I’d simply married the girl of my goals surrounded by all our folks. Life appeared prefer it couldn’t get any higher till a couple of days later, when each surfman’s dream got here true for me in a means I by no means imagined.
Jessica and I had been set to mini-moon in Nantucket the week following our wedding ceremony, however the climate wasn’t on our aspect. As an alternative, we stayed on the seaside the place I grew up on japanese Lengthy Island. We had a full week to do nothing however loosen up, fish, and spend high quality time collectively. That Thursday, my buddy Tim Regan tells me he had been seeing a large college of fish feeding proper off the seaside, however he wasn’t certain of the species. Primarily based on the dimensions, he suspected sharks or tuna. With out query, Jessica and I set out looking for no matter it could be.
It’s mid-afternoon once we arrive, and since the seaside isn’t open for driving till 6 p.m., we stroll out. The surf is flat as might be, and as quickly as we method the water’s edge, the ocean erupts with grownup bunker spraying each which means, attempting to flee the predators looking them.I run again to the truck, seize my 9-foot rod, and fly down the seaside with a chartreuse Guppy Jobo Jr pencil popper already clipped on. The fish are furiously transferring east, and I’m barely in a position to sustain whereas casting to them. I run forward to intercept, launch a solid past the carnage, and await the fish to achieve me earlier than I start my retrieve. Inside a couple of cranks, I’m right into a fish. My preliminary thought is that that is undoubtedly not a tuna. There have been no blistering runs, simply gradual, highly effective headshakes. Given Tim’s report, I’m wondering if it may or not it’s a shark. I hope not.
As I combat the fish, Jessica is filming me and a crowd is gathering to observe. As I get it nearer to the seaside, I notice the “shark” is in reality a striped bass. A 24-pounder, taken in the midst of summer time, off the seaside, and in broad daylight—not a textbook situation for hooking a giant striper. As I pull it up, an Argentinian household carrying World Cup jerseys cheers me on as they snap pictures. I return the fish to the water, and I watch as she swims away to proceed her nice migration.
I take a couple of extra casts, and the fish transfer off. Tim arrives and I affirm that the fish had been all first rate bass on bunker. They arrive shut as soon as extra. We strive for one more half-hour till my rod snaps and I virtually lose my lure. Thankfully, Tim snags it again for me. We head for dinner with household, however I return instantly after in hopes of discovering the fish once more. The fog had rolled in because the air cooled. Within the distance, I make out a large blitz. I believe, Is that this for actual? How are they’re nonetheless right here? I attempt to no avail. I think about pulling an all-nighter, however with a buddy’s wedding ceremony on the Jersey Shore the next day, it’s not an possibility.
With morning comes my final likelihood to strive for these fish. I’m out the door at 5 a.m. with my Van Staal VSB200 and 10-foot rod constructed by my buddy Jeff Lomonaco. The fog is simply lifting as I stroll previous the dunes and absorb a scene that I think about Stan Gibbs, Jerry Ferron, or Frank Woolner may need skilled through the golden period of surfcasting. In entrance of me, an acre of large striped bass blitzes simply off the seaside lip in crystal-clear, calm water, feasting on grownup bunker—and there isn’t one other angler in sight.
On my first solid, I throw the identical chartreuse Guppy Jobo Jr that I almost misplaced the day earlier than. I hook right into a fish that peels line off so quick that I can’t even set the hook in time and I lose her. My palms are trembling, and I’m speaking to myself (Hold it collectively man, it’s only a fish!). I’m fully shedding it. I collect myself, take a couple of breaths, and land one other solid on the skin of the varsity. I start to slowly work the pencil across the edge, and a fish grabs it. This time I’m locked in. My drag is comfortably set, there are not any obstacles, I’m carrying a showering go well with, and I’m able to run after it if I’ve to. However this fish has different plans—it goes deep.
The violent head shakes and blistering runs are paying homage to a tarpon. All I can do is maintain tight in a Tekken tag battle stance, which has me so bent off form I believe for certain I’ll lose it the fish. I reel quick to retailer line after I can and get a couple of pulls in. Then the fish runs once more. I’m exhausted and beginning to fatigue. This may’t be a bass, I’m pondering. I by no means fought something like this earlier than, and I start to panic. The road is constantly being thumped by the passing bunker and different bass, making my coronary heart bounce into my throat each single time.
The five-minute combat looks like an eternity. Lastly, I see the fish approaching in defeat. I’ve to go in to get her to tug her up on the seaside. As I seize the lip, I notice this fish is the fish—the one I’ve dreamed of since I used to be slightly boy fishing with my father and uncle.
It’s a dinosaur, battle-scarred and painted in darkish and boring tones. It virtually seems like an amberjack with stripes, and there it’s — proper in my very own childhood yard.
I measure her out at 53 inches and effectively over 50 kilos. I scramble to get my cellphone out of my jacket to take a photograph earlier than getting her again in. With my palms soaked in slime, sand, and water, I can’t get the digicam open. Finally, I determine that the fish’s survival is extra essential than picture proof. I determine I don’t care if anybody believes me, so I return the fish to the water and revive her till she swims off underneath her personal energy.
I sit down on the seaside, shaken, out of breath, in awe. My mission is achieved, however the fish are nonetheless feasting. What else is on the market? My arms really feel like noodles, however it’s solely 6 a.m, so I proceed to fish and proceed catching. The fish vary from the excessive 20s to 45 kilos and all take the identical Guppy pencil popper.
At 7:30, a truck rolls up. It’s my buddy Nico beginning off his morning. He walks his canine as I’m casting into the epic blitz. I look again at him and yell, “Are you nuts? Seize a rattling rod!”
In nonchalant Nico-fashion he replies, “What are these blues?”
“Thirty to fifty-pound bass! Placed on a pencil and let it fly!”
Along with his canine roaming free, Nico hooks up on his first solid. It’s a high-20s fish. The following solid brings his private finest at 35 kilos, a mark he would high a couple of extra instances earlier than the morning is over.
At 8:00 a.m., a few beach-walkers cross by on their morning stroll. I ask one gentleman if he can clear off my telephone, and he kindly agrees and takes a couple of pictures. He asks me, “What is occurring on the market?”
I name my buddy Adam Flax a number of instances till he lastly picks up. I inform him what’s happening, and in ten minutes, Adam is on the seaside mouth agape as I land a 44 pounder. He takes an image and places on a pencil. His first solid lands a 36. The three of us are grinning ear to ear, fully fired up. Extra beach-walkers are out, and a pair extra fishermen arrive and wade into the surf in denims and boots. We inform them to make use of a popper of any form. Very quickly, they’re into fish too.
We constantly catch fish, all within the 20- to 40-pound vary, for the subsequent hour. Arms and equipment are battered and bruised. Our buddy Dan, who additionally goes by “Jesus,” comes for his share, leaving his job to get in on the motion. There are seven of us in whole.
A humpback whale breaches past the bunker college and everybody stops. All of us watch because the whale makes its means into the surf zone, blasting bunker and bass out of the water. The whale is so shut that if we’d had a line out, he would have swallowed it. “We’re in Nationwide Geographic!” we yell to one another. After the whale passes, the varsity breaks up and disperses.
I take my ultimate solid behind the scattered bunker and dance the pencil midway in.
Instantly, a monster comes filter out of the water transferring proper to left and inhales the plug. Jesus is subsequent to me, additionally preventing a fish. We take a look at one another and know that is huge. The fish locks down and takes a dash straight out to sea, similar to that first fish. All of it occurs precisely the identical means. I’m again in my Tekken tag pose, hoping that my exhausted self and equipment can maintain it collectively.
Lastly, the fish turns in my favor. Everybody stops fishing and gathers round to both watch or assist. One fisherman, who I had helped land a couple of fish for earlier, runs in and lands her. All of us look in disbelief. May I’ve actually landed one other 50-pound fish?
As I choose up the fish, I flip round to see my spouse with my mom and cousin, David. My mother yells, “Put it again!”
“Don’t fear,” I inform her. I plan to launch this fish, as I had all of the others that morning. We measure her at 51.5 inches and weigh her at 52 kilos. Everybody takes all of the pictures they will, and I stroll her again in. I sit all the way down to revive her for a couple of seconds, after which she kicks off. In my thoughts, I thank her. For her magnificence, her energy, and her problem.
As a lot as we battle the striped bass, additionally it is our obligation to guard them. I urge all of you to observe catch and launch. Like so many different surfmen, I hope to someday share the wonder that lies proper off our shores with youngsters of my very own—whether or not it’s a large striped bass, a humpback whale, or each in a single spectacular morning. If we do our half now, our kids may have the chance to share on this unbelievable sport for generations to come back.
