Twas A Dark And
Stormy Night
by
It was close to
10:00pm that Friday night in June, when I finally got the kids in bed and
kissed my wife goodnight. Retreating to
the garage, I paused to listen to a low rumble of thunder in the distance, then started tossing the essentials in the back of the truck...
·
Belt
- with plug bag (filled mostly with jigs & storm shads for this outing), pliers,
boga, and folding knife
·
Fins
·
Ankle
weights
·
Large
dive knife
·
Compass
·
Emergency
beacon
·
Waterproof
headlamp
·
Wetsuit,
boots, and gloves.
·
Water
bottle
·
My
favorite fishing rod
By 10:20pm I
pulled out of the driveway, bound for the rocky beach we call Cowtown. About 2
miles from the coastline, I slowed the truck as I approached a thick white
blanket of fog that seemed to hang down from the starless sky across my
path. The last 2 miles crept by, as
seeing more than 15 – 20 feet beyond the bumper was an exercise in
futility. Finally I reached the parking
lot and killed the engine.
I rolled down the
windows and sat there for a while, sipping my coffee and listening to the
crashing surf just beyond the sand dune in front of me. It had been a long week at work, and an
especially tiring day that day. The
coffee really hit the spot. A few random
drops of rain splashed on my windshield, and again I heard a low rumble far
away to the north. I finished my coffee,
and started gearing up. Deep down I had
a hunch that the fish were going to be hungry tonight.
I locked up the
truck and headed over the dune. The
crashing of the surf was about 150 feet in front of me, but invisible due to
the thick fog and pitch black of the night.
I turned and walked along the beach for a while until I saw the distinct
red rock that marks my entry point, and then knelt down at the edge of the wash
to strap on my fins. Clipping the leash
from the rod onto my belt, and pulling my headlamp down around my neck so that
it wouldn’t get washed off by the crashing surf, I waded backwards into the 3
foot waves. The period between the waves
was nice and long, and once I started swimming I only took two over my head
before I got out beyond the break line.
I like this entry point, as it is somewhat protected by large rock
outcroppings on both sides. As I slowly finned
beyond the furthest reaches of these rocks I paused to take a few casts into
the whitewater. With no takers after 20
minutes or so, I headed for deeper water, picking up the tidal current that
runs parallel to the shoreline. A swift
kick lifted me up and I fired the 13” black rubber eel imitation back toward
the breaking surf. After sinking about
20 feet, the 1oz. jig head struck rock and I started hopping it along the
bottom as I drifted.
When the night is
completely dark, and the fog is thick, and there are no shoreline lights visible,
it can be very difficult to judge just how fast you are drifting and how far
you are from the shoreline. The only
thing you have to go by is the direction of the sound of the crashing surf and
how fast your jig bounces along the bottom.
It’s easy to just sit back, relax, and lose track of exactly where you
are. On nights like this, a good compass
is your best friend. Don’t leave home
without it.
I was 10 or 15
casts into the drift when I felt a sudden surge, and the rod doubled over. The jig had been almost directly beneath me
when it was taken, and this fish was trucking.
The biggest problem was that the fish had been heading straight toward
me when it picked up the jig, and within seconds it was behind me. With the rod bent in a tight arc, the line
was now going from the rod tip, down between my legs, to the fish which was
headed away from my back, steadily pulling drag. The last thing I needed here was to get my
legs tangled in the line. A quick half
roll, half somersault move got me straightened out and the fish was now in
front of me, still running. As soon as I
regained my balance, I sat back, fins in front of me and gently palmed the
spool. The bass turned and started a
circle around me, growing closer with each lift of the rod and crank of the
handle. As it drew closer, I flipped on
my light.
It is a very
eerie sight to see nothing in front of you but a white wall of fog and
suddenly, with that one last lift of the rod, the gaping mouth of a bass glides
toward you out of the darkness less than ten feet from your nose. That’s one sight that takes some getting used
to. Their mouth always looks bigger than
it really probably is when you’re at eye level with it and it’s
heading straight for you. I could see
that the jig was hooked nicely in the upper lip. I slid my hand down the leader right to the
jig head, pushing it back toward the fish, and the barbless hook pushed out
easily. We sat there in the water about
3 feet between us, just looking at each other for what must have been a full
5-7 seconds before she realized that she was no longer hooked. She did a quick 180, giving me a goodbye
shower and nearly slapping me in the side of the head with her tail as she sped
away. I don’t know how big that fish
was, as I never touched it, all I know is that she was strong and put up a
worthy fight.
I shut off my
light and sat there in the dark for a few minutes, listening in the dark for
the sound of the surf to regain my bearings.
I was completely disoriented at this point and searching for something
to lock onto. There was a flash on the
horizon and a boom of thunder much closer than I’d heard earlier. As soon as it was quiet again, I strained my
ears for the sound of the surf, picked up on it, and started finning in that
direction. Time to head in before the
storm was upon me.
The wind and the
swells started to pick up. What had been
slow 2 – 3 foot rollers, gently lifting me up and down, quickly became 4 – 5
feet high and the frequency quickened.
The rain started to fall, lightly at first, but quickly becoming a
torrential downpour. Like I cared,,,, I was already wet.
The waves were starting to get fun and I body surfed down the face of
one on my back as I neared the sound of the crashing surf, hooting and laughing
as I slid down into the trough. The next
wave lifted me up much higher than I’d been before and looming up in the
darkness below and in front of me as I sat on the crest of that wave, I could
make out something large and black. It
looked very hard, and felt very hard when I landed on it. But to my dismay, this large rock I had honed
in on was not part of the shoreline, nor even close to it. This thought flashed through my mind, just
before another wave smashed me in the back and pushed me farther up the face of
the rock. I grabbed on to a crevice to
keep from being sucked back down and pulled myself up higher. As soon as I was safe above the breakers, I
sat down to catch my breath and figure out where I was.
I took a compass
reading (which I should have done before, instead of honing in on the sound of
the waves crashing into this stupid rock).
Given how long I’d been in the water and the direction of the drift,
this rock could be none other than one we’ve nicknamed
“
I took a few
casts while perched on that rock. I’d
always wanted to swim out to it, but not under these conditions. I’d already been in the water for nearly 4
hours and there was a storm brewing. I
couldn’t help myself though,,, I had to at least make
a few casts. So I did, half hoping that
I wouldn’t get a hit. I was done, and it
would be a long walk back to the truck once I got back on dry ground. Besides, there was lightning approaching and
the top of a large rock surrounded by the ocean is not the safest place to be
when there’s lightning around. I took
one more look at my compass, leapt from the rock, and started the long swim
back to shore.
The wind and seas
continued rise, pushing the swells to crest while still far from shore. The good thing about the wind was that it
pushed the fog off and visibility increased.
I paused and looked around for a moment, then took another compass
reading to make sure I was still on the right track, and started off
again. It’s really quite a comfortable
way to swim, lying on your back, finning with long slow kicks. You can’t see where you’re going this way,
but you can see where you’ve been and more importantly as you approach the
shoreline in the surf zone, you can see the approaching waves and prepare for
them. In spite of this, I got tossed
pretty well a few times before I finally made landfall. I kicked off my fins
and scrambled up the rocks out of the surf zone, then collapsed on my back for
about 10 minutes. What a ride!!!
The long walk
back to the truck is never the fun part of this. I poured over the events of the last few
hours in my mind again and again as I walked.
That was some fish. What did it weigh? How long was it? Would anyone believe me if
I told this story? Who cares if
they do. I
don’t fish for them, I fish for me and the thrill I
get from it. How often does a guy get to
come nose to nose with a bass in the ocean, say hi and goodbye, then watch her
swim away without touching her. I love this thing I do, and can’t get enough
of it…
Until
next time…
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