If you read John Geiser's piece today on the Marine Fish Conservation Network's efforts to push the whole "precautionary approach" language into some of these upcoming fisheries management plan amendments, you should be appalled and concerned.
Recreational fishing is under attack on many fronts right now, and recreational anglers need to stand up for their rights.
These groups will stop at nothing to put an end to recreational fishing and they're succeeding in many areas. I was speaking with Tom Pagliaroli, host of Rack and Fin Radio on ESPN Radio and he pointed out that in California, where saltwater fishing licenses are in place, the areas where anglers can fish are becoming more and more limited by the day.
But what no one seems to be able to get across to these groups is that American anglers -- recreational and commercial -- are really only a small piece of the picture. Even if they push all U.S. anglers off the water, they won't be able to fix the problems of the oceans because they can't stop overseas fishermen -- from Europe, from Japan -- from taking what they want. Other countries don't enforce fishing regulations the way we do, and if you close the waters to U.S. fishermen, you can bet foreign fishing boats will find a way to take advantage of that. You might be able to keep foreign boats out of places like the Hudson River, but you'll never keep them out of the Hudson Canyon.
Do you really think our government will commit the resources to keep foreign fishing boats out of the EEZ? I doubt it.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Ah, some fishing!
I have to say, Tuesday did not get off to a promising start. I was still miserable over the death of my beloved cat early Monday morning and I really didn't want to get out of bed. But duty called -- and so did the promise of fishing. So I forced myself to get moving, threw down some coffee and headed out to the car.
Get in, get settled. Key in ignition and turn it. "Click-click-click-click. Click-click-click-click."
Get out. Mutter and curse the car and the day as I go to the front door.
"John," I hollered up the stairs, the testiness permeating my tone. "I need your help right now. My car won't start.
"I really don't need this today."
Thankfully, all it needed was a jumpstart. But I've had fishing trips where my day got off on the wrong tire and they turned disastrous (Just ask Lindsay Jones on the Queen Mary how green I was on a certain bluefish trip).
I got to the paper and met up with Tanya, the photographer who was shooting video of the day's fishing adventure for the paper's web site. Because this whole outing was thrown together rather quickly, I was pessimistic that we'd end up with a decent video out of the day.
After getting a little turned around -- I don't know Long Branch that well, and my sense of direction was totally off -- we met Bob Hopkins outside the now-closed Steven's Bait & Tackle on Brighton Avenue. That Bryan Zimmerman felt no choice but to close down a shop that had been around for more than 50 years is an absolute travesty, but that's another topic for another day.
I had met Bob -- "Bucktail" Bob, as he's called -- by sheer happenstance; I had stopped into Scott's Bait & Tackle in Bradley Beach over Memorial Day weekend to see the new store and Bob had come in to see the guys. John Christensen introduced me to Bob, and as we talked I was intrigued by the idea of doing a "how-to" story on fishing with bucktails. I thought it would be a fun piece, something a little different.
"I'm not an expert,'' he said as we talked about it. "That's OK," I said. I knew he was successful at it, and that was enough for me. How do you define "expert," anyway?
We'd put together this outing fairly quickly, and at the outset I had planned to do it in a more leisurely fashion. But circumstances sped up my timetable. I needed the video and the story for this week.
I must say here that Bob was incredibly gracious. He didn't realize what he was getting into when I said I wanted to shoot some pictures and video of our outing. But he patiently waited while we got set up and then spoke -- and repreated things for us a couple of times -- about bucktailing for stripers.
Finally, after about a half-hour, we got down to fishing. Bob showed me the bucktail and how he rigs it, then demonstrated fishing it. I watched, listened, and when he told me, gave it a whirl. I felt like my casting left a little to be desired, but I will give myself somewhat of a pass because it was very windy on the jetty. The waves crashing against the rocks and the bulkhead and kicking spray high in the air reminded me of Niagara Falls, and the air had a clean, crisp but slightly salty scent that was so relaxing.
My first couple of retrieves were a bit too fast, a bit too jerky, and Bob pointed out what I was doing wrong and what I should change. I was getting ready to cast again when I saw his rod bend.
"Tanya!" I hollered, not sure she could hear me. "He's got a fish!" I was pointing exaggeratedly and at the same time scrambling toward Bob, who was working the fish along to jetty to land it on the beach. The bass was a beautiful, fat fish, one that had clearly been gorging itself on some kind of bait. I snapped a few shots with my digital camera and Bob asked me to choose: keep the fish, or release it?
"Let it go,'' I said, partly on the belief that we'd get another keeper, partly feeling disturbed by the idea of the fish lying there on the rocks or the sand for an hour or more while we fished. Maybe it was the lingering sadness over Pistachio, my cat. I just know I felt better letting the fish go.
As Bob returned the bass to the water, I was flooded with relief. I'd been worried that we'd fish for a couple of hours and catch nothing, even though I knew from reading and writing fishing reports that bucktails are effective on bass. But I also knew that the folks who shoot fishing shows for TV often shoot hours of tape to get what they need. We didn't have unlimited hours to fish and shoot video.
So having video of the fish so quickly was perfect. Maybe this wasn't going to be such a bad day after all.
"Anything from here is a bonus," I told Tanya with a grin.
I guess the relief and the relaxation it brought with it made me more in tune with what was happening before me, because it wasn't long before I felt a bump. I missed the fish, but now I was fired up. Bob caught another bass, a shorter one, and quickly released it.
Then it was my turn. As my retrieve brought the bucktail near the rocks, I felt the hit and set the hook, and the surge of adrenaline at the realization the bass was there was overpowering. I was so excited I just started cranking the reel -- only the sound of the drag stopped me. Bob hollered to me to walk the fish to the sand, so it wouldn't swim into the rocks where it could break off the line. The fish wasn't huge -- a bit over 20 inches I'd guess -- and Bob grabbed the line and lifted it out of the water. I had such an adrenaline rush now that I wasn't thinking straight and tried to just hold the line. The fish thrashed and I dropped it. What a dummy. But I recovered my senses and picked it up by the bottom lip, then held it up for Tanya to get a good shot. Then I walked down to the water and gently set it free -- it was a great feeling to feel the firm flick of its tail as it swam away.
I have a feeling the grin on my face was wider than the fish was long. I was so excited to have caught one using the bucktail that I was walking on air the rest of the afternoon.
"You have something no one else has," I told Tanya, "video evidence of me catching a fish!"
She laughed.
Tanya headed back to the office, but Bob and I stayed to fish a bit longer. We stayed through the turn of the tide, and checked out a couple of his other favorite spots that he fishes in that area. The bite turned off, but that was OK; I'd had so much fun already that I don't know how much more adrenaline I could've stood.
I savored the scent of the salt air, the beauty of the waves as they crashed and splashed, and the simplicity of what we were doing. When Bob dropped me off at the paper, I felt much more peaceful than I had to start the day.
Thank goodness for that.
Get in, get settled. Key in ignition and turn it. "Click-click-click-click. Click-click-click-click."
Get out. Mutter and curse the car and the day as I go to the front door.
"John," I hollered up the stairs, the testiness permeating my tone. "I need your help right now. My car won't start.
"I really don't need this today."
Thankfully, all it needed was a jumpstart. But I've had fishing trips where my day got off on the wrong tire and they turned disastrous (Just ask Lindsay Jones on the Queen Mary how green I was on a certain bluefish trip).
I got to the paper and met up with Tanya, the photographer who was shooting video of the day's fishing adventure for the paper's web site. Because this whole outing was thrown together rather quickly, I was pessimistic that we'd end up with a decent video out of the day.
After getting a little turned around -- I don't know Long Branch that well, and my sense of direction was totally off -- we met Bob Hopkins outside the now-closed Steven's Bait & Tackle on Brighton Avenue. That Bryan Zimmerman felt no choice but to close down a shop that had been around for more than 50 years is an absolute travesty, but that's another topic for another day.
I had met Bob -- "Bucktail" Bob, as he's called -- by sheer happenstance; I had stopped into Scott's Bait & Tackle in Bradley Beach over Memorial Day weekend to see the new store and Bob had come in to see the guys. John Christensen introduced me to Bob, and as we talked I was intrigued by the idea of doing a "how-to" story on fishing with bucktails. I thought it would be a fun piece, something a little different.
"I'm not an expert,'' he said as we talked about it. "That's OK," I said. I knew he was successful at it, and that was enough for me. How do you define "expert," anyway?
We'd put together this outing fairly quickly, and at the outset I had planned to do it in a more leisurely fashion. But circumstances sped up my timetable. I needed the video and the story for this week.
I must say here that Bob was incredibly gracious. He didn't realize what he was getting into when I said I wanted to shoot some pictures and video of our outing. But he patiently waited while we got set up and then spoke -- and repreated things for us a couple of times -- about bucktailing for stripers.
Finally, after about a half-hour, we got down to fishing. Bob showed me the bucktail and how he rigs it, then demonstrated fishing it. I watched, listened, and when he told me, gave it a whirl. I felt like my casting left a little to be desired, but I will give myself somewhat of a pass because it was very windy on the jetty. The waves crashing against the rocks and the bulkhead and kicking spray high in the air reminded me of Niagara Falls, and the air had a clean, crisp but slightly salty scent that was so relaxing.
My first couple of retrieves were a bit too fast, a bit too jerky, and Bob pointed out what I was doing wrong and what I should change. I was getting ready to cast again when I saw his rod bend.
"Tanya!" I hollered, not sure she could hear me. "He's got a fish!" I was pointing exaggeratedly and at the same time scrambling toward Bob, who was working the fish along to jetty to land it on the beach. The bass was a beautiful, fat fish, one that had clearly been gorging itself on some kind of bait. I snapped a few shots with my digital camera and Bob asked me to choose: keep the fish, or release it?
"Let it go,'' I said, partly on the belief that we'd get another keeper, partly feeling disturbed by the idea of the fish lying there on the rocks or the sand for an hour or more while we fished. Maybe it was the lingering sadness over Pistachio, my cat. I just know I felt better letting the fish go.
As Bob returned the bass to the water, I was flooded with relief. I'd been worried that we'd fish for a couple of hours and catch nothing, even though I knew from reading and writing fishing reports that bucktails are effective on bass. But I also knew that the folks who shoot fishing shows for TV often shoot hours of tape to get what they need. We didn't have unlimited hours to fish and shoot video.
So having video of the fish so quickly was perfect. Maybe this wasn't going to be such a bad day after all.
"Anything from here is a bonus," I told Tanya with a grin.
I guess the relief and the relaxation it brought with it made me more in tune with what was happening before me, because it wasn't long before I felt a bump. I missed the fish, but now I was fired up. Bob caught another bass, a shorter one, and quickly released it.
Then it was my turn. As my retrieve brought the bucktail near the rocks, I felt the hit and set the hook, and the surge of adrenaline at the realization the bass was there was overpowering. I was so excited I just started cranking the reel -- only the sound of the drag stopped me. Bob hollered to me to walk the fish to the sand, so it wouldn't swim into the rocks where it could break off the line. The fish wasn't huge -- a bit over 20 inches I'd guess -- and Bob grabbed the line and lifted it out of the water. I had such an adrenaline rush now that I wasn't thinking straight and tried to just hold the line. The fish thrashed and I dropped it. What a dummy. But I recovered my senses and picked it up by the bottom lip, then held it up for Tanya to get a good shot. Then I walked down to the water and gently set it free -- it was a great feeling to feel the firm flick of its tail as it swam away.
I have a feeling the grin on my face was wider than the fish was long. I was so excited to have caught one using the bucktail that I was walking on air the rest of the afternoon.
"You have something no one else has," I told Tanya, "video evidence of me catching a fish!"
She laughed.
Tanya headed back to the office, but Bob and I stayed to fish a bit longer. We stayed through the turn of the tide, and checked out a couple of his other favorite spots that he fishes in that area. The bite turned off, but that was OK; I'd had so much fun already that I don't know how much more adrenaline I could've stood.
I savored the scent of the salt air, the beauty of the waves as they crashed and splashed, and the simplicity of what we were doing. When Bob dropped me off at the paper, I felt much more peaceful than I had to start the day.
Thank goodness for that.
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