Ahh, the one that got away..
I bought exactly six pogies last year, which certain elements refuse to let me forget, ( Fly fishing purist<G>.)
After numerous fly rod trips to Giant Bass Rock, where I perfected the fine art of swearing at the fish gods, I finally broke out the heavy eight-footer, and the chunks. Three-AM, incoming tide, absolutely perfect conditions, I put the front half of a pogie, head included, on a 9/0 hook, and began the lonely wait that is, " Chunking."
About a half-hour later, I was awakened by someone whacking the end of my rod with a baseball bat. At least that's what it felt like. Absolutely the hardest hit I ever felt. My drag was on, the tip bent straight to the water, and instinctively, I set the hook. For about ten seconds, I played tug-of-war with the behemoth, 'till he spit the bait, and the rod went limp.
When I reeled it in, the whole pogie head was still there, but all of the meat had been squished out of the back of it. The fish had left a perfect half-moon shaped bite mark on the back of the bait, which stretched all the way from the top to the bottom. His mouth was at least four or five-inches wide.
At no time had the fish's mouth come closer than about four-inches from my hook.
And that my friends, is how I learned not to put six-inches of pogie onto a one inch hook.
But the memory of the power of that fish, is one of those things that helps us make that transition from, " Fisherman," to, " Sleep-Deprived, Whacked-Out Striped Bass Addict!"
Jay