Fishing

"Call me Ishmael"

A fishing saga

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can." So goes the opening lines of Moby Dick, and so begins one of the most fateful voyages in literary history. OK - so I'm not exactly Ishmael, bound for the white whale, but I've got my own little tale of the sea to tell.

Fact is, I rarely get the chance to go down to the sea, anymore. It's one of the costs you pay for living, and working in this beautiful Summer community. You simply don't get the time to do many of the activities you visitors travel all this way to do - like fishing. However, one of the many perks of publishing a summer newspaper, is the chance to combine work with play. In this case, it's a chance for me to hitch a ride on the premier party boat in the harbor - the Viking Starship - for a half day's fishing. After all, since I do write most of the fishing stories for the paper, it seems the thing to do to actually go fishing once in a while.

It'd been a while since my last trip out of port. That was last fall, when Bobby Vertrano and I took a little ride around Shagwong on Capt. Joe Casserta's charter boat, the Barbara Ann. It was a chance for me to see first hand how good the striper fishing was, and man, was it good! We loaded up on our limit, tried out some new downriggers, and in general had a great time. This time out it'll be bottom fishing for me, specifically fluke. That's been the big fishing story so far this year - possibly the best fluke season in anyone's memory in Montauk.

It's been a long time since I've sailed on a Viking party boat. To be precise, it was February 1961, and I remember it like it was yesterday. I'd just turned 9, and for as long as I could remember I had a fishing jones that ached to be scratched. I was probably the youngest subscriber in America to Salt Water Fisherman magazine, and I'd read every issue from cover to cover. Ask me how to sneak up on a bonefish on the Florida flats, set the hook in a giant tuna off the Georgia Banks, or wrestle a 1,000 pound black marlin into the boat within sight of Bimini, and I could have quoted you chapter and verse. My fantasies revolved around Penn reels, live bait, and the scream of wet Dacron line running off the spool into the inky depths.

The only obstacles between me and every USSFL record known to man was the simple fact that I was only eight years old, barely four feet tall, and lived three hours away from the nearest salt water. The biggest body of water I ever saw was Lake Waccacabi , a puddle in the middle of the Dutchess County near my upstate New York home of Millerton. The only tackle I'd ever owned was a Junior Fisherman's outfit from the local five and dime, complete with bamboo rod and plastic hook. The biggest fish I'd even caught was a 6 oz. sunfish. Oh, but that was all going to change! I'd just moved to East Hampton, in the summer of 1961! We were only minutes from Montauk, fishing capital of the East Coast, home to famed fishermen, surrounded by the deepest blue water fishing known to man. I had landed in fishermen's heaven, and was hell bent to go to sea.

All that Fall I begged, pleaded, cajoled, bugged, and generally drove my father wacky, trying to get him to take me fishing. "Just drive me to Montauk and put me on a boat - you don't even have to come!", I argued. Little did I know, my father hated fishing, boats, and any body of water that didn't come with an ice cube and a shot of scotch. However, I finally wore him down, and he promised to take me. It would be my birthday present, a trip on the old Viking to Cox's Ledge for cod fishing.

The morning of February 12, 1961 was one of the most exciting of my life. Long before the sun broke through the early morning gloom I lay awake in my bed, dreaming of the voyage ahead. Images of steel blue sea, white capped waves, screaming sea gulls overhead and giant cod danced in my head. The moment I had waited for was finally at hand. I was up and dressed before 4 AM, pounding on my father's door to get a move on - there's fish to be caught. My father was somewhat less enthusiastic. I honestly believe he would have preferred to have had all his wisdom teeth pulled that morning, than to get out of a warm bed on a cold winter's day to take me fishing.

Needless to say, once we got to the Viking dock and were underway I was in seventh heaven. At last I was going out onto the ocean to do battle with the giants of the deep. Surrounded by my fellow fishermen I felt a kinship, nay a brotherhood of ancient connections I had only read about. My father felt sick, and hated every minute of it. I spent the trip bouncing sinkers off the bottom, he spent it holed up in the cabin. I reveled in the company of other rail mates, he tried his best not to lose his breakfast. I cranked in a dog fish, and a 15 lb. pollack! He never touched his rod.

It's been over 36 years since my last trip on the Viking, and a lot has changed. For starters, they don't run winter cod trips anymore - the fishing just isn't there now. As for me, I'm a lot older, and definitely not as fish crazy as I was at 9. I still go for the occasional snapper hunt at Three Mile Harbor, but my off-shore days are well behind me now. Well, that would change today, as I set my sights for the new Viking dock for a half days fishing.

arrived at the appointed hour of 1 PM, just in time to grab my ticket and jump on board. Following my wife's advice I packed plenty of water, a hat to keep the sun off my weathered brow, a clean legal pad and pens to take copious notes with, and a fully loaded camera to record the momentous event. All I could say was, those fish had better beat a path to Block Island - cause I was coming to get em!

We left the slip and steamed out the inlet aboard the queen of the fleet - the 140' Viking Starship. The largest and most modern party boat in Montauk, she's capable of hauling over 100 anglers wherever the fish are biting. Although most of her trips are half days inshore, she's just as much at home 150 miles to sea in the George's Banks as she is bobbing around in sight of the Point. There she'd be hunting giant cod, today's catch is a mite tamer - Montauk fluke.

Her skipper, Capt. Steve, put her in high gear as soon as we cleared the break water and headed us due east for the Point. At 15 knots it was a short trip to the north rips where the fluking has been the hottest lately. I couldn't have picked a better day. The winds were light, the seas smooth, the air warm but not over poweringly hot. A far cry from my first trip out, when frost bite seemed a distinct possibility. We passed along the north shore of Montauk, past Gin Beach, Shagwong Point, and False Point. By 1:30 we made out first stop of the day, roughly abeam of the Lighthouse. As the captain cut his engines, and I took my place along the rail, that old feeling of anticipation began to build. What was down below in those seemingly bottomless depths, waiting for my hook?

While I waited for the mates to pass out the bait, I noticed my fellow anglers were a pretty diverse bunch. Young, middle aged, old, men, women, kids - even an infant no more than six months, strapped to her mommy's back! Now, there's someone even I can out fish! The rest looked like a pretty seasoned bunch, and I had no illusions about winning the pool that day. The pool on board the Viking, for those uninitiated in fishing jargon, is not the round, water filled structure Kathy Lee Gifford sings about in those Carnival Cruise ads. No, it's the time honored practice of kicking a few bucks in a hat, and awarding it to the guy or gal who lands the biggest fish of the day. Gee - that sounds like gambling, doesn't it? What would Kathy Lee say! Then again, who cares.

Our mates - Pepe, Paul and Claire - handed us our afternoon's bait, a plastic bucket of fresh spearings and strips of squid. Now, this may not be your idea of lunch, but the fluke love it. A wise old fishing master taught me, that to catch fish, you must think like a fish. In this case, remember the basic nature of the fluke. Unlike flounder, which they closely resemble, fluke are true predators, constantly on the prowl looking for their next meal. They are classic bottom feeders, who set up shop in or around any structures that mark the bottom - rocks, wrecks, drops. They then hides in and around those places and ambushes whatever drifts along. Our job, is to get the bait within a few feet of the bottom, and then wait. If we're in the right spot, at the right depth, the fluke will jump the bait like a linebacker blind-siding the QB! At least, that's the theory, as explained to me by Pepe. Now comes the hard part, actually catching fish.

This is a piece of cake, I assured myself with the confidence of one who hasn't caught a fish offshore in over 36 years. All I do is put a strip of squid on the hook, lover it over the side, let the reel free spool all the way to the bottom, and when I feel the sinker hit, put the reel in gear, crank up a few feet and wait for dinner to throw itself on the hook. I can already count the pool money. Before I can decide whether to put it in T-Bills or blow it at the track, a nine year old girl next to me has got one on! Good for her, it looks like a keeper. That'll make her day. Oh, the old geezer to my left's pole is doubled over - it's gotta be a doormat. What a lucky stiff. Soon, all around me there's fluke hitting the deck, mates netting fish, and happy faces at the rail. Except me - not a nibble, not a bite, the big donut for moi.

While I'm contemplating my ineptitude, the horn blows, signaling a change in scene. Capt. Steve has got his eye on another patch of the rip, where he says even better fishing is to be found. Well, this is one angler who's glad to move on to new territory. I just know there's a fish with my name on it, further around the Point. 15 minutes steaming and we're back on the rail, bailing fluke right, left, but not center. That's me in the middle, dragging down the fishing curve for all my fellow anglers. Not only can't I seem to catch anything, I've found a nearly fool proof way to create the Viking's biggest bird's nest. That, for those unaware, is the huge wad of tangled line you get on a reel, when it's not properly free spooled. Imagine a Brillo pad that's exploded.

Luckily, Claire - the only Irish maid mate in the fleet - comes to my rescue. With skill that belies her youth, she deftly frees my line for another embarrassing attempt at fluking. Just as I'm beginning to doubt my God given ability to catch fish, a miraculous event occurs. Somewhere in the inky depths below, the world's dumbest fluke has decided to commit suicide by taking my bait. Bless every ounce of his tiny body! With a mighty tug I set my hook, and putting all my weight into every crank of the reel, slowly pulled it's wriggling body from the bottom. After what seemed an eternity, with every muscle in my body crying out for relief, the outline of the fluke appeared inches from the sea's surface. One last haul, and it's on deck, flapping it's fluke at my feet in a last, vain attempt to slip the hook and find freedom. It was a proud moment, one of the highlights of my fishing career. I'll never forget the look on Claire's face when she turned to me and said - "You'll have to throw it over, it's too small to keep." A Kodak moment, if ever there was one.

That one fluke turned my day around. Convinced that I could catch fish, I did - three more fluke and a pre-historic skate to boot. None of them were pool winners, but that didn't matter to me. I had gone down to the sea again, and rediscovered a love I had long since forgotten. I realized that it's not the size of the fish you catch that matters, that makes a day on the water so special. It's the elemental pull of the sea, the primordial bond between man and ocean that draws us all down to the shore, again and again. So what, if you aren't the greatest fisherman of all times - join the crowd! But I guarantee you this - you'll have a great time just trying.

The Viking sails half days for fluke at 8:00 AM and 1:00PM every day from now through Labor Day. The fare is only $ 25.00 per adult, and $ 12.00 for kids 5 - 12. All your tackle and bait is included, as well as the unlimited advice and patience of their well trained crew. If you're ready to step up for more challenging fare, there's night bluefishing, full moon striped bassing, and over night trips to the famed George's Banks for giant cod. Be sure to call in advance for reservations, and tell them, Ishmael sent you.