Unfishable

Alas, I'm here.  Sure seemed like a longer ride than normal  to get up here, but the clock verified a typical  3 hours.  The season had been slower than last year, but with me , that only drives me harder to be there when the slow spell subsides.  The less I catch, the more I try to catch them!..Most of us anglers are probably the same.  None the less, I had 5 days of just fishing ahead of me and I was very ,very psyched.  As I got out of the Jeep and let my loyal buddy Tugboat, out, I could here deafening crashes from breakers on the beach.  I like it a little rough for good striper conditions....but a lot rough can be UNFISHABLE.  The two of us (bulldog and moi), raced up to the beach wall...picture a 50 year old guy racing a huge bulldog...maybe, racing is not the term!  But wait a second..Stripermike can run when he wants to!

mike-signing-up-for-race

Signing up for the Humarock 4.6mile run!

My ears told the truth.  The 8 footers and higher, seemed to assure more time on the couch than I had hoped for.  Did I mention the 35 mph northeast winds and the pelting rain???  The morning tide was a washout.  I tried desperately to hold out a line, but the conditions were demonic.  The couch became the holding pad for Tugboat and I as I hoped the tides would temper as my vacation progressed.  The icing on the cake, was that the weather forecasters said we were locked on this pattern for awhile.  I was beginning to consider alternative approaches.  Somewhere out of the winds....out of the waves...out of the rain...this would take ALOT of recall to remember a site with all those favorable variables.  Sighing, was a natural reaction , when I realized, there were none!

A dear friend from work arrived with her beautiful baby , and her presence seemed to side track me from the thought of maybe being shut out during the next few days.  As the day progressed, Allison and Fallon, the above mentioned, went in for a nap and I continued to feel like a pent up lion..........until I saw Ed Norton's black truck pull to a skidding halt in front of the house.  It is important that you get to know Ed a little bit before I continue.  He is a thick armed , mick from this area.  Ed is a member of , along with some other very hearty guys, a make believe club that I have...THE IRON MAN FISHING CLUB.  He is rugged, tough, determined, highly skilled angler, and a true sportsman......he is just like me....so I knew something was on his agenda for the day, regardless of the conditions, so I rushed to the door to hear the scoop!

"Some guys at the tackle shop said that there is a big school of nice bluefish, crashing bait by the Plymouth Power Plant, but the conditions are so bad, no one can get to them"........Remember, Ed is like me!  His rods were in the roof rack and mine were half way out the door as he thundered our traditional yell" LETS GO".  Here is the scene.  The power plant has a warm water discharge that houses bait on a regular basis, and of  course the accompanying predators.  On one side of the sleuth way is a small elbow of land and on the other side is a long rock jetty, that was formed with huge boulders....they had to be that size or the force of the water would toss them around. The huge waves that pounded my beach area at the house , were pounding the land and rock jetty with even more force , as they met with the rushing discharge water.  The rain...,the spray...,the noise,and  the volume of the waves was hellacious!  And to boot, the tide was coming in.

We pulled up on the side with the jetty and a number of fisherman were standing there.....not fishing!  Their respect for the conditions was justified, but the  crashing bluefish were within range........if you could get to the end of the jetty to cast to them.  A slip...or a fall, from that jetty into the maelstrom of water, would have only one ending....if they eventually could find your body.  No one dared risk it.....until we arrived.  We could see how bad it was, but gathered our stuff in a very consolidated fashion....a fashion that would allow us to get out to where no one else could, or would.  There was no long discussion and we parted the onlookers as we briskly walked to the beginning of the long CRAWL out to the end of the jetty, where 15 lb bluefish foamed an already foamy surface.  The fishing wanna be's mumbled some things as we got further away.  I am sure it was a long the lines of "Those fools will get killed out there...that water is "UNFISHABLE".

Hands and knees was the only way.  If you stood up, the waves would sweep you away.  As we crawled, the hefty breakers were deflected by the big rocks but still covered us with every curl.  The adrenaline gnawed at my stomach, it was a familiar feeling.  Finally we were within casting range and had to lower ourselves down and in between the huge boulders.  If we hadn't......we would not have been able to cast from a standing position.  The downside was that being in these crevasses caused us to be completely covered with breaker after breaker and that influx of water had my waders lifting off the bottom on many occasions.  That is an eerie feeling!   But we were there.... and we whistled out our first casts with an assurance of a hookup.   The strong winds held back our casting distance, but we plopped our plugs in the zone.....Success was instaneously obvious as a 12lb bluefish slashed at the Gibbs and the drag could be heard ,even over the deafening roar of the moment.  A quick glance to Ed to assure his safety, showed me his rod bent out to the sea and we both laughed.  For the next 2 hours we struggled for firm ground and recklessly released fish as waves from the incoming tide literally crashed over us!  No one else ever came out. No one else caught the 20 bluefish we did!  This was the essence of extreme surfcasting and the reason why I love it and its memories.........Become a member of the IRON MAN FISHING CLUB.....wrestle your environment.

INTHES