“Yea, I know the type. Some guys just have the knack,” I said. He nodded and smiled and took a look back towards the beach area, probably at the exact spot where he had performed the deed. “I emptied the ashes into the water and we said a few prayers. We had brought things along to eat and something to drink. My wife and I then sat on our blanket to relax awhile. I always keep my fishing pole in my car because you just never know out here when you might see a feeding school breaking the surface.” I knew the indescribable natural phenomenon he was talking about. However it’s hard to put the feeling of such a thing into words: the sight of sudden, random wild fish chasing after food causing the water to feverishly churn. A fisherman’s dream. “No sooner did we sit on the blanket when the shore became alive with a huge school of blue fish. The water was boiling with blues right where I spread my father-in-laws ashes just a few moments before. The blue fish were attacking a school of “bunker,” I think, trapped up against the beach and it was a feeding frenzy.” The guy made a hook shape with his right index finger to demonstrate. “If you had a metal coat hanger and put it in the water at that time, you would have caught a blue, no kidding, that’s how thick they were.” If he hadn’t been in the midst of this deeply personal revelation about his father- in-law’s resting place, to me, a perfect stranger, I might have shot back an even wilder tale of feeding mayhem. Instead I continued to listen. It was hot on the jetty. The mid-day sun warmed my arms and neck and shoulders. I could feel the skin on my face burning but I wasn’t going to budge from that spot. A returning commercial fishing boat chugged through the rough channel with a flock of swarming seagulls in toe, eager for scraps. He was speaking excitedly now, “I ran as fast as I could to the parking lot to get my pole. It was this same rod and reel I’m using today. My favorite. I had my best heavy weighted Hopkins lure already tied on and I cast it out into the school and BANG, I got hit right away! I pulled in a nice size blue, just like that,” he said snapping his finger, “on the very first cast.” “How big, ten pounds?” I asked hoping they were monsterous. He told me they were so close to the beach some were actually jumping up and out of the shallows in hot pursuit of the “bunker bait.” I’ve heard other fisherman describe this, but I had never personally witnessed it myself. I assumed it could be true -- fish jumping out of the water and onto the sand. I know killer whales do this to catch seals. “It wasn’t quite ten pounds but it was a nice sizer, you know cocktail size.” He spread his hands apart stopping roughly at a measurement of two-and-a-half feet.” I estimated that length to be four or five pounds. A nice catch for a blue and better tasting then a larger one. Definitely a good fight on light tackle like the gear he had with him on the jetty. “Amazing,” I said. “You must have caught a bunch. How many did you land?” “That was the strangest thing” he said. “What was?” I asked. “Well,” he began. Then the guy went into a trance like appearance. Everything changed from him sounding like a regular person to someone transported. Like he was at a séance,“Even though the feeding school stayed there for another ten minutes or so, I couldn't land another fish. I kept casting and casting until my arms got so tired I had to stop.” “That was strange.” I agreed waiting for him to say more. Usually blues stacked up on the beach like he described will attack at lures time and time again. “He let me have one fish.” “Who,” I asked. “After I threw him into the Atlantic Ocean, my father -in-law let me have my one fish.” © 2007 by Michael Domino |
One Fish (continued)