He was bleeding profusely, but luckily we had some first aid tape to avoid the scene of Sharknado. Put it this way, they don’t call them razor lips for nothin’. One of the lowlights of the day was watching my buddy unhook a fish haphazardly and seeing the fish latch on to one of his digits. A few fish, smiles and photos later she thanked me and had to hit the road. I helped steady the rod for her and eventually she got the hang of it. I think she underestimated the power of the fish because when she took hold of it she was practically dragged forward to the water. I casted it out, hooked the fish and handed her the flailing, bucking rod. It was a futile effort and we both realized it wasn’t happening with her doing the casting. She wanted to cast it out herself, but to the uninitiated, tossing a surf fishing rod is not an easy task. I asked if she wanted to catch one to which I got a resounding “S&*T YES!”. We got to talking, I explained they were bluefish and there had been a blitz for hours. At one point I turned around while releasing a fish and saw a middle aged woman watching with a big smile on her face asking me what kind of fish it was. Almost every cast my lure would hit the water and be blasted into the air by a bloodthirsty yellow eyed demon of a bluefish.Īfter I kept 3 or 4 fish I decided I had enough for the table and released the rest that I caught. I quickly re-tied with a steel line and it was game on.įor the next four hours I reeled in somewhere between 40 and 50 fish in the 27”-36” range. The fish apparently bit right through my line and I was left with a clean cut and no lure. As soon as it hit the water I was slammed by multiple fish -yahooo! Then, slack. I set up shop and casted my hard plastic lure into the ocean and was met by a head on wind that pushed the plug back at me, yet I still managed a half decent 60 yard-ish offering. I was like relax buddy, it’s a joke, I can see everyone catching fish, what am I an idiot? Don’t answer that. To which he barked, in some foreign accent, that I should look at his bloody mess of fish and not bother him with such asinine questions. I approached a rather serious dude who was in between casts and nonchalantly asked him if the fish were biting. Lures were being swatted out of the air by ravenous fish on every cast. There were bluefish piled up next to fisherman and out of the 30 people on the beach three quarters had a bent pole reeling in a bruiser bluefish. Jumping into my waders and doing a sort of run-waddle that only can be done when you wear waders and big clunky wading boots I went down to the beach. So for all my negativity and bad tude there was actually something happening, didn’t see that coming. “They’re killing them out there, bluefish” was the response I got. I spoke with a passer by or fisherman, not sure which, about the conditions and if there were fish around. I took my time rigging up my 10 ½ foot surf rod, with a fluorocarbon (clear plastic) leader. The negativity was stacking quickly, but we didn’t care, time on the beach would have been ok even if the fishing would probably be of the suck variety.įast forward an hour and 15 minutes and we found ourselves in the sandy parking lot of an unknown, known beach, that I don’t plan on disclosing. The wind was out of the North East and there is saying, “North East they bite the least”. Driving down we noticed the tops of the trees swaying in the wind, eh not an indication of an easy fishing environment. I picked my friend up around two pm in a seedier section of Boston and boarded interstate 93 headed for Cape Cod. Little did I know but, this would be one of the best days the best day of surf fishing that I have ever experienced. Sometimes you go into a situation with ill confidence, and go through the motions, just because.
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