Every summer my favorite local fishing reporter -- Molly Benjamin at the Cape Cod Times -- reports at least once about the astonishing-against-all-odds catch of a monster fish by some visiting tourist who does everything wrong but manages to pull the fish of a lifetime out of the proverbial hat. This week’s news out of New Jersey about a 14-year old kid catching a 52-pound striped bass from a kayak is sort of one of those reports, the kind that make sleepless fish freaks gnash their teeth and swear that the piscatorial gods are cruel gods indeed.
I call this the "Old Man and the Sea" phenomenon. The protagonist needs to be pitiful in some way -- very old as in Hemingway’s Cuban case, or very young in the case of the New Jersey kayaker -- and needs to be surprised by the catch, as if they were targeting bluegills and instead wound up with a 1500-pound marlin. Molly’s protagonists seem to be the sort of clueless tourists that clogs Route 28 from the Fourth of July to Labor Day. The kind who still ride the HyLine tour past the Kennedy Compound, who seek out mini golf courses and Soft-Serv ice cream, and who fall for stuff like the Cape Cod Canal Tunnel.
I can just see the pieces of straw hanging out of their mouths when they walk into Sportsport and ask Karen to set them up with a rented rod and a box of sea worms. Off they go to some crowded public beach at high noon, the surf line yellow with toddler pee and sun block, they plop the worm in the water and -- with jetskis buzzing in the distance, the wrong tide, the wrong moon -- they haul out Moby Striper, the kind of fish we real anglers dream about hanging on their wall.
Everyone had to be a beginner once. I was but I don’t have my beginner’s trophy fish to show for the trouble. My youngest son used to manage to out-fluke everyone with a drop line simply because he was too distracted to mess with it much and left it alone. Some suicidal fluke would attack it and be discovered only when it was time to go home. I took an Egyptian guy fishing once, a programmer of massively parallel systems, who reeled upside down, tried his level best to hook me in the face with every cast, and what did he do but luck into a Spanish mackerel which made me very jealous.
My wife and other loved ones love to introduce me to strangers who moved to town in the past week and managed to catch a "keepah" all by their lonesome the second night in town.
"Thurston here caught a keeper at Loop Beach on Tuesday night," is how the introduction generally goes. "It was the biggest fish he’s ever caught."
Thurston looks at his feet and blushes. I think of some poor overgrown schoolie dragged to death on the sand with a rusty winch.
"Congratulations," I say magnanimously. "What pattern were you using?"
"Pattern? I was using a Yozuri Bait Ball with sea worms and clams on 20 pound string. Man, you should have seen the fight. I thought for sure I was going to lose it. This old guy who was fishing down the beach came over and helped me land it. He said it was a cow."
"That’s awesome. How long was it?" The hands stretch apart in the universal sign language of liar’s length. I see about two feet of air in between them.
"Dave here is a fly fisherman. He doesn’t catch much though," my wife exacts her revenge for years of suffering matrimony to a fly fisherman. "Do you dear?"
"Nah. I never catch much of anything," I say; wondering if Thurston knows a back cast from his back side. "How’d you eat it?" I bet on The Dreaded Italian Salad Dressing Recipe.
"I marinated it in Kraft Italian Salad Dressing for a few hours and grilled it in foil. I need some help filleting though. It had a lot of bones. How do you cook em?" Time for the old line about stripers fighting like the Sunday Times and tasting about the same, but I keep smiling.
If you’re looking for a fish of a lifetime, forget everything you know. Clear your mind and the fish will follow. Put down that fly rod, that intermediate line, that self-tied Mushy. Fish at noon. Fish with a cane pole and bobber and nightcrawlers. Hook
yourself in the butt. Drool. Ask lots and lots of stupid questions because there are, in the end, no stupid questions, just beginner’s luck.
And now for the reports. News of the week: well, there’s that dratted kid in the kayak in New Jersey who pulled a 50-plus-pound bass out of the ocean. Round these parts, it’s the Fourth of July (bet you didn’t know that) and that means things are going to get hot and heavy in terms of boat traffic, beach traffic, and elbow-to-elbow action at all those quiet spots you thought belong to you and you alone. There’s always offshore I suppose. Seriously, northside is lighting up with bass. Fluke inside the South Side bays. Too early for bonito by at least two weeks, so don’t bother there, but plenty of bluefish and bass to keep you occupied. My bet? Backside beaches and the Vineyard feel very fishy. Great moon and it’s always fun to fish in the rockets’ red glare. Have a safe and relaxing long weekend.
Thanks to all of you who are emailing me your reports. Please keep them coming.