while talking to some of the other guys, my rod wiggled while it was sitting in my sand spike.  Fortunately, Jeff was standing right by it to make sure the fish was still on.  It was.  Fish ON!  I got the rod and had a nice fight on hand.  I wasn't sure it was a drum until it went on a couple of runs, taking drag.  But having watched Mike last month fight a skate, while thinking it might be a striper, I wasn't saying a thing.

Fighting my first fish with my new StingRay Tackle Heavy Hooker rod, I wasn't sure how big it was, as I had nothing to gauge it by.  All I knew so far, was that the rod could handle whatever it was.

Finally after one last run, the fish was in the surf.  Fortunately, my big brother Ted (who always feels compelled to run over and help whenever I catch a nice fish -- Cayuga Lake 8lb. lake trout anyone?  My first big striped bass down on Hatteras out on the shoals?  Just to name a couple....) came over and grabbed the fish (after I had already beached it.)   It was safe....  And it was a nice redfish!  Yeah!

What would I do without my big brother, who catches the fish I catch....

A quick measurement showed it was a 33" redfish -- a "Yearling".  It was a personal best for me, and the biggest drum any of us had ever seen or heard of caught recently at Oregon Inlet.  The "Red Team" was on the board and took the lead.  Then I nursed it back to health in the shallows, and watched it swim away in the waves.

The afternoon wore on, and we realized that it was not going to be a day where we catch fish after fish, like we did two years ago.  So we enjoyed catching up, talking, and having a beer or two.

Jerry, Mark, me and Hannibal Lector, all catching up on what's going on in our lives -- while we wait for another rod to bend and wiggle.

Wait, that's not Hannibal Lector sampling his "Chiaannti and fava beans", but Jeff with a beer.  But, boy was it cold.

See, there is a difference.  The real Hannibal wasn't freezing his @$$ off.

But just before the sun went down, Ted's rod wiggled.  And he brought in a dogfish.  You know it's a slow day when I mention that Ted caught a dogfish.

The last fish of the day finished our "Dog Day Afternoon" of my 1 red drum, and a few dogfish.

Sunset at Oregon Inlet on Thursday was beautiful.  Shortly after dark, it was time to go home and make dinner.

The day complete, we packed up and went back to the cottage.  There, Mark had waiting for us, several nice bourbons for us to sample.  It was  a great way to end a day, except for the awesome meal Jeff prepared for us.  We may not catch fish, but we sure do eat well! 

Mark wasn't so sure after all that he wanted to share the Rare Breed bourbon.  But he was "busted" pocketing it, and had to share it, after all.  It was the first bottle emptied.

Okay, they weren't ALL bourbons that we sampled.  The 15 year old Glenlivet and the 1800 tequila were a nice change from the bourbon.  Don't worry, nobody made it through more than three a night.

Dinner was a Brazilian pork loin, closely shaved with herbs and spices, rice and beans and a nice California red blend wine.  Then it was back to the bourbon and a football game on television... I think.

The next morning after a stop to get coffee and breakfast, it was back down to Oregon Inlet.  The pirate flag was raised, and we hoped there were still some fish in the area.  The water was mud brown.  Still, we cast, and we waited.

Our flag was really whipping in the wind.  In fact, it was making so much noise that it got annoying after a while, and we had to lower it just to have a little peace and quiet.

The most exercise Jerry did was this cast early Friday morning.  Then, I think, he slept and consumed the rest of the weekend.  (Not really Heather, that's a joke.)

 The southside of Oregon Inlet was literally covered with hundreds of thousands of cormorants and other various sea birds, that came in a continuous skein, lasting several minutes.  It was quite a sight to see.

Just a few of the thousands of cormorants and sea birds we saw flying to and fro on Friday around Oregon Inlet.  I'm glad we didn't have to count them....

Of course, now that we had settled in for a few moments, Pavlov came flying back in, like a C5 Cargo plane, landing on the beach for another hand-out.

Pavlov comes in for a landing, looking to refuel on fish heads....

The USAF C5 Galaxy, which Joel and Ted would have passed in Dover, DE, on their drive down,  is impressive to see in the air, just like a pelican.  It can hold a great deal of freight, and still fly.  The pelican is quite impressive, too, with what it can hold and swallow....  Stay tuned.  More pelican adventures are to follow.

Pavlov was as well trained as any dog, but we couldn't get him to roll over and play dead.

After Ted had scared him off once, Pavlov was looking for a way to get even....  A peck on the butt, perhaps???

As we stayed on the beach for a while, however, we realized that there was nothing happening here.  So we moved to the channel of Oregon Inlet to see if that was any better.  It was beautiful, as the sun was out now; but it was still cold.  Unlike last year, however, we couldn't cast all the way to the high rise part of the Bonner Bridge.  Hurricane Irene had completely rearranged the sands.  The channel looked good, however, but between the current and the grass, our 8 oz. weights couldn't hold bottom.  80 oz. might have worked.

Is Joel bringing a Blue Marlin?  No, just fighting the current and grass, as he's reeling in.  It was time to move on, again.

Just like last year, Oregon Inlet and the channel were unfishable because of grass.  So we moved to Coquina beach, hoping like last year that water was clean of grass.  It was.  But the fishing was still slow.  Real slow.

The fishing was slow, and Jerry was tired.  after all, he actually cast his rod once....  But at least he wasn't snoring.

The lunch Jeff prepared for all of us consisted of massive Cuban subs, well over a foot long.  They were as huge as they were delicious.  And we ate every last bit.  No seabirds got any part of those babies....

The beach at Coquina is narrow in places, but it's scalloped with holes and sloughs in the surf, if you know what you're looking for.  But no fish were to be found today.  Having said that, when you looked down from one of the dunes, I must admit if I was a Ford Motor Company executive, I would have been very pleased with what I saw.  Every vehicle we had on the beach there, was a Ford SUV or Pick up.

Coquina beach was like a Ford commercial this afternoon.  But the fish were camera shy, and stayed away.

Looking for something to do, I found eight equal sized clam shells, dug two holes in the sand about a foot across and 30 feet apart.  Then I drew a four foot circle around each hole, and I challenged Jeff to a game of shell cornhole.  And the son of a biscuit beat me at my own game!  Well, I'll take him on in real cornhole one day.

You don't need to drag your corn hole game to the beach.  Just do what I did.  It's just as fun, and plays the same way.  And you leave it behind when you're finished.  There's no clean up involved....

Knowing that Parke was coming down later that day, and knowing that tomorrow would be a long day down at the Point in Buxton, we called it an early day Friday, and were home before dark.  We cleaned out the cars, and prepared our equipment for the next day.  Then we prepared another tremendous meal, as we waited for Parke to join us.

Appetizers were steamed Chincoteague oysters, sprinkled with shaved gruyere cheese on top and a jalapeno pepper slice.  It was certainly not the way I'd ever prepared them before, but it was delicious!  Then for dinner we had a massive Prime Rib, seasoned perfectly, and grilled to perfection with some Cabernet Sauvignon.  Man, we eat well on this trip.  Parke made it just in time for dinner, and we feasted.

Then Mark had to go.  AND IT WAS THE SECOND YEAR IN A ROW WHERE HE WAS SKUNKED.  (We thought the boy knew how to fish, but apparently he has forgotten how, and was too embarrassed to stick around for any more humiliation.)

After Mark left,  it was time for another round of the bourbon tastings, and football, then an early bedtime.

The next morning we were awake by 4:45 and on the road heading south to Hatteras as soon as we could get everyone up and at 'em.  It still was after sunrise by the time we reached the Point, but the day was going to be beautiful -- sunny and warmer.  We were ready for some warmth!

It wasn't long before we hooked up with fish... Unfortunately, they were dogfish.  But Mike caught a big one.  It's just a shame they don't count for "points" for the teams.

If you could get a citation for a dogfish, this one may qualify.  Still, it was NO POINTS for the Blue Team.

Early on, sharks were the word for the day.  Parke walked down to the Point itself, and caught this impressive little "biter" that put up a nice fight.

Biters actually should count for points.  Because they fight well, and can take a finger off.  And they're pretty.  Shortly after Parke caught this, we looked to the west side of the Point, where 10 years earlier we had seen a 9 foot bull shark, and saw something amazing....

As we fished the Point, I glanced to the west and saw a massive fin and tail about 4+ feet apart.  A shark was cruising the Point.  I looked again, and Parke said, "That's a Hammerhead."  He was right, even though we couldn't see it's distinctive shaped head.  Parke has watched plenty of nature programs, too, and could identify it from its unique dorsal fin and tail shape.  We watched this fish swimming south, and then noticed a young man with a massive rod and reel walking to the Point.  His line extended to the surf, and to the shark.  He had hooked this shark a mile down the beach, and it was working its way here.  (Earlier we had seen a guy go out in a kayak towards the western side of the Point.  Now we knew why... he had paddled the bait - probably a tuna head -out into the "hook" of the Point, and the hammerhead had taken the bait.)

We watched in amazement, as he fought this fish that had to weigh a few hundred pounds, and then "snap", his line broke.  He was upset and walked away, but the shark took its time in the surf for the next several minutes, regaining its strength and energy before swimming off into the deep again.  It was quite a sight to see.  One I won't forget anytime soon.

The long, laid back tail is a dead giveaway for a hammerhead, if you're not able to see the distinct head.  It was an impressive fish, and I was happy to see it swim away safely.

Meanwhile, after a busy night cooking, Jeff was ready to do what he wanted to do....  Catch up on some sleep.  He deserved it for the past couple of dinners.

A warm day.  A comfortable chair.  And no agenda or schedule.  It's nice to have nothing to do at the moment on BW.  Sleep well, Jeff, you earned it with those gourmet meals....

The Point was slow, with just a few fish, but we did see one guy catch THREE puppy drum.  Nobody else but him.  We were all casting to the same spot, but only he had the "magic joojoo" on his bait.  Sometimes it doesn't seem fair, but having been "that guy" on a few occasions, myself, I understand skill doesn't have anything to do with it.  And we all certainly know that Mike has been "that guy" on a few occasions, himself.

It seems there is always a hazard on the Point that snags your hook and breaks your line.  Once you learn where it is, you just don't cast exactly there again.  But when I watched one guy lose a couple rigs in a row to the same spot, I leaned over to Parke and told him that the definition of stupid is doing the same thing again and again, and expecting a different result.  Apparently I didn't say it quietly enough, because the guy on the other side of my heard me, and started laughing, having witnessed the same thing.  Sure enough, on my next cast, I caught the snag and lost my rig.  But only the one time....

A slalom course of heavers marked the tide line of the beach, as Ted weaved his way through the graphite forest to cast his own rod into the mix just north of the Point.

Among the fishermen, Parke was at the Point, having success landing bluefish on almost every cast.  He's the 3rd from the left, enjoying being among the men of BW and the Point.... earning some "cred" as he was at least catching fish, and there were plenty that weren't.

As the day progressed, the Point filled up with more trucks.  But still, because bait was scarce at the tackle shops, there weren't that many trucks.  There have been years when it looks like an SUV parking lot with hundreds of vehicles.

Of course, no day at Cape Point is complete, unless you take a photo of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse.  Maybe they should paint it red and white at Christmas, like a candy cane.

Parke with one of the dozen or more blues he caught at the Point.

While fishing at the Point was fun, it was worth it to walk back to the truck, because Jeff had arisen and was now preparing beef brisket subs with cole slaw.  And all I can say, is that I have never had a better sandwich on the beach.  It was outstanding, and definitely filled us up.  Did I mention I had lost 10 pounds before this weekend?  I think I gained back 5 by Saturday afternoon.

Two generations enjoying the beauty of the Point... and it was only going to get more beautiful.  And I'm not talking about the fishing.  But that place is just an awesome place to witness God's glory and creation.

Of course, I would be negligent if I didn't mention that not only was Percy still hanging out at the Point, but now he had an older friend hanging with him.  A beautiful white-headed one that also had learned his tricks.

Percy's friend had learned his tricks, and was also quite adept at catching fish heads.

Percy and his friend had the same trick mastered as Pavlov had.  Catching hand tossed fish heads and tails.

They could even do a "double" together.

Well, Percy got picky, and didn't like this piece I dropped.  I guess they eat too well there at the Point.

Of course, after everyone was well fed on brisket or fish heads, it was time for a good smoke. 

Of course Jeff and Jerry were doing what they do best.  And that's NOT catching fish....

As the sun began to set, a few more fishermen wandered down to the Point.  Parke, Joel, Ted and I were among them.  The "Blue Team" was content sitting and drinking.

Of course, if the size of the fish caught is shrinking, then maybe sitting isn't a bad thing...  Here's Parke doing his Mike Jackson imitation from Fenwick.  But this blue was much bigger than Mike's.

A beautiful shot of the sun setting, while I'm bringing in yet, another taylor bluefish.

Sunset at the Point.  One of the few places on the East Coast where you can watch the sun rise and set over the ocean.  Simply beautiful.

Me, Parke and Ted at the Point with our new rods and a couple of taylor blues, as we watched the sun set.  After dark it would get interesting....

Fishermen lined up at the Point after the sun has gone down.  The only thing missing were the big drum

From the East side to the South, to the West side, the fishermen were waiting for a bite.  There are days and nights when the drum are running, that the fishermen are shoulder to shoulder, forming a "conga line".  This was not one of them.

I went back to the trucks only to realize that Jerry had awakened! 

After it was dark, it was time for the fire.  We all sat around, sharing stories and laughing.  Good ol' male bonding at its finest.

After a nice, relaxing time around the fire, under an amazing sky filled with stars so thick you could see the Milky Way,

No, the other one.

To see the Milky Way with no ambient light around, is amazing.  Add to it the remnants of the Leonid meteor showers, which had peaked a couple nights earlier, and it was hard NOT to keep your eyes on the heavens in awe.

Then Ted and I decided to take one last walk down to the Point to see if anything was going on.  Some other fishermen followed behind us, and within two minutes one of them had brought in a nice 25" puppy drum.  Otherwise there was nobody else at all on the entire Point.  Amazing.

Ted and I walked back to the group and told them what we saw.  We all rigged up and went down to the Point.  As did a parade of cars and other fishermen.  By the time we were in the water, there were well over a dozen guys fishing down there.  It's amazing how quickly other fishermen smell when fish might be around....

Having said that, while we were fishing, Parke and I were admiring the constellations around us.  Orion awoke and rose from his slumber under the ocean to the east, while Cassiopeia was directly overhead.  Then Parke pointed out some of the constellations he knew, and confirmed them with his I-Phone sky app.  It was quite an impressive sky.

Parke shared with me how Orion killed Taurus the bull.

How the "ancients" ever saw a queen on a throne, by what I see as a "lazy 'w'" simply amazes me.  But I guess when smoking funny weeds was legal, and there was no television, the imagination really took over, and their tales grew.

Just as Parke had impressed me with his knowledge of astronomy, I went in the other direction and bent down in the shallow surf, and splashed my hand through the sand and water.  It lit up instantly with phosphorescence.  I showed Parke the "sparkle" of life, and explained to him how it was animals, plankton, that have a similar substance in them, like fireflies, that lights up when they are disturbed.  He was amazed.  It was impressive how the puddles lit up with a shake of my hand.

While the bioluminescence that we saw wasn't this bright, it was impressive, none-the-less.  And it was something Parke was not aware of--even though he's spent his whole life going to the ocean.  I was glad to share a neat first moment with him.  From the microscope to the telescope, the Point was a testimony to God's grand creation.  And it was all beautiful.

Finally, after a few more bluefish, we realized that the one redfish must have been a fluke.  We wrapped it up, and made the LOONNNGGGG trek home.  Fortunately we all stayed awake long enough to make it back to the cottage safely, then we crashed... into chairs, while Parke crashed in bed.  The rest of us turned on SNL, and watched Ted's crush, Florence and the Machine, do their new song.  Then after Weekend Update, I hit the hay, too.  I was exhausted.  It had been a long, but memorable day -- not so much for the fishing, as much as the beauty of the day.
Florence & the Machine, SNL performance of Shake It Out

"A beautiful redheaded 6 foot Amazon", Ted called her, with an amazing voice.

The next morning we all slept in.  It was after sunrise when we awoke and hit 7-11 on our way to Oregon Inlet.  Cormorants had taken over Oregon Inlet, with thousands all over the sand.  But if they hadn't been there, we still couldn't fish there, as the grass was everywhere.  We went straight to Coquina and set up shop.  It was going to be a hot day.  And before it was done, we'd be down to short sleeves and even shorts.  What a contrast to Thursday and Friday.

Needing some fresh bait, Parke put on my waders, grabbed my casting net, and showed off his fine form throwing a net -- unfortunately, there were no baitfish or finger mullet around.

A perfectly thrown casting net yielded no bait fish, as the waters were completely empty of life at the moment.  Still, he looked good doing it.

After a while on Coquina, it wasn't long before Pavlov found us again, and wanted some breakfast.  Having kept a dogfish the day before, (as we had planned on trying a recipe of Mike's that never occurred, since we stayed so late the night before), we took it out of the cooler and Pavlov immediately came over wagging his tail and drooled.  As it was too big to take whole, Ted cut off a small section, and then fed the rest to the pelican.  He took it happily, and showed off his impressive beak's ability to hold a large fish.  I wondered if he needed Rolaids, but he was just content to keep it in his pouch for a while-- kind of like Jerry used to do with his massive wad of Skoal (before he quit that nasty habit, Heather.)

Pavlov realized he needed to adjust his breakfast and get it going the right way.  But first he decided to suck on it for a while.

Pavlov must have carried around the dogfish in his pouch for 20 minutes or more, before woofing it down, and then flying off somewhere... and we never saw him again.  We hoped it wasn't to die of indigestion.  But if it was, Ted said, he was thankful he didn't keel over right there in front of us.

While it was a beautiful day, and we gave it our best efforts, there was nothing to catch, as there was nothing but one pod after another of dolphins swimming, splashing, jumping and surfing in the waves.  But the only fish we saw were a few small bait fish close in the surf -- after Parke put the casting net away, and we had bought more bait. 

It wasn't for lack of effort that we didn't catch fish.  But eventually you have to realize it is a wasted effort.

When the fishing wasn't there, we all just chilled and enjoyed the beautiful day.

While we didn't fish until the cows came home, we did fish well after the horses came by.  But then we'd had enough and reluctantly pulled up our lines.

When we got back to the "Reel Family" cottage, we cleaned the trucks, the cottage, and our equipment.  Then we all embraced and parted ways, already talking about the next year -- and the next 25 years.

So the 25th Boys Weekend was over.  And while it wasn't a bonanza of fishing success, we've certainly had worse.  And perhaps Ted said it best when he said, "If we only came for the fishing, this would have died out a long time ago."  But we enjoy being with each other, and catching anything is really just a bonus.  And that's why we look forward to the next quarter century, and the continuation of the next generation joining us when they can.  It really is the best way I know to catch up with all my "bro's" and spend some serious quality time with each and every one of them.

So, with that said, the RED TEAM kicked the Blue Team's butt.  Parke was the Runner Up Master Angler, and I was the Angler of the weekend, primarily for that first and only redfish.  The Worst Fisherman of the weekend -- for the third year in a row was Mark.  He's been skunked two years in a row, and only caught a couple fish on Sunday the year before.  Maybe he should stick around a little longer. (Hint, hint.)

Until next time, I love you guys!  Thanks for making this and every year so special -- regardless of our success.  You all mean the world to me.

Fish ON!



Post Script:
Ted and Joel left early Monday morning.  Early Tuesday morning I had the opportunity to go kayak fishing for an hour.  My first cast in the channel where I had taken Ted and Joel, I caught this beautiful striper.  It was 27.25" long and weighed 9 lbs. 5 oz.  It was the second largest striper I've caught there, and the third largest I've caught in a kayak.  It gave me a wonderful Nantucket Sleigh Ride, and was almost too big for my net.  It figures that he wasn't around just a few days earlier, when Ted or Joel could have had a chance to catch him.  Oh well, I guess that's the sign that Boys' Weekend is over -- when everybody is gone, and we locals start catching fish again.  I guess that's the advantage of living in God's Country.

This beauty was the biggest striper we've caught in our section of the river this year.  I'm just glad I had the chance to get out there for an hour.  He'll be a delicious dinner for several hungry people.  

Making the Most of Your "Dash": A Tribute Post to Help Keep It All in Perspective

The last few months have been sobering in many ways, to me.  First of all, with the tenth anniversary of 9/11, we were all reminded of just how quickly our nation, and our lives could change -- and end.  CBS again aired their excellent documentary filmed by two French brothers who happened to be filming the daily life of a new firefighter in New York.  The film really brought home the reality of that morning in New York, and how one Fire Department handled the chaos and disaster with bravery and duty to their mission.  The updated epilogue at the end, where they interviewed several of the surviving firemen today, really showed how much their lives -- and all of our lives -- are so different today.  Another news show about those that bravely died on United Flight 93, showed the lasting legacy of those that acted selflessly and sacrificially to save others.

Shortly after the commemoration of that date, everyone in my family was shocked when a dear loved one was diagnosed with MDS, or "preleukemia".  She has been very brave about her fight, but it brought home the reality that cancer is an awful, indiscriminate disease.  It has been both sad, to see her struggle, and yet also, inspiring, to see her fight and her spirit, as she is determined to beat this thing.

And then yesterday, I found out that an old friend and fraternity brother died of a massive heart attack the night before.  We had caught up with each other, and had a nice conversation last month at our college's Homecoming.  And every time I ever spoke with him, I was reminded of what a genuine, and nice guy he really is...  was.  I never thought it would be our last time together.  He leaves behind a wife and three kids.  He was three days older than me.  Reading his obituary this morning, I saw just how much he accomplished, both personally and professionally, in his all-too-short life.  Wow, talk about a wake-up call to the rest of us left on this earth with the gift of life!....

I guess my point is this:  every day we make choices as to what we are going to do, how we are going to act, what we are going to think and say.  Are we being short-sighted or long-sighted with our vision.  I contrast how our loved one has so actively lived her life, and how well-loved she is by so many, with that of another person I know, who would rather do nothing than watch TV, living life through other "fake" lives.  This person has no relationship with family, and is quite content with that fact.  It really is a sad situation. 

The firemen and those airline passengers 10 years ago had no idea one beautiful September morning, that it would be their last.  And my friend was planning on going to our last home football game today.  We just don't know what the future holds; but there is a lesson to be learned. 

It makes me think, am I serving God, or am I serving myself.  I truly believe that God is in control, and that we will not understand His purpose for why things happen, while we are on this Earth.  "We see through a glass dimly lit", 1 Corinthians 13:12 states.  But God IS in control, and we, as His children, should take comfort in that.

There is nothing that has ever happened, or will happen, that He doesn't already know about.  And everything is ultimately part of His plan.  But we don't know His plan, do we?  Well, yes we know the big details and the ultimate outcome, but we don't know how we fit into the puzzle.  All we do know is that our smallest choices in how we live, can and do make a big difference in our lives, and the lives of others.  It is the "Butterfly Effect." 

Having recently listened to the music of the play of Victor Hugo's "Les Miserables", I am reminded of the true hero of that story.

Jean Valjean is an unrepentant criminal who can't find a job, so he steals again and is caught.  Instead of receiving the punishment he would deserve through the justice system, however, he is shown kindness, mercy and grace by the Bishop, from whom he stole.  That changes his life, and changes the man who he is. 

That Bishop is the real hero of the story.  Had he not acted the way he did, then Valjean is sent back to prison -- end of story.  That means that Fantine dies with no assurance from Valjean, whom she never knew, and Cosette, her daughter, lives an abused, miserable life.  She never meets Marius, and they never fall in love, and Marius now dies in the resistance.  What a difference the Bishop made, by doing what -- showing a little grace?  A little mercy?  Wow. 

The story is fiction, of course, but the truth it upholds is real.  No small act or deed is too small to have an effect on your life, or someone else.  Something we all need to keep in mind every day, every time we interact with others we know and love, and those we don't know.  You just never know the effect your words or actions will have. 

I am far from perfect.  I know that.  And anybody who knows me, will attest to my failings, of which I have many.  (You need not make any comments here, thank you very much.)  But I strive every day to change a little, for the better.  Unlike what some believe, I do believe that people can change:  Maybe it is suddenly, like Saul/Paul on his way to Damascus, or maybe it is a little at a time, every day, a small difference.  A leopard can change its spots.  An old dog can learn new tricks. 

When you go into a cemetery and look at tombstones, what do you see listed?  The person's name, date of birth and death, and then maybe a phrase or sentence that sums up that person's life.  That person's whole life of however many years with which they were blessed, is surmised into a "dash" or hyphen, and a blurb on a stone.  But the effect of that person's life in the lives of others is what lasts.  THAT is that person's legacy.  I once saw a poster that stated, "When God measures a man, He puts a tape measure around his heart and not his head." 

So while we are all "dashing" about; let's take the time to think of others, and add worth to others' lives.  Not just as we are about to enter the Holiday season, but all year long.  We can make a difference.

Borrowing from literature again, think of Ebenezer Scrooge.  One of the last lines of that favorite story about the man who despised Christmas, is "And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.  May that be truly said of us, and all of us." 

But perhaps, Paul, said it best in a couple of his letters, first to the Philippians, (2:3), "Don't be selfish; don't try to impress others.  Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves."  And then, 1 Corinthians, 15:58 states, "So my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and immovable.  Always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for we know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless."

May we all learn from that.  And grow.  And change for the better.  To be there and be stronger for those that need us.  And when we are suffering, may we find comfort in Him and in others around us.

Thanks for putting up with this post.  My next one will be about fishing again.  I promise.

Until then,

Fish ON!

Matthew 4:19

P.S.  I guess I could add a little humor by adding one more well known quote, by that great author, Anonymous:  "God does not subtract from your allotted time on earth, those hours spent fishing."

No Tricks, Just Treats -- With Stripes ... and Spots

It's no secret that we've struggled to find time and tide working well together this striper season, to get out there and try and catch a few.  It was the windiest October I can remember, and wind is the only thing that can keep me off the water.  And the few times I was able to get on the water, time and tide weren't "right", but I was just hoping to catch a break -- and a fish.

One or two times I did get on the water when everything looked "right", and used all the formerly successful lures for striped bass, and never got the first strike.  I had no idea what was different.  Why weren't the fish biting?  Were they even around yet?  Surely they had to be.  Of course they were.  And stop calling me "Shirley".  (Sorry, old "Airplane" joke there.)

Anyway, with Boys' Weekend fast approaching, and my brother from Philly, and my buddy from Alaska planning on getting here a day early specifically for some kayak striper fishing, I was getting worried.  Especially since I had guaranteed them that we'd catch fish.  So I had to learn when and what the rockfish are hitting this year.  It wasn't time to panic yet, but it was getting close.  And I've never had an October where I haven't caught one...  Until this year.

Or could I break the jinx.

Halloween day I had off, so after taking care of some morning chores, I grabbed my stuff and headed up to the river.  It was about three hours before high tide, and the water was moving well.  That was good, but we've always had better luck on an outgoing tide.  Then again, this year, we hadn't.  So what did I have to lose.  I had an hour and a half to kill, the wind was light(er), so I donned my gear and hit the water.

I drifted in the channel, taking in the cool crisp Autumn day, and saw that I wasn't alone.  A river otter was entering the channel where I was, and swam towards me, unfazed by my kayak.  His nostrils snorted as he paddled, head held high; his white whiskers making him look far older than I'm sure he was.  He dove, only to surface again, swimming at an angle still, towards me.  Diving again, he resurfaced even closer.  Then he swam under a dock and I didn't see him again.  I figured he was hunting, and hoped he hadn't scared any fish.  Oh well, it wasn't going to stop me from fishing.

Seeing an otter while kayaking reminded me of when Parke and I were in a tandem kayak up in Little Tutka Bay in Alaska, and sea otters were swimming and playing all around us.  It was a fond memory worth reliving.  What a beautiful place.

I started tossing my dark paddletail jig, and having it drift back with me.  I passed the "usual" places we get hits, and allowed myself to just keep going.  Suddenly, I felt the "flick of a finger" on my line -- the distinctive hit a striper sometimes makes.  I reeled in, and saw that I had the first official striped bass of the season.  It was a little more than 18 inches long, so it was a legal one at that.  I would have rockfish for dinner.  I was excited and kept on fishing.  I paddled back to the beginning and began another drift.  Once again, no results through our usual "hot" spots, but I allowed myself to go further.  I then slowed down by a boat lift with a Grady White in it, and paddled to hold my position for a moment.  I cast a long cast, as far as my plastic bodied jig would fly, and let it sink.  Then I started slowly twitching it again.

Whack!  Fish on!  This one fought harder, and it pulled me against the current.  I smiled.  They were back.  I was back.  After about a minute of enjoying the fight, I finally brought the fish to the surface and was pleased to see a very fat and healthy 22 incher.  I put him on the stringer and admired both fish as they swam next to my kayak.  Let's try for one more, and see if I can "upgrade" the smaller one.

Okay, I could see them swimming....  but then again, I was wearing my polarized Costas.

There, that's better.  Finally I had a couple of striped bass on my stringer.  But could I get another, larger one????  Stay tuned.  Oh yeah, I guess I've given it away with the title of this post.  Oh well, keep reading.

I fished for another half hour, paddling and drifting, casting and retrieving slowly, with no results.  I heard the bald eagle family chirping somewhere behind me in the distance, but couldn't see them.  I was enjoying the day.  A snowy egret flew across the marsh towards me, and landed at the side of the channel within 50 feet of me.  Usually skittish, the bird looked into the shallows for a meal.  I couldn't believe that it landed so close to me, as herons and egrets usually take off when I get within a hundred yards.  Suddenly it looked up, saw me, and took off.  I guess it figured out I wasn't just a log floating along the creek, after all.

"Oops, that wasn't an orange log floating along the channel.  I'm outta here!"

I kept fishing, but caught nothing, except a snag and I lost my jig.  As I tied on another I drifted a little wider and longer.  I put on a similar, but bigger dark plastic body now.  I cast around a corner and twitched slowly as the lure sank.  I reeled in a little faster, and was starting to get it near my plastic boat, when BAM something hit it hard and dove quickly.  FISH ON!  Hot dog!  It wasn't more than 10 feet from me, but I couldn't see it, as it dove and kept diving, my light rod heaving and bending to the pulses of the fish.  I kept the rod high and reeled when it let up.  Finally I saw it.  Another striper.  No wait... those aren't stripes.  They're spots.  That's a speckled trout!  The biggest one we've caught in these waters.  I got my net and carefully tried to scoop it up, but it was still "green" and was no where near ready to give up yet.  It went on another run and I let it.  Unlike stripers, specks have "soft" mouths, and you can't jerk your rod when you fight them, or you'll lose them.  Finally he tired and I was able to get the net under him.  I shouted "woohoo" to nobody -- except the eagle family that was still somewhere behind me.

I admired him on my lap, then got the stringer and carefully attached it next to the two stripers.  I got an upgrade, alright.  And I didn't even have to throw one of them back!  I admired the 19 inch trout swimming next to the two rocks, and knew it was a good day.  But apparently I wasn't done catching "big" things to fry.

The biggest speckled trout that we've caught in these waters was a beast to catch, a beauty to see, and would be delicious for dinner.  I've never tried pecan encrusted speck before.  Tonight I would.

Content with my day, I started working my way slowly back to the launch, fishing and drifting back a little as I went.  Right in the middle of the channel, I hooked something big enough that it actually drew me forward against the current a little bit.  Was it a big crab?  No.  The bottom of the channel is lined with oysters, and when I brought up my "catch" I saw that I had hooked a monster oyster.  Cool, I thought.  I'm eating that, too.  It was huge.

A monster oyster was going to join the speck and rocks, to be part of a nice festive Halloween dinner with friends.  It would be the appetizer.  The oyster was almost enough for two.

I saw a man near where I launch, so I slowed my pace a bit -- I didn't want to show off what I had caught to others who may come "poach" in our "private" area.  He walked away, and I pulled the fish up as I brought the kayak to the shore.  (Anybody who doesn't know me must think I'm a lousy fisherman.  Because I "never catch anything".  You have to be my friend or read this, to know the truth.)

Not a bad day at all, considering I was on the water less than 90 minutes. 

I docked, took my rods and paddle to my car, and scouted to make sure the coast was clear.  There was nobody around, so I went back down, admired my catch, and then got my kayak and the fish, and put them in my cooler.

It's not every day my kayak looks like this....

Kayak safely back in my 4Runner, I skedaddled out of there, and made a quick stop to show off.  A quick photo later and I went back home, and filleted these beauties.

I had to show off for the Jacksons.  After all Mike is my #1 kayak fishing buddy, and his wife ... well, I wrote about Janie two posts ago....  And yes, I am aware that I pull up my "kayak" pants as high up as Clayton pulls his pants up.  It's so geeky, it's cool.  Just ask Clayton.  We are the antithesis of "Pants On The Ground".

 After the beautiful white meat was safely in the refrigerator awaiting dinnertime, I went back and cut open the stomachs to see what these guys had been eating.  As fat as the trout was, his tract was empty.  But I think that must be because the two stripers had been eating everything they saw.  A small crab, two indistinguishable minnows partly digested already, two other shiners, and two large alewifes had been consumed by the voracious rockfish; so this may help me the next time I'm wondering what to toss out there to them.

These poor buggers were the stripers' last meal.  And the stripers would be my next meal.

None of my friends like a good, gourmet meal more than my great friend Randy.  So I called him up and invited him and his family over for a Halloween dinner.  They accepted.  Some Ritz crackers, crushed pecans, and fresh lemon were all I needed for what I had been craving since February:  Pecan Encrusted Rockfish (and Speck).  Randy bought a nice bottle of a Virginia Chardonnay to accompany the fish.  It was delicious.  and the fried oyster was delicious, too.

The fish are ready to be "released" into a cast iron skillet, to be lightly sauteed.

Dessert was a fine Cohiba as we watched the trick-or-treaters finish the night.  Then the rain came.

Sitting by Clayton's "Angry Birds" pumpkin, Randy and I enjoyed a fine cigar to go with our delicious meal, and good conversation, as the kids went in and the rain began....

Halloween was over.  October was over.  But I hadn't been skunked.  In fact, I had a great ending to what is typically my favorite month.  And hopefully things will only get better this month.  Happy November.

Until next time,

Fish ON!

EPILOGUE:
There has been talk in the region and down to the OBX that this is the year of the Speckled Trout.  Two years ago was definitely the year of the Puppy Drum.  Last year was the year of the Striped Bass.  So why not....  Well a few days later, I had the opportunity to fish the same tide -- it was just later in the day.  I fished for an hour.  No stripers.  But I caught this baby:  it fought like a mad bull.  I was sure it was a rockfish, but was thrilled to see it wasn't.

19 1/2 Inches of angry spots.  I was sure this fat trout was a striper until I saw him at the surface.  I was thrilled.  It was a half inch bigger than the one I caught the other day, and set a new record for that stretch of water.  Will we catch a 20"er next?  Hope so....

Then, about 30 minutes later, I caught this one.  It wasn't as big -- and it looks downright dinky compared to its big brother.  But it came in at 14 1/2 inches.

Two beautiful specks... And no stripers today.  Oh well, I'm not complaining.

So November has begun quite well.  And I would be inclined to agree that it is, indeed, the year of the Speckled Trout....  Yum.

ADDENDUM:

Ok, I really need to end this post; but I just wanted to add that November is starting out very well.  I went out today (Sunday) for a little more than an hour, and caught this 21" rock on my first pass through the "hot zone."  Then I went and enjoyed eating him with Mike and Janie.  Fish ON!

Broiled with a little bit of Old Bay, garlic, basil, salt, pepper and then a squirt of lemon was all this guy needed to be absolutely delicious.  Can't wait to get another....

So maybe this is the Year of the Speck....  But then again, maybe the Stripers are going to give the specks are run for the money.  That's okay with me, too....  Double Yum.

POST SCRIPT:

Okay, I've run out of ways to extend this post.  Anyway, the trout are fighting to keep their title of "Year of the Speckled Trout".  Bright and early this morning, I caught this 19 incher.  It's been a good run....

Another fat and healthy speck.  Well, he was healthy until I filleted him.  With all this fish in my diet, I'm getting my protein allotment, while I've lost a few extra pounds -- since I'm not eating a whole lot of fatty meats.  These babies are cheaper, more fun to get, and healthier....

 Okay, that's it. I promise.  Next time I have something to say, I'll start another post.  Until then,

Fish ON!

A "Taylor"-Made Weekend - If You Like Blue Sky and Blue Fish

Last weekend Mike and I were invited by my brother to join him for a weekend of fishing up on Fenwick Island, DE.  I hadn't been there in easily 15 years, and hadn't fished there in over 30, so I jumped at the chance.  Mike had never been to that stretch of the country, so he was happy to go, too.  We left early Friday morning, right after rush hour, and before long we were crossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel onto the Eastern Shore.  Less than an easy 2 1/2 hour drive later, we were driving across the Rte. 90 bridge to Ocean City, MD.  A turn left before we hit the ocean, and as soon as we crossed into Delaware, we were in Fenwick.

Ted, unfortunately, had had a tougher morning.  Having arrived late the night before, he had driven onto the beach early in the morning only to discover that the 4WD on his Expedition wasn't working.  After he stopped to talk to some fellow anglers, he started up again only to suddenly sink up to his axles in the soft sand.  Fortunately he had a shovel, so an hour later, he had dug himself out of the hole, lowered the air pressure in his tires, and was able to pull off the beach.  After re-inflating his tires, he headed north to Rehoboth to the Ford dealer there to see what the problem was.  He needed a new part, and wouldn't have 4WD until he returned back home.

That didn't stop Mike and me from getting to the cottage, unloading, and heading to the beach.  We found a beach access and met "Irish Joe" (an old man with a rod -- and a brogue accent), and asked him where the tackle shop was.  He told us it's two blocks that way.  (He pointed west).  "You can't miss it."  We missed it.

But two miles west, we found another one -- Captain Mac's.  We bought some fresh finger mullet and live spot, and headed back to the beach.  We had to walk on to the beach, and by the time we had made 2 trips each for our stuff, Ted was joining us.  We greeted each other, got our lines in the water, and enjoyed a beautiful "bluebird" afternoon on the beach.  Before long, Ted's line wiggled.  He reeled in a taylor bluefish, so the weekend wouldn't be a skunking for us.  (Don't laugh... we've had weekends where we've caught nothing.)

The first fish of the weekend -- not a monster blue, by any means... but not the smallest of the weekend.  Stay tuned.

 A little while later, Mike's rod wiggled.  Reeling in, he saw he had outdone Ted, with a "double" -- 2 taylor blues on his rod.  This, of course, usually means he wasn't paying attention when the first one hit, and just was lucky that a second hit, too, before he noticed.  Anyway, the weekend was shaping up well, we thought.

Mike's double!  Twice the fish, for twice the fun.

Just a few minutes after that, Mike's lighter rod wiggled again -- a little heavier this time.  He picked it up, reeling in, and the fish ran north for a minute.  This was a nicer fish than the taylors we had been catching.  A minute later, he reeled in a "shortie" striped bass.  Unfortunately, at 18" it was just 10 inches shorter than what it had to be for us to keep it, but it was encouraging.  Maybe the water wasn't too warm for the stripers.  (But this one had all the coloration of a local schoolie that didn't migrate.)  Still, we were hopeful.

It's "Rock"tober.  Even if this one was too small to keep.  We had hopes that there would be more....

A few minutes after releasing the small rockfish, Mike's rod bent harder again.  He grabbed it, and the fish went screaming down up the beach.  Could it be a nicer striper, or bigger bluefish????  After a fun minute of watching him work the fish up the beach, it came to the shore and we saw it was.... a skate.  What a bummer.

The skate:  The one Mike caught really ran down the beach, making us think he had something worthwhile.  Usually, however, skates just suck onto the bottom, and then feel like dead weight when you are reeling them in.  One of these days, we are going to start keeping them, cutting off the wings, cut them in circles, and fry them up like scallops.  They are supposed to be delicious!  I just haven't tried them yet -- knowingly.  (As opposed to who knows how many I've eaten in various restaurants that serve "scallops", just like they serve "krab".)

As the sun set behind us, we stayed a bit longer, but then decided to head back and get something to eat.  Ten minutes later we were back at the cottage unloading.  After showering and getting presentable again, we took the short drive to Nantucket's -- an upscale bar/restaurant.  It was too crowded, and we were hungry, so we went two blocks south and hit the pizza joint.  An order of Philly Cheese Steak with lettuce and tomato, with sides of onion rings and fries hit the spot more than I expected.  By the time we were done, I was tired.  We were all tired.  We went back to the cottage and hit the hay.  Tomorrow would be a long day....

By 5:30 the next morning, we were on the beach in my truck with the permit.  It was well before sunrise, and we admired the beauty that was the predawn darkness.  There was almost no ambient light, and the constellations were as bright as could be.  Orion shone directly overhead and when I looked up at him, a meteor flew towards the ocean from his belt, like a "thunderbolt from his arse", I said (a little Zeus-like reference ... or Braveheart). 

"Thunderbolts are coming out my arse" or was it the fried onion rings I ate last night.... 

When the sun finally did start to rise, we had already had our lines in the water for a while.  It was a new day.  Would it be another good day?

The cool of the morning quickly gave way to another "bluebird" day, with temps in the 60's. 

As the sunrise occurred, the bite was on.  Unfortunately, it was only a bite with taylor blues and skates, but it was better than nothing.  We all caught several of each, and Ted finally had the chance to use his new "Stingray Heavy Hooker" rod.  (He hadn't used it in Nantucket a few weeks earlier.)  Aside from making a noise we couldn't immediately identify, it wasn't long before he caught his first fish with his new rod -- a blue.

Ted with his first fish on his new rod.  It wasn't big, but it counted.

Blues were the fish of the weekend, so we dug into our tackle box and found 20 year old blue fish rigs.  It had been quite a while since we had purposely targeted blues.  As the day wore on, we moved to the Three R's ramp to the beach.  There were more people there, but we settled in and caught a few fish.  But the middle of the day was sunny, warm, and the water was calm.  Most fish don't like "bluebird" days, and this was one of them.  Still, we continued to check our lines often, because the rock crabs were having a feast with our bait.

checking my rod tip for a wiggle... Is it a crab, a small blue, or another skate.  And why do I have a raccoon line by my eyes?  Oh yeah, I forgot to put sunscreen on my face.

After several hours, and watching Ted get irritated at people closing in on our "spot" (including a mother and child playing near their father/husband and his brother who were fishing), we decided to go back to where we had started the morning fishing, so we loaded up the truck and pulled off the beach.  And I made a mental note of how I can irritate Ted....  (insert evil giggle here.)

As we drove back south, we passed an old WWII submarine watch tower, and Ted and I each recounted our escapades we had done in our younger days in and around those things.  They are now historic landmarks -- for the record, not because of what we did, but because of their significance to looking for U-boats during the war.

Oh the things these towers could say, if they could talk.... 

We went back to where we started the morning, and yes, we started catching fish again.  That is after we got "fresh" bait.  If by "fresh" you mean frozen that has recently been thawed, then that's the bait we bought.  Frozen bait of any kind never works as well as fresh when you can get it.  And the freshest is what you catch, yourself.  So when we caught a bluefish again, he became our bait.  Since bluefish are cannibals, it's hard to feel sorry for one who has already shown he is willing to eat his brother.  So into the bait cooler they went, as we continued to wait and hope for another striper.  but to no avail.

Then Mike caught a memorable fish.  I'm not even sure how it hit and stayed on his hook, but he reeled it in, and here it is.  The smallest blue of the weekend.

Not sure why he's so happy and sticking out his tongue, but this is Mike flashing his baby blue.  The smallest fish of the weekend.  It ended up going back in the ocean -- on his hook.  That is, until it got off.

As the sun went down behind us, we got our headlamps ready, and prepared for some evening fishing.  It was a beautiful sunset, that hopefully signaled some decent night fishing.

As we watched the sun go down the second day, we hoped it was a good sign.  The weather was just too %$#@*& nice!

Sure enough, after the sun was down, my rod wiggled.  "Fish on!"  It wasn't a blue!  No, it wasn't.  It was a...  dogfish.  Dammit!  Now the doggies were feeding at dusk.  Within an hour of catching several, I was suddenly being called Dogfish Dan.  No thanks.  But I do like Dogfish Ales.

I would happily trade 6 of these things...

for 6 of these anyday.   Which is appropriate, since we were up in Delaware, and Dogfish Head is a Delaware microbrew.

We sat in our chairs, looking up at the stars again.  The sky was clear, and we watched several satellites fly by at 17,000 mph (according to Ted).  There's another one, a German one this time, that's supposed to fall to earth soon, I said.  Duck!

Sometime after 8 p.m., we had had enough and went back to the cottage, showered and went back to Nantucket's at around 9.  The crowd in the bar was light, and we found three seats in the bar.  A Maker's 46 for me, a martini for Ted, and an Elijah Craig for Mike, and we sat, watching the World Series, and ordered some food.  I must say, the food was excellent!  I got the famous chowdah and the duckling, and was impressed with both.  I'd go back.

Located right at South Carolina Ave. on Fenwick Island, it's an upscale bar/restaurant.  Excellent menu, and excellent wine/beer/spirits selection.

After a delicious meal, we decided to see if any tackle shop might be open that may have REAL fresh bait.  I suggested we go to Captain Mac's again, since theirs was fresh yesterday, and at least see what time they open in the morning, after all, it was almost 11 p.m.  We drove there only to see the "Open" sign was lit, and the door was ajar.  I walked in.

"Hello?  Are you open?"  Finally from the back came a father and son.  He quickly turned off the sign and smiled, "what light was lit?" he said kiddingly.  He and his son were getting ready to drive all night to upstate New York for some Steelhead and  Brown trout fishing.  Suddenly I got jealous.

Well, they weren't open, but he was happy to sell us some finger mullet, and that was one less thing we had to do in the morning.  So it was back to the cottage and off to bed.

By 6:00 the next morning (we slept in a little later) we were back on the beach, enjoying the clear predawn sky filled with stars again.  But this time Orion wasn't the only one with meteors shooting out of his body parts.  We saw numerous meteors within the 30 minutes or so before sunrise, and it was a sight to see.  And once again, as the dawn brightened, the fishbite began....

With more skates.  More dogfish.  And yes, finally more bluefish....  And now the blues were at least a little bigger -- up to 14 inches or so.  So it was a little better action.

Ted caught the biggest of the day with his Heavy Hooker, and we all caught several "keeper" sized taylors.

A nicer "Keeper" blue, caught on Ted's Heavy Hooker rod.  It's pretty sad when you get excited about catching a 14" fish after a long weekend, but I guess it's all relative.

We were back at the "quiet", more isolated part of the beach, where we were alone, and where we had success earlier.  It was nice being alone on the beach with nobody around, except for only the occasional person taking their morning stroll.  That's why I couldn't resist irritating Ted when the opportunity arose a little later in the morning when an older man drove up and parked about 50 yards away from us to the north.

As I have said time and time again, when the fishing is slow, one must think of something to do to occupy one's time.  I just happen to enjoy practical jokes (such as I wrote about with Jerry wading to the sandbar -- "And They Call It Puppy Love", or Mark falling asleep in the sand -- "In the Beginning; the Genesis of Boys' Weekend".)

Purposely within earshot of Ted, I sarcastically said, "Oh sure, please park right here next to us.  Because this is the ONLY place that the fish are."  Ted took the bait, and looked over to see the old man getting out and setting up his tackle.  And he was even setting up THREE rods, which was one more than you were supposed to.  He cursed, calling him a name I can't mention on this P.G. blog.

As fate would have it, the current was moving north to south, and Ted was the northernmost of us three.  The man cast his three rods, and sure enough one of them "sliced" towards the south.  We were sure the current would do the rest.

"That son of a B----" crossed my line," he said disgustedly.  I could tell he was hot.

"Why don't you reel your line in," I suggested.

"No, I'm going to leave it in until he reels in and brings in my line."  Ted was looking for a confrontation.

Ten minutes later Ted's line drooped as the man started reeling in his empty hook.  (Daggone crabs.)  Ted walked over to his rod, held it, and waited for the man to reel up the two rigs.  Ted started reeling, and when the man grabbed both rigs, Ted yelled,  "That's MY LINE!"

The man undid the tangle, tossing Ted's rig in the sand.  Ted reeled it in.

"THIS BEACH IS BIG ENOUGH FOR ALL OF US!!", he yelled at the old-timer.  Steam exuded from his ears.  He had finished his cold coffee hours earlier, so it couldn't have been from that.  (My work is done, I thought, as a silent smile crossed my face.  This one was TOO easy.  That softball was just lobbed right in my wheelhouse.) 

The morning wore on, and we finally had heard too much of Ted's new rod squealing.  We walked over while he was reeling, and realized it wasn't the reel  making the high pitched noise; it was the tip of his rod.  The "glass" of the eyelet was cracked, and it had been shredding his 20# test line all weekend.  He thought he was reeling in some kind of "cottony" substance from the ocean, but when we saw the line scratching through the cracked eyelet, we realized it was a good thing he hadn't caught a big cow striper -- or it would have broken the now weakened, strafed line.  (Oh, what we would have paid to have that problem occur....)

Anyway, he put away the rod until he could get it repaired, and used a different one.  But the reality was that the sun was getting higher, the day was warm, the ocean was flat, and the bite was over. It was another damn "Bluebird" day.  A little before noon we wrapped it up, and slowly packed up our gear.  There would be no big blues, and no more stripers.  I kept four of the larger blues, filleted them, and put them in a ziploc bag.  They would go toward a nice little fish fry dinner in the not-too-distant future.

Before we left the beach, however, the old man walked over to us and told us that he had been here yesterday and caught a bunch of blues.  "Yeah, No $#!+, Sherlock.  The Blues are F---ing everywhere!"  Ted was thinking.  I smiled again.

We dumped our bait for the seagulls to enjoy, and I'm sure Ted was hoping one would fly over and poop on the old man.

After packing and helping clean the cottage, Mike and I said our goodbyes and headed out.  Forty minutes later we were back, as Ted had called after he realized his coat, wallet and cell phone were still in my car.  But we enjoyed the ride back.  It was an easy drive, especially as we each enjoyed a nice Romeo y Julieta cigar, and as we finally reached the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, the late afternoon sun was shining on the bay making it shimmer and glimmer like gold.

The bay was calm, the water reflecting the sun, and the boaters were out -- including a couple of kayakers, fishing the pilings of the CBBT. 

We stopped at the restaurant/giftshop/fishing pier on the first island, as Mike had never done that before, and enjoyed a quick walk to the end of the pier.  Sea mullet, striped bass and tautog were the fish the anglers were targeting.  And we realized that for the cost of going on the CBBT, a whole carload of people are allowed to fish -- at a much cheaper price than the various other piers in the area that charge on a per person basis.  Hmmm, something to keep in mind, if we ever want to get into pier/bridge fishing again.

Forty minutes later when we arrived at Mike's, there wasn't too much sadness that the weekend was over.  We had had fun, and both agreed we would do it again; but we also knew we will all be getting together again in less than four weeks to enjoy the 25th anniversary of our Boys' Weekend on the Outer Banks.  And it should be a fun one!  Can't wait!!

Until next time,

Fish ON!


(And in anticipation of our big B.W, here's a blast from the past -- in the days before email, when I had to send out a newsletter to all the participants.  Here's the "Header" from my '93 Newsletter.  Can you identify everyone?)

Yes, the classic caricature drawing of all of us, that some even have framed.  A few pounds lighter, fuller heads of hair, and boy did we drink a whole lot more back then.  But at least our fishing has improved.