I didn't realize it had been nearly a year since I posted, but I guess that's a sign that I've been busy. I left the Asbury Park Press in November 2007, literally within days of the last edition of Hook, Line & Sinker for that season, and within two weeks started my job at The Fisherman. It has been a wonderful move, the best thing I could have done for myself and for Emily. It's not without challenges -- getting up and being in the office at 8 a.m. is still difficult. But I'm still glad I made the move.
I never finished blogging about the whole Monica Oswald-world record fluke situation. At this point, I don't think it really matters. The final outcome was that the IGFA denied record status for it, based on her account saying she rested the rod on the gunwale. She passed an extensive lie detector test given by The Fisherman long before I was on board there, and despite extensive rumors and ferocious Internet debates over every aspect of it, I believe she caught the fish.
Interestingly, when the Virginia state striper record fell several months back, there were immediate rumors of impropriety there, too.
I guess the lesson is, if you catch a big fish, you'd better catch it with someone whose credibility won't be questioned. Otherwise, take a photo and let it go. It's not worth the hassle.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Friday, August 24, 2007
Of truth and fish stories, part 1
I try to have a life that doesn't revolve completely around fishing. As the editor of this section, that's very difficult sometimes. I am a PTA mom, I belong to a professional organization of which I am the treasurer, and I am a wife -- though I usually see more of my husband at work than at home, especially during the Hook, Line & Sinker season.
When I got the first messages Friday night about this potential world-record fluke, I was driving home from what was supposed to be the first night of a soccer coaching licensing course. My daughter has decided to play her mom's sport this fall, and I want to be involved.
Since the messages were left at 5 p.m., I called the one person I knew would be all over the story: John Geiser, our longtime outdoors columnist. In 3 1/2 hours, the rumor mill was going berserk.
I started working the phones Friday night. Saturday morning, as headed back to Monroe for the coaching course, I traded calls and messages with people, chasing information. Because of a scheduling error, the course took up most of Saturday -- the instructor hadn't received notice that he was to teach Friday night. I finally got home about 5 p.m. Saturday, and began researching what I could. It was at that point that I discovered all the discussion on Stripersonline.com's Surf Talk forum, with the rumors flying hot and heavy.
I read it, well into the night, while trading phone calls with others who were researching it as well. But no one had anything concrete at that point showing that Monica Oswald had been given the fish by a commercial fisherman.
Sunday morning arrived, and I got in the car to drive to Pequest Trout Hatchery, where I was scheduled to go to write about the Casting for Recovery program and its fifth straight retreat. On the way back to the paper -- I had to put out the sports section that night -- I put my head down and took a nap while my husband drove. I knew I was in for a long night. But I didn't have any idea of how bad it was going to get.
To be continued ...
When I got the first messages Friday night about this potential world-record fluke, I was driving home from what was supposed to be the first night of a soccer coaching licensing course. My daughter has decided to play her mom's sport this fall, and I want to be involved.
Since the messages were left at 5 p.m., I called the one person I knew would be all over the story: John Geiser, our longtime outdoors columnist. In 3 1/2 hours, the rumor mill was going berserk.
I started working the phones Friday night. Saturday morning, as headed back to Monroe for the coaching course, I traded calls and messages with people, chasing information. Because of a scheduling error, the course took up most of Saturday -- the instructor hadn't received notice that he was to teach Friday night. I finally got home about 5 p.m. Saturday, and began researching what I could. It was at that point that I discovered all the discussion on Stripersonline.com's Surf Talk forum, with the rumors flying hot and heavy.
I read it, well into the night, while trading phone calls with others who were researching it as well. But no one had anything concrete at that point showing that Monica Oswald had been given the fish by a commercial fisherman.
Sunday morning arrived, and I got in the car to drive to Pequest Trout Hatchery, where I was scheduled to go to write about the Casting for Recovery program and its fifth straight retreat. On the way back to the paper -- I had to put out the sports section that night -- I put my head down and took a nap while my husband drove. I knew I was in for a long night. But I didn't have any idea of how bad it was going to get.
To be continued ...
Thursday, August 23, 2007
A fact-finding mission
I have worked on a lot of stories, especially in the last four years, that took some concentrated effort.
But not one has been as frustrating or as consuming as chasing the rumors that have been flying since shortly after Monica Oswald put her 24.3-pound summer flounder on the scale at Scott's Bait & Tackle in Bradley Beach.
And never have I seen such hue and cry over something -- except for Barry Bonds breaking Hank Aaron's home run record, of course.
I saw parallels between the two stories from the start: Both involve cherished records, both involve rumors and innuendo about how, exactly, the record may have been broken, and both have resulted in a lot of very angry commentary, particularly on the Internet.
And lastly, it's doubtful either will be resolved in a way that all who follow those sports are willing to accept.
In writing my column on this topic for Friday's Asbury Park Press, I was able to address some of the issues. But, as is often the case, there's not enough space or ink to cover every quote, every comment, every insight that I sought and received in researching this story.
So, check back here Friday for a more detailed account of how I checked the facts, and more details on the thoughts and opinions expressed by those I discussed this story with: Conservation Officer Clint Dravis; Bruce Freeman, fisheries biologist, now retired, for the state of New Jersey; Erich Neumayer, the friend who was fishing with Monica Oswald on her boat when she landed the enormous fish; and, of course, Monica herself.
For now, 7 straight days of getting up early and going to bed late has taken its toll, and I have to get some sleep. Tomorrow night is the finale of the Mid-Atlantic $500,000, and I want to make sure I have the energy to cover it.
But not one has been as frustrating or as consuming as chasing the rumors that have been flying since shortly after Monica Oswald put her 24.3-pound summer flounder on the scale at Scott's Bait & Tackle in Bradley Beach.
And never have I seen such hue and cry over something -- except for Barry Bonds breaking Hank Aaron's home run record, of course.
I saw parallels between the two stories from the start: Both involve cherished records, both involve rumors and innuendo about how, exactly, the record may have been broken, and both have resulted in a lot of very angry commentary, particularly on the Internet.
And lastly, it's doubtful either will be resolved in a way that all who follow those sports are willing to accept.
In writing my column on this topic for Friday's Asbury Park Press, I was able to address some of the issues. But, as is often the case, there's not enough space or ink to cover every quote, every comment, every insight that I sought and received in researching this story.
So, check back here Friday for a more detailed account of how I checked the facts, and more details on the thoughts and opinions expressed by those I discussed this story with: Conservation Officer Clint Dravis; Bruce Freeman, fisheries biologist, now retired, for the state of New Jersey; Erich Neumayer, the friend who was fishing with Monica Oswald on her boat when she landed the enormous fish; and, of course, Monica herself.
For now, 7 straight days of getting up early and going to bed late has taken its toll, and I have to get some sleep. Tomorrow night is the finale of the Mid-Atlantic $500,000, and I want to make sure I have the energy to cover it.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Just ban fishing already!
The presses on this week's Hook, Line & Sinker section were minutes from rolling when a co-worker's message flashed across my screen:
"saxton says nmfs is talking about a 40 percent cut in the fluke quota."
I was stunned. Forty percent? Are they joking or are they just trying to kill off fishing?
According to a press release from the office of Rep. Jim Saxton, the National Marine Fisheries Service wants to reduce the 2008 fluke quota to 11.7 million pounds, 40 percent below the quota figure discussed when the Magnuson-Stevens act was reauthorized with the language extending the rebuilding period to 2013. Saston -- much to my surprise, I will freely admit -- has jumped all over it, sending a letter to NMFS director William Hogarth demanding to know what is going on and what possible reasoning there is for the cutback.
If I had to hazard a guess, the reason NMFS will say it needs to cut way back will be because of the surprisingly good landings this year, particularly here in New Jersey. Through no fault of our fisheries council, the 17-inch minimum and 8-fish bag has been more easily achieved than 16-and-a-half inches had been for the last few years. In the few years I've been editing the fishing section, the common complaint was high throwback ratios. I haven't heard that much this year, and the number of big fish being caught is amazing.
So chances are we will exceed the recreational quota -- possibly by a lot.
What makes this such a mess is that NMFS calculates the biomass in pounds, the quota in pounds, but the recruitment in number of fish. According to their estimates, the 2006 recruitment was 30.3 million fluke -- that's fish who survived to the age of 1. But when you start setting a quota in pounds, it gets just wacky. John Geiser has boiled it down before, but when you start setting quotas with minimum sizes of 17, 18 or 19 inches, the weight of those fish goes up significantly. So if you're talking 11.7 million pounds -- only 40 percent, or 4.68 million pounds of which is for recreational fishermen -- you're not talking about catching 11.7 million fish or 4.68 million fish. You're talking about perhaps half of those figures, if not less. If you've got a limit of catch of 19-inch fish that all weigh in at 2 pounds apiece, you've just removed 16 pounds of fluke in one trip. With literally hundreds of thousands of fishing trips in New Jersey alone, it's easy to see how quickly a quota can be overrun -- and that's not the fault of the angling public so long as they are abiding by the rules.
Then there's this biomass target of 214 million pounds. Why not just estimate the number of fish instead of the weight? It seems to me if you're estimating numbers of fish added to the biomass by recruitment, why not estimate numbers of fish removed from it? I'm sure NMFS can tell us just how many fluke an average commercial fishing net can hold. And we know that boat captains keep a log of how many fish are caught and how many are kept on their trips. Why not change the law that prevents using that catch data?
Is this really that hard for people to comprehend?
If you ask someone how much they weigh, you don't want them to tell you what size pants they wear because that doesn't answer the question.
But here is a serious question: Just why were the 1930s chosen as the basis for what they believe the fluke biomass should be? You can't possibly tell me they have anything close to accurate recordkeeping from a time when people were more interested in surviving the Great Depression than they would have been in counting how many fish there were in the seas.
The more I observe this fisheries management mess, the more strongly I believe NMFS officials and others in fisheries management simply want to put an end to fishing, especially from the recreational standpoint. Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission executive director John O'Shea's comments on the blackfish controversy and his absolute dismissal of any possible explanation for the problem except to blame the recreational anglers speak volumes.
If the National Marine Fisheries Service and the ASMFC are so hellbent on shutting down saltwater recreational fishing, then just institute a ban already and be done with it. Make the fines for saltwater fishing so prohibitive that no one will risk it. That way all these business folks who've been working hard for so long and living with this management Sword of Damocles for the last several years can just file for bankruptcy and find something else to do. Like flip burgers at McDonald's or scoop up after dogs at the park. Neither job may pay well, but at least they'd have some job security, unlike now, when so many wonder how much longer they can stay afloat -- no pun intended.
Killing these businesses slowly is like dragging a nice striper through the sand while you go get your camera to take your picture with the fish, then dragging it back to the ocean and releasing it, slime coating damaged by the grit, body stressed by the fight and the time out of the water. Death soon follows for fish treated that way. And the continual tightening of restrictions on anglers is doing the same thing to the businesses that depend on recreational fishing.
And that's just wrong.
"saxton says nmfs is talking about a 40 percent cut in the fluke quota."
I was stunned. Forty percent? Are they joking or are they just trying to kill off fishing?
According to a press release from the office of Rep. Jim Saxton, the National Marine Fisheries Service wants to reduce the 2008 fluke quota to 11.7 million pounds, 40 percent below the quota figure discussed when the Magnuson-Stevens act was reauthorized with the language extending the rebuilding period to 2013. Saston -- much to my surprise, I will freely admit -- has jumped all over it, sending a letter to NMFS director William Hogarth demanding to know what is going on and what possible reasoning there is for the cutback.
If I had to hazard a guess, the reason NMFS will say it needs to cut way back will be because of the surprisingly good landings this year, particularly here in New Jersey. Through no fault of our fisheries council, the 17-inch minimum and 8-fish bag has been more easily achieved than 16-and-a-half inches had been for the last few years. In the few years I've been editing the fishing section, the common complaint was high throwback ratios. I haven't heard that much this year, and the number of big fish being caught is amazing.
So chances are we will exceed the recreational quota -- possibly by a lot.
What makes this such a mess is that NMFS calculates the biomass in pounds, the quota in pounds, but the recruitment in number of fish. According to their estimates, the 2006 recruitment was 30.3 million fluke -- that's fish who survived to the age of 1. But when you start setting a quota in pounds, it gets just wacky. John Geiser has boiled it down before, but when you start setting quotas with minimum sizes of 17, 18 or 19 inches, the weight of those fish goes up significantly. So if you're talking 11.7 million pounds -- only 40 percent, or 4.68 million pounds of which is for recreational fishermen -- you're not talking about catching 11.7 million fish or 4.68 million fish. You're talking about perhaps half of those figures, if not less. If you've got a limit of catch of 19-inch fish that all weigh in at 2 pounds apiece, you've just removed 16 pounds of fluke in one trip. With literally hundreds of thousands of fishing trips in New Jersey alone, it's easy to see how quickly a quota can be overrun -- and that's not the fault of the angling public so long as they are abiding by the rules.
Then there's this biomass target of 214 million pounds. Why not just estimate the number of fish instead of the weight? It seems to me if you're estimating numbers of fish added to the biomass by recruitment, why not estimate numbers of fish removed from it? I'm sure NMFS can tell us just how many fluke an average commercial fishing net can hold. And we know that boat captains keep a log of how many fish are caught and how many are kept on their trips. Why not change the law that prevents using that catch data?
Is this really that hard for people to comprehend?
If you ask someone how much they weigh, you don't want them to tell you what size pants they wear because that doesn't answer the question.
But here is a serious question: Just why were the 1930s chosen as the basis for what they believe the fluke biomass should be? You can't possibly tell me they have anything close to accurate recordkeeping from a time when people were more interested in surviving the Great Depression than they would have been in counting how many fish there were in the seas.
The more I observe this fisheries management mess, the more strongly I believe NMFS officials and others in fisheries management simply want to put an end to fishing, especially from the recreational standpoint. Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission executive director John O'Shea's comments on the blackfish controversy and his absolute dismissal of any possible explanation for the problem except to blame the recreational anglers speak volumes.
If the National Marine Fisheries Service and the ASMFC are so hellbent on shutting down saltwater recreational fishing, then just institute a ban already and be done with it. Make the fines for saltwater fishing so prohibitive that no one will risk it. That way all these business folks who've been working hard for so long and living with this management Sword of Damocles for the last several years can just file for bankruptcy and find something else to do. Like flip burgers at McDonald's or scoop up after dogs at the park. Neither job may pay well, but at least they'd have some job security, unlike now, when so many wonder how much longer they can stay afloat -- no pun intended.
Killing these businesses slowly is like dragging a nice striper through the sand while you go get your camera to take your picture with the fish, then dragging it back to the ocean and releasing it, slime coating damaged by the grit, body stressed by the fight and the time out of the water. Death soon follows for fish treated that way. And the continual tightening of restrictions on anglers is doing the same thing to the businesses that depend on recreational fishing.
And that's just wrong.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Marine No-Fishing Network
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Best laid plans ...
I'd hoped to use this as a forum for my thoughts on various fishing topics, but here it is, Memorial Day weekend, and this is the first time I've posted in months. To be fair to myself, life has been crazy. But now that we're heading into the heat of the season, I'm going to make an effort to do this regularly.
I haven't been fishing recently, and I feel like I'm missing out once again as the striper reports are literally flooding my email here at work. Guess it's time I get down to it and get out there.
On a sad note, Tom Jobson, the former managing editor of the APP, died on Tuesday. I owe my career to that man, because in 1986, when it was virtually unheard of for papers to hire copy editors straight out of college, he tried a grand experiment and gave me the chance. I thank him for the chance to do something that I loved -- work with words -- and turn it into something that serves others.
I haven't been fishing recently, and I feel like I'm missing out once again as the striper reports are literally flooding my email here at work. Guess it's time I get down to it and get out there.
On a sad note, Tom Jobson, the former managing editor of the APP, died on Tuesday. I owe my career to that man, because in 1986, when it was virtually unheard of for papers to hire copy editors straight out of college, he tried a grand experiment and gave me the chance. I thank him for the chance to do something that I loved -- work with words -- and turn it into something that serves others.
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