perserverance

Jason at the launch

   PART 1

     On Friday Nov. 30th 2012 Jason woke up early to leave for a promising fishing excursion.  Jason is Steve's girlfriends brother.  A novice yet enthusiastic kayak fisherman.  We had hope.  It was going to be a productive fishing trip.  By some standards a little late in the season, but Steve's infective optimism has taken hold.
    What do we have so far this season?  What do we have compared to last season?  Nothing.  No keeper striped bass.  So far it's the worst fall striper season for KGB, Steve and I in years.  It's only our second fall with the Kayaks, and we start second guessing ourselves, saying things like "Maybe last fall was exceptionally good," and "it just won't be like that again," and the like.     But this day (perhaps just like every day before the fishing starts) I am extremely optimistic.  the conditions are right.  The surf is low, 0 to 1 ft waves.  Wind 5mph.  Partly cloudy.  We start the day by looking at a couple of spots at the beach to see if there is any significant bird or bait action.  We decide that there is nothing major going on, and go straight for the second part of the plan.  Hit the bay and the inlet.
      Luckily we arrive at Barnegat Inlet just before slack tide. On Steve's first or second cast with a popper  he gets a strike.  (and a miss)  At this point we're thinking, what could be better?  Unfortunately, there's no other action for a while.  As the sun sets Jason accidentally snags a bunker with his swimming plug.  Not knowing that this is the best possible bait to use he discards it.  Then another.  This time Steve sets it up for him to live-line.  
     We have the pleasure to see a Seal swimming around us.We ride the current to Oyster Creek.  Nothing happens there. We start back towards the launch (against the current now) to one more spot that we don't fish often, but have been to once before.  While I'm half-way there Steve and Jason are behind me and I get a call on the radio that they are surrounded by Bunker.  (unfortunately there are no Bass on them.)  We fish this last spot for maybe half an hour and head back to the launch against a very strong current.
     On the car ride back to Philly we can't stop talking about how perfect the conditions were, and how surprised we were that we didn't catch any fish.

PART 2
     On Saturday Dec 1st 2012 I get a call from Steve around 2 p.m.  I answered the phone simply by saying, "you ready to go fishing?"  Yes? No? Maybe?  We hadn't planned on it.  He was getting off work early.  We both know there's fish in the neighborhood.  We scrounge together a plan.   Canal, surf, jetty, eels.  Supplies; waders, corkers, circle hooks.  Hopefully the bait shop is open.  There's no knowing post-Sandy who is open and needs the business, or just closed.
    We get ells and fish slack tide at the canal for an hour.  We move on.
    An hour later we're at LBI in the surf tossing eels.  There's a strong current pushing south, and after an hour we make our last move to the jetty.
    It's a longer walk than I thought and I start complaining like an old lady.  Miserable and nearly defeated, what I am about to do is stand out in the middle of the ocean on some rocks at high tide with the water spraying over me for one last attempt to get a keeper fish.  Some-how it still makes sense.  There are fish in the ocean.  We are in the ocean.  We have eels.  They love eels.  We are on a jetty, Stripers love jetties.  Why are we still optimistic?  Shouldn't we be completely defeated by now?   The end of the second day of not catching fish?  Shouldn't we give up and throw all of our gear into the abyss?  Let Poseidon have it.  After-all we must have done something to anger the gods to have had such a poor season.   Why do we ruin our lives?  We could be home watching T.V. like normal people.  What is our problem?
    There's isn't a soul around.  It's overcast and the moonlight is dim.  There are seals swimming around in front of us that look like floating rocks.  Dark spots that move on the water.  The air is moist.  Steve is between myself and the end of the jetty.   The crashing surf is loud.  Tap tap. A familiar feeling.  My bait runner isn't on.  No zing.  No tug.  Maybe I'm snagged?  I pull back, I feel a weight.  It's heavy, but not solid.  Fish on.
     I holler to Steve.  He comes over with the gaff.  Once it's clearly visible in the rocks it becomes obvious it's no monster.  We gaff it which could have been a mistake, as it measures at just 28".  Neither of us are experienced at gaffing fish or jetty fishing and lessons are always being learned.
     Half an hour or so later Steve is hooked up, only this time it's definitely short.
     It's coming upon 12:30 and we won't be home until 3 a.m. at this point.  There are still two live eels, but if we are to sleep in our own beds, we need to head back.  If we had stayed would we have gotten into bigger fish?  Or, would we have fallen off the jetty into the ocean in a delirious state of fatigue and exhaustion?