Giving New Meaning to "Toast" of the Town

Photo by WAVY-TV photographer Lance Thomas

Virginia Beach Firefighters and the Coast Guard were summoned to Pocaty River, just south of West Neck Marina, early this morning. They found this 18-foot bass boat (at least, that's what it looks like in the picture) fully engulfed in flames.

According to Virginia Beach Battalion Chief Brian Taylor, the person who called in the fire is a duck hunter who said he thought the boat had been there a while--after possibly having been abandoned. There was no problem putting out the blaze, but the boat was too badly damaged to find any identifying marks, registration or name information.

First reports from the scene indicated that personnel were searching for any possible victims. If I can believe the latest TV reports I heard this evening, no evidence has been found that shows any victims were involved.

As I understand it, the investigation of this incident has been turned over to the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries.

The accompanying photo shows what's left of the "toasty" boat tied in the vicinity of the launch ramp at West Neck Marina, where it was towed after the early-morning flames had been extinguished.

Ringing in the New Year With an Old Navy Poem

It's a Navy tradition to write the New Year's Day entry in verse and, while it may not always be Shakespeare, it is at least creative. Following is the Jan. 1, 2004, entry for the destroyer USS Cole (DDG 67), which was on its first deployment after the 2001 attack that killed 17 of its Sailors.

The year of '03 has come to an end,

Sit back and listen to a story, my friend.

The story of mighty warship Cole,

And her survival of the "big black hole."

 

'Twas her first cruise of the new millennium,

She stopped for fuel in the port of Aden, Yemen.

Alongside with terrorists and bombs, a boat did come,

Intent on stopping the Cole's engine's sweet hum.

 

With fire and flooding in the spaces contained,

Through new sacrifice, watches of vigilance were maintained.

Put a big black hole in her side, they did,

Finally carried to the shipyard with the winning bid.

 

To Pascagoula, Mississippi, the Cole did go,

It seemed the work and training was going too slow.

But 3 years and two hundred fifty million dollars following,

Mission is to find terrorist's hearts, in fear, wallowing.

 

So here we are, in the Ionian Sea,

Destroyer 67, as bad as can be.

DesRon 18, a part we are,

Sailing the seas, near and far.

 

Our course 045 TI, speed 7 knots,

Our plant full steam, our guns ready with shots.

Commander Grady is captain of this mighty warship,

He leads Cole with honor, smart as a whip.

 

As we sail through the ocean, our boss is ComSixthFlt,

The Atlantic is behind us, time to crank up the heat.

Her keel is hot as she tears through the sea,

A warrior at heart, she only can be.

 

As 2004 we see through the haze,

Our determination shines through with a blaze.

This ship stands for freedom, honoring sacrifice and loss,

We fight for our country, no matter the cost.

 

The crew sails with honor and soul,

To put right which was wronged, they fight for the Cole.

God bless our families, this ship, and the sea,

As we lay down this year, good bye 2003.

 

The new year rolls in, it's 2004,

We're on our deployment, need I say more?

One last comment, to the terrorists, I leave,

The message we send should be clear to see.

 

In honor of our shipmates lost in the blast,

Remember our motto: "17 Reasons to Kick Your Ass."

The Fishing Year 2015 in Review

I could sit here and bemoan the fact I've had another lackluster fishing season. After all, 193 bass with 1 skunk this year, compared to 192 bass with 3 skunks last year, doesn't say much. But, hey, let's face it: The right thing to do is to "pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again," as noted in some lyrics "ol' blue eyes," Frank Sinatra, recorded many years ago.

Besides, when I look around our little circle of "weekend warriors" and see people like Gary Coderre, Lenny Hall, and Skip Schaible, I'm hard-pressed to gripe about anything so insignificant as a bad fishing year.

Here's Gary (right), who, this year alone, blew out both of his shoulders, and, of course, he's been dealing with bad knees (is recuperating from surgery on one of them now, though) for a lot longer than his shoulder problems.

When you also consider that he "flat lined" while on the operating table a couple months ago for the second blown-out shoulder and further constantly battles the effects of Crohn's Disease--all while maintaining a job and fishing our Dewey Mullins Memorial Bass Tourneys, how could I but praise God for what, at least to the moment, has been good health?

As if I needed any more motivation to keep on truckin', there's Lenny (left), who has a long history of heart trouble but, like Gary, refuses to let it keep him off the water, doing what he thoroughly enjoys. Do you think he sweats an "off" fishing day, or for that matter, an "off" year? You're delusional if you think so.

Then there's Skip (right), who only last week entered the hospital with a mass in his colon, and that's not his only problem either. He has had severe arthritis difficulties for many years--that he NEVER EVER complains about, no less.

Doctors operated only yesterday to remove the mass from his colon, but what do you think Skip wanted to talk about already this morning? If you said this next year's fishing season, you'd be correct.

I simply can't do anything but admire the caliber of these individuals and others like them who comprise our little circle of anglers. They're second to none in my books and provide more than ample motivation for me to maintain a positive attitude. Besides that, I don't want them all lining up to kick my butt if I should become a drag.

There's simply no room for self-pity in our group, and I'm duly proud to be a part of it. Here's wishing the whole gang a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year. May all your tourney sacks be filled with nothing but lunkers in 2016. See ya at the weigh-in scales.

What I'm Learning About Suspending Jerkbaits

The primary lesson I've learned since starting this latest pursuit a few weeks ago is that cadence is the key. There's a catch, though: The cadence that works today may not work tomorrow. So each trip forces a certain degree of experimentation until you find out what the mood of the fish is on any given day for the area you're fishing.

One thing that experts seem to agree on, as revealed in most of the instructional videos I've watched, is that, in cold water, you should use softer jerks with longer pauses, as opposed to the harder jerks with shorter pauses that evidently work better in warm water.

In the past few weeks, I've had some fish snatch the bait and run with it during the pause. On other occasions, most notably this past Saturday, the fish just smacked the bait hard right where I had paused it--so hard a couple of times, I easily could have lost a rod if I hadn't been holding on tightly.

As it turned out, that's exactly what nearly happened with one of the chunky white perch I caught Saturday. His solid hit triggered a spasm in my arthritis, which, in turn, caused me to loosen my grip on the St. Croix crankin' stick and Lew's reel in my hand. A last-minute desperation grab is all that saved the day.

I've also had a few fish simply jerk back after one of my slack-line jerks (the slack line can't be overemphasized, say the experts), but that's far and away the exception, not the rule. And given all the information I've read to date about jerkbait fishing, my experiences thus far seem to fit the standard mold. The experts tend to generally agree on the fact that, 9 times out of 10, your strikes with a suspending jerkbait will come during the pause.

Another popularly held belief among the experts appears to be that jerkbait fishing is best when done in clear water. While these anglers may represent the majority, there are some who say they also can catch fish with suspending jerkbaits in water ranging anywhere from stained to downright muddy. A few in this latter group even contend they feel more confident in muddy water. Why? Because, they say, this muddy water forces the bass into shallower water.

These anglers are quick to admit they won't be able to go out and slay a concentration of fish under such conditions. However, they do express confidence in their ability to catch a tournament limit of quality fish--enough to win some of these events.

Fishing suspending jerkbaits in dirty water, according to its supporters, usually pays the biggest dividends in spring and fall, when most bass frequent the shallows. They say that a warm, sunny day in early spring pulls bass closer to the surface (within a foot or two) and makes them more active--the result of dirty water retaining heat longer.

Another important point to remember here is that, while bass will move 20 feet or more to take a jerkbait in clear water, they likely won't move very far at all to take the same bait in dirty water. As a result, you need to keep the distance between your casts closer together (probably no more than 5 feet) to cover an area thoroughly.

Yet another important consideration when fishing a jerkbait in dirty water, say the experts, is ensuring the lure creates a highly visible silhouette. For that reason, they advise you to avoid reflective silver finishes, relying instead on darker colors, such as gold with black back and orange belly, dark watermelon, baby bass, and firetiger.

In most cases, jerkbait fishermen use about a 6-foot 6-inch to 7-foot, medium-action graphite baitcasting rod and a reel filled with 12- or 14-pound-test line. The jury is still out on whether that line should be fluorocarbon or monofilament. Look around the Internet for a while, as I have, and you'll find some pretty convincing arguments for both.

Since I'm still trying to sort out what works from what doesn't work on a personal level, I'm going to, as they say in a TV commercial for Little Ceasars Pizza, "go off the grid" and test some Spiderwire Ultracast Fluoro-Braid. I just found a spool of it the other day in the back of my closet. According to the box this line comes in, it possesses "all the attributes of a premium superline in the first true sinking braid." Maybe it'll prove to be a happy medium for both fluorocarbon and monofilament. If it doesn't, I also have a new spool of Sunline Super FC Sniper fluorocarbon in 12-lb. test sitting on my desk, ready to go.

As for how to work a jerkbait in dirty water, the experts recommend a very slow twitch and pause. The object, according to them, is to keep the bait dancing from side to side, with only minimal forward movement. Move it ahead too fast in dirty water, they caution, and the bass won't have time to react. Most suggest twitching the bait three or four times and working it down about 6 inches, then letting it float back to the surface. Forward movement never should exceed a foot between pauses, they say.

On a final note, while many bass fishermen only use jerkbaits in the fall, winter and early spring, tournament pro Mike McClelland keeps one of these minnow-imitation stickbaits tied on year-round. This Arkansas pro developed the McStick jerkbait for SPRO specifically to be used all 12 months of the year.

In his words, "The primary difference between cold-water and warm-water jerkbait fishing is how and where you fish the lure... ." To find out what he recommends, click on this link: http://www.spro.com/searchresults.asp?cat=218.

Tight Lines! one and all.

A Changeable Day

When I launched about 8:45 this morning, the conditions were very agreeable. The temperature was in the 60s, with a light southerly breeze. Things stayed that way until about 10 o'clock.

I just had boated this 1-1 bass and tossed him back, when, without warning, the winds suddenly shifted to the north and increased considerably. There also was a temperature drop of 10 to 15 degrees, which sent me scurrying for the storage box where I earlier had put my hooded jacket.

In another hour, the wind speed had backed off again, but the temperature never got back to what it had been earlier. As a result, I stayed in my jacket the rest of the day.

By 2:30, when I decided to quit, I had managed to catch a couple more dink bass, along with two nice white perch, and a feisty pickerel. Once again, I caught everything on one of the mylar minnows my kayaker buddy, Charlie, put together for me last year. I saw several swirls on top early this morning, so threw a couple different wakebaits for a while, but neither one raised the first strike, so I put them away and stayed with the jerkbait.

I ran across Eddie Sapp on the water today, and he was catching white and yellow perch. I also talked to two fellas in a Nitro bass boat at the ramp this afternoon who said they only had managed one fish all day. While I was in the store, just before heading home, I talked to another man who said he had boated 30 to 40 white perch and crappie today.

Before shoving off this morning, I had a conversation with "Yankee," who was minding the store, and he showed me a photo of a bass he caught yesterday that would have gone between 4 and 5 lbs. Both he and Tom said the water was alive with stripers busting on top yesterday, but they didn't report catching any. However, Tom did report breaking off on a couple of nice fish, so he may have had hold of some.

The water temp when I launched this morning was 64 degrees, and it only had bumped up 2 more degrees by the time I recovered this afternoon. Without the wind change this morning, I have every reason to believe the water temp might have been awfully close to 70 degrees at quitting time.

I plan to keep my eye on the predicted weather for this coming Wednesday and may get in yet another day on the water if everything is OK. I would like to visit my little spot down south again if possible. Given the change in conditions this morning, which was accompanied by some very dark clouds overhead and off in the distance, I opted just to stay in West Neck, in case things really got nasty.

A Christmas Story

By Rian B. Anderson

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was 15 years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read the Bible. So after supper was over, I took off my boots and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I still was feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, wasn't in much of a mood to read scriptures. Pa, however, didn't get the Bible. Instead, he bundled up and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we already had done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long, though; I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.

Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold, clear night out, and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good; it's cold out tonight."

I really was upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, but Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa wasn't very patient about one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up, put my boots back on, and got my cap, coat and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There, in front of the house, was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa already was up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold already was biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off, and I followed.

"I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here help me."

The high sideboards! It really was a bigger job than I wanted anything to do with. When we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood--the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing?

Finally, I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"

"You been by the widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being 8.

Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile, trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt."

That was all he said before turning and going back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house, and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned, he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand.

"What's in the little sack?" I asked.

"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy, too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now still was in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat, flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"

"Lucas Miles, ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

"We brought you a few things, ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children--sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling, and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood, too, ma'am," Pa said. Then he turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring enough to last for a while. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up."

I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat, and much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes, too. In my mind, I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me, and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.

When we recall Christmas past, we usually find that the simplest things give off the greatest glow of happiness. -  Bob Hope

A Tribute to the Former "First Lady of West Neck Marina"

It was 1975, when William G. (Bill) Brown and his lovely wife, Veradell, realized a dream come true and bought West Neck Marina in the Pungo section of Virginia Beach.

That purchase concluded 35 years of moving to every corner of the United States, including Alaska, as they followed Bill's construction jobs. They lived at West Neck Marina for more than 22 years before selling the property to David and Teresa Winfree and retiring to a new home on Princess Anne Road in Virginia Beach.

After Bill's death in 2003, Veradell moved to Atlantic Shores Retirement Community, and then in 2013, she relocated to Our Lady of Perpetual Help, both also in Virginia Beach.

Her love of books and reading led Veradell to volunteer work at Pungo-Blackwater Library, where she performed more than 1,000 hours of service between 1991 and 2005. For that service, she was honored with a Certificate of Recognition from the city's Office of Volunteer Resources. Her fondest memories of that time was finding her favorite book, "The Christmas Box." It was among some new arrivals she was recording one day.

It wasn't unusual to find
Veradell, dressed here in
Red Hat Society attire,
at the annual Pungo
Strawberry Festival.

Veradell also spent six years volunteering in the gift shop at Sentara Virginia Beach General Hospital. She and Bill further attended Charity United Methodist Church in Pungo for many years, where she helped in the kitchen when they had meals. She loved her Sunday School class and went on many trips with members of the class.

"A wonderful wife, mother, grandmother, aunt, sister, and friend"--that's how some folks remember Veradell. "She was a kind and gentle person," said others.

All can agree that the 92-year-old Veradell will be sorely missed since entering into eternal rest this past Friday, Dec. 18th. Left to cherish her memories are her children, Judy (Bill) Womack of Indianola, WA; Carol Westphal of Virginia Beach; Michael (Julie) Brown of Virginia Beach; Kathleen (Joey) Elliott of Virginia Beach; 12 grandchildren; 13 great-grandchildren; her brother, William Benzing of Minnesota; and many nieces and nephews.

Veradell is predeceased by her husband of 62 years; daughter, Ginny Brown; and grandson, Daniel Tuschhoff.

A funeral service to honor Veradell's life will be held Dec. 28th, at 2 p.m., at Charity United Methodist Church, 4080 Charity Neck Road, Virginia Beach 23457. There will be a viewing 30 minutes before the service.

The family would like to thank the wonderfully caring staff at Our Lady of Perpetual Help and Medi Home Hospice.

Flowers may be sent to Hollomon-Brown Funeral Home, 1485 Kempsville Road, Virginia Beach 23464. Condolences may be offered to the family at www.hollomon-brown.com.

Veradell (Benzing) Brown was born May 17, 1923, in Grand Rapids, MN. She was the second of four children born to the late-William and Myrtle Benzing. She married Bill Brown in Portland, OR, Aug. 17, 1940. They reared five children, who were born in Alaska, Oregon, Minnesota, and Washington state.

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

By Craig Baugher

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all across the lake,

Not a creature was stirring, except for me, who was wide awake;

The livewell was humming and prepared with care,

In hopes that Hawg Bass soon would be there.

The bass were all nestled along a deep rock bed,

While hundreds of shad danced above their heads;

With my lure in the water, and a tug of my cap,

I settled back, waiting for that winter bass's tap.

When all of a sudden, I felt such a tug,

I sprang from the console, kicking over my coffee mug;

Away to the front deck, I flew like a flash,

Kicked on the troll motor and set the hook with a bash.

The moon on the breast of the water and snow,

Gave the luster of mid-day to the objects below;

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a 20-pound hawg, spitting out eight tiny red-ear.

With a jump here and there, so lively and quick,

I just hoped my line didn't have a nick;

More rapid than dolphins, her jumps came,

And I whistled, and shouted, and called her by name.

"Oh, Hawg! Oh, Sow! Oh, Baby! and Big'un!

Come on, Girl! Come on, Babe! Come on and give me a kissin';

To the top of the water! To the top of the seawall!

Come in! Come in! Baby, don't get off!"

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, she mounts to the sky;

She courses to the top and out of the water she flies,

Flipping and flapping, as she drives high into the sky.

And then, in a twinkling, she landed on my deck,

As I was prancing and pawing, as I searched for my net;

I threw open the livewell, and as I turned around,

Down the livewell she went with a bound.

When I turned, there was a man dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes--how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe, he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook like mine when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but I knew what this meant,

I just received a gift, from Old St. Nick;

Then he turned with a jerk, and laying his finger aside his nose,

Giving a nod, up into the sky he rose.

He sailed to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle;

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

First published Dec. 22, 2000.

From Our House to All of Yours

The Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyer USS Mahan (DDG 72)
displays holiday lighting during the Navy's 2013 annual Festival of Lights.
The ship was moored at Naval Station Norfolk at the time.
Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist Seaman Edward Guttierrez.

Wishing you a
beautiful Holiday Season
and a New Year full of
Peace and Happiness.

2nd Trip to Straight Creek Isn't as Fulfilling

With the forecast for several days of rain, I decided to get my licks in while I could. I decided to hit Straight Creek again today and try to find a few more fish on what is fast becoming my favorite jerkbait.

I quickly missed a couple of strikes and figured it was going to be another decent day, but not so. The bites after those initial ones were few and far between, and I only could muster a couple of dink bass and two small yellow perch by noon, so I fastened everything down and headed to Albright's. After 45 minutes without any sign of a fish, I ran on back to West Neck.

My first stop there yielded the 1-1 in this photo. Then, it was about 3:15 before I boated a twin to that 1-1. With the clouds thickening up somewhat, I secured everything and headed for the ramp.

The water temp when I launched this morning about 9 o'clock read 44 degrees. By the time I got to Straight Creek, it had hit 49 degrees. By day's end, the water temp was over 50.

The day wasn't as good as what I enjoyed last Wednesday, but I felt a few tugs on the line, which made it all worthwhile. If this approaching rain gets out of here by Saturday, I'll likely spend one last day on the water in 2015. Would like to get some of my tackle changed around before then, but will have to wait and see what happens.

From Dangling Participles to Dangling Lures... And Beyond

Hope this dude remembers what's laying just to the left of his
bare feet. Otherwise, fishin' may be the last thing on his mind.

I spent plenty of time in the classroom, learning why you're better off not using dangling participles in your speech or writings. However, it doesn't take any classroom training to understand why you also never should let dangling lures become the norm when you're fishing--whether it's from the front or back of a boat.

While talking to a friend the other day, he brought up the fact he knows a guy who often lets lures dangle in the water from multiple rods he's not using at the moment. I, too, know some anglers who do the same thing and often have wondered what they would do if a fish suddenly jumped on one of those dangling baits.

I personally never have seen that happen, but I did read about such an incident just the other day. This fella had a habit of laying one rod across the deck of his boat while picking up another one for a few minutes. Most times, the lure was left dangling just over--but not touching--the water. During a tournament day, however, this fella laid his rod across the deck with a Carolina rig attached, and the worm was left dangling in the water, instead of hovering over it. He looked down when he heard a splash--just in time to see his rod and reel headed to the bottom in some 30 feet of water.

This fella's partner subsequently said he had seen a bass come up beside the boat, grab the worm, and take off, pulling the rod and reel in the water. They spent the next hour trying to drag up what the victim described as his "favorite Carolina-rig rod and reel," with absolutely no luck.

On another occasion, the same fella was fishing one foggy morning when he again heard a splash right beside the boat. He just figured he had heard some schooling fish until he went to reach for his buzzbait outfit. It was nowhere to be found. "I guess I bumped it with my foot and kicked it overboard," he said later, while admitting that he knew he shouldn't keep so many outfits on the deck.



'Twould appear the lure found him. I have to wonder if he
found any fish.

In my opinion, the matter of determining what's "too many" outfits on deck is up to individuals. If you can navigate safely with 10 or 15 rods laying all about, go for it. In my case, though, I realize that age has caught up with me, and you'll seldom see more than 4 to 6 rods on my casting deck at the same time. Any more than that, and I almost can guarantee you that my feet will have put a whammy on at least one of them before the day is through.

And when I'm holding down the back seat in someone else's boat, I carry the same number, simply because, if I carry more than 4 to 6 rods, I usually spend half the fishing day untangling them. In case you haven't noticed, fishing rods are notorious for having "twists" (my term for what otherwise, when it involves people, is known as "trysts"). The only difference is that the former don't mind doing it in broad daylight, whereas the latter usually look for a little privacy.

However, I digress. Getting back to some more of those brain freezes that beset anglers from time to time, I invite your attention to the story about a dude who got in a hurry to tie on a spinnerbait. When he thought he had finished, he hurriedly dropped the spinnerbait over the side... and had to kiss it goodbye. You see, in his rush, he mistakenly had tied the bait to a piece of loose line.

Can't say I've ever pulled that particular blunder, but, on more than one occasion, I've done something equally foolish. To wit: In snipping what I thought was the tag end of the line after retying, I actually snipped that part of the line on which I just had tied the lure. Fortunately, all I lost was the time it took to retie yet again.



Ahhh... the joy of casting into the wind with one of these.

And how about those occasions when you or a boat partner get a little sloppy with your casting? I've had a couple of personal encounters with that trick. The first time was many years ago, when my young son at the time got close enough to snatch the hat off my head--no harm, no foul there.
In a more recent incident, however, my tourney partner accidentally smacked me in the back of my hat-covered head with a bait hard enough it shattered a couple of barbs on one of the treble hooks. While one of those broken barbs lodged harmlessly in my hat, the other, unfortunately, ended up buried in my scalp. A trip to a local emergency-care center, though, and all was well there, too. We even went back and finished fishing the tournament.

Finally comes this incident, which I read about. An angler was pre-fishing for a tournament. He just had run up river and stopped to start fishing in 15 feet of water. After putting down the trolling motor, he reached for a rod and accidentally hooked the handle of another outfit, flipping it overboard.

Without thinking, he lunged for the rod, losing his balance and falling overboard, too. Upon surfacing, he instinctively looked around to see if--hoping actually--someone might be watching and laughing at him. He wanted to have someone he could signal to for help. To his chagrin, though, there was no one.

He had no choice but to start trying to get back in the boat on his own. After struggling for several minutes, he managed to work his way to the boat's stern and climbed back aboard by using the outboard. It was while sprawled on the rear deck, trying to regain his breath, that he realized a $200 rod-and-reel outfit wasn't his only loss. His $300 pair of prescription bifocal sunglasses also were gone now.



Reckon this'll end up in one of those "twists"?

I've never lost any sunglasses over the side, but I certainly left my fair share of prescription bifocals and trifocals laying on the bottom before I had cataract surgery. I still vividly recall one close-to-Christmas night in particular many years ago when I was driving home after losing a pair of trifocals over the side.

If those drivers I was meeting on the road that night had known what I was seeing as I drove along in the darkness, they likely would have been even more terrified than I was at the time. My vision in one eye then was only 20/400, and I further was seeing double, not to mention all the glare I was dealing with from the bright holiday lights. Nevertheless, I made it home without incident.

As a fisherman, there are a couple of sayings I've subscribed to for many years. The first one is: "S_ _t Happens." The other is: "If I didn't have bad luck, I often wouldn't have any at all." You simply have to accept the reality that, if you're a fisherman, some very dumb things probably are going to happen to you. Here's hoping you survive all such encounters.

Tight Lines!

Straight Skinny About My Day in Straight Creek

When I left the house this morning, bound for West Neck Marina, there was no doubt whatsoever about my game plan. Charlie's latest trip a week or so ago to Straight Creek had solidified my decision. I was going to see if I could pick up where he left off. As luck would have it, I was able to do just that.

Ten minutes after killing the gas motor and hopping on the trolling motor this morning, I put my first bass of the day in the boat. Before I wrapped up and headed back to West Neck at 2 o'clock, I had gone on to boat a total of seven bass and one yellow perch. The biggest bass only weighed 1-9 (in picture above), but of the seven, there were six keepers, so I was more than a little satisfied.

Of the dozen or so baits that I tried today, only one worked. That lure was the mylar minnow (right), which Charlie painted for me some time ago--many thanks, my good friend. Most of the fish were taking the bait on the edge of the channel. What I found especially "cool" about the day was the fact the water was so clear I got to see a couple of strikes that came near the boat but, because of bad timing on my part, I missed hooking them. There also was one occasion where I had a fish swirl under my bait on four straight twitches before he finally snatched it, took off running, then came about a foot out of the water. I'm sure I don't need to tell you my adrenaline really got to pumping as I watched these events unfold.

The farther south I ran this morning, the more confident I became that I would end up catching some fish today. The water temperature as I left West Neck was reading 50 degrees, and by the time I reached Straight Creek, it had reached 55.

And last but certainly not least was my appreciation of the fact that most of the "big boys" evidently have completed their trips south for the winter. I made the roundtrip today without seeing any of them. That and little wind at the ramp as I recovered the boat made for a perfect ending to a most enjoyable day on the water.

A Mixed Bag Kind of Day

My day started at 6 a.m., when the alarm went off, reminding me that I had an appointment with my boat mechanic. I had agreed to have the boat at his place sometime between 9 and 10 o'clock. As it worked out, I arrived there about 9:30.

Nothing major was on today's agenda. I'm just trying to get all the little things done before this nice weather all disappears and we get hit with a giant dose of reality.

The day was centered around Wayne installing these new tie-down straps (at right) for my rods. I've never liked those bungee cords because they always lose their elasticity.

I first saw these straps the day here a couple weeks ago when I went fishing with Wayne in his Ranger. He told me I could get a pair just like them from Tackle Warehouse, and since the Black Friday sales were on at the time, I went ahead and placed my order that night when I got home from our trip on the water.

Wayne also replaced the foot-rest under the trolling motor. My old one was a short model that rested on the gunwale. As you can see in this photo, the new one rests on the deck.

Anyone familiar with my boat probably notices something missing from this picture, namely the Lowrance HDS-7 fishfinder. I had Wayne take that off a week or so ago. It's now for sale at Motor Tech in Suffolk. I haven't used any electronics on my front casting deck in years, and I found this one in my way more than anything else. I was in constant fear I would trip over it one day and take a nose-dive off the bow.

While at West Neck hooking up my boat this morning, I ran across my friend, "Doc," who was getting his rig ready to go fishing for a while. As it worked out, he came off the water about the same time I was putting my boat back in the shed this afternoon.

"Doc" scored a couple of bass while fishing a lipless crankbait along one of his favorite stretches in West Neck. His best was the 2-15 in this photo. He also had a 1-11. The reported water temp today was 54 degrees.

Before leaving to start home this afternoon, I asked "Doc" how much longer he plans to keep fishing this winter, and he indicated it depends on what the weather does. He's also got some plans for doing a little work on his boat before buttoning it up for good this winter. While none of us know for sure how much longer this nice weather will last, "Doc" feels pretty certain the day of reckoning is very close.

Sorry, But I Have To Call It Like I See It

OK, I'll admit that this photo from 100 years ago exaggerates the road conditions you find today at West Neck Marina. However, if something isn't done soon, the exaggeration may be so slight you'll have a hard time telling the difference, especially after it rains as it did night before last.

I hadn't even slushed through all the mud and brimming-full-of-water holes to reach my boat-storage shed yesterday morning before a fellow tenant towing his boat to the ramp stopped me. He, like a lot of others among us, wanted to know when somebody is going to do something about the marina's deteriorating roadway. From the entrance, up into the boat-storage area and down around the loop to the boat ramp, especially the side near where people bank fish, is a giant mess.

It's a smart person who ignores the "5 mph" posted atop the sign that sits in the middle of the lot where you start toward the ramp. Instead, I would encourage you to try and duplicate the speed of a turtle. And even then, you're probably going to be testing every facet of your suspension. I don't know any other way to say it but that "it's really bad."

Unfortunately, I don't have an answer, which is what I had to tell the fella yesterday. And the thing is, it's not just those who store their boats at West Neck that are complaining. I've also heard it from folks who simply use the West Neck ramp to launch their boats. When they're not stopping me at the marina, they're either calling or emailing me with their legitimate concerns.

To all, I would say this: Perhaps it's time to start stuffing something other than launch and bait fees into that metal box mounted just outside the door to the marina store. Perhaps it's time to start leaving your concerns and/or suggestions "on the management's doorstep," so to speak. You don't even have to sign the notes if you don't want--just say what's on your mind, and leave it at that. I feel pretty sure they'll get the message.

Ever Had a Sticky Reel Seat?

Until today, I think I safely could have said "no." But that was before I decided to put a couple of BPS crankin' rods back into commission.

I last had used these particular rods about four years ago. From that time to the present, they've been resting in slots on my rod carousel that I keep in the den downstairs. When I plucked them from the carousel this afternoon, I "assumed" they were ready to be restored to service again. Imagine my surprise, though, when I picked up the first one by the reel seat and found it didn't want to let go as I started to lay it down again. Ditto for the second one.

Close inspection revealed that both reel seats were covered by what looked like the residue you see nearly every time you remove a sticker from something new. My first response was to grab a wet paper towel, but that was a waste of my time. I then tried some Goo Gone, which takes care of about 99 percent of the stickiness you get from product stickers. It was evident the Goo Gone was taking off some of the mess, but I soon realized I might as well find a work area where I could spread out because this evolution was going to take a while.

Grabbing both rods, the Goo Gone, some paper towels, and a piece of steel wool, I headed to the garage and on out its back door. I'm here to assure you that I subsequently used all those supplies in getting those reel seats back to normal.

I still don't have a clue what caused the mess to start with. I do know for certain, though, that others have had the same thing happen, because I found some cases online. And it seems that at least some of those folks resorted to the same tactic I used to clean up everything.

As luck would have it, in solving this problem, I created another one for myself. You see, the Goo Gone has a strong odor, which stirred up my wife's allergies from what time I was working in the house. While she was opening doors and windows and cranking up some fans, I was scurrying around, trying to remove all traces of the Goo Gone to a safe distance. Once my task was complete, it was off to the shower for me. Eventually, we got the odor under total control.

The rods I cleaned up, however, continue sitting in the garage, where they'll have to stay until the smell has dissipated enough to bring them back in the house.

In the meantime, I can't help wondering if any of the other rods on my carousel also require a cleaning. If so, they'll have to wait a spell because (1) I'm not in the mood to do any more at the moment, and (2) I have to get some more steel wool before I can do any more cleaning. Be assured if I do find any additional problems, I'll take care of 'em solely outdoors. I don't mind working out there, but I sure don't want to be forced to sleep out there.

I Knew It Wouldn't Last

 



That's right--today was a bust. After about five hours on the water, I had absolutely nothing to show for it. Not only did I not have a fish, I didn't even have a strike. All I can say is that it wasn't for a lack of trying.

I threw a chatterbait and spinnerbait, as well as an assortment of wakebaits and crankbaits, in various sizes, colors and running depths, but alas, my day for coming up empty was nigh at hand, and there seemingly was nothing I could do about it. To be honest, I never even saw a fish today.

In digging around the Internet this evening, I came across a fella who, in my opinion, puts situations like this in proper perspective. "It might sound strange," he said, "but I have come to believe that fishless days can actually be a good thing (well, once in a while, that is). And, I'll even take it a step further and add that, ultimately, I think they make us better anglers and deepen our appreciation of the sport."

However, I also found a fisherman who takes a considerably different viewpoint. Here's how he sees the situation: "There's a lot we can say to make ourselves feel better about a bad day on the water, but I don't like any of it. That thing about how it is just always great to be out there, I don't play that. No one will ever confuse me with one of those zen anglers who goes out on the water to enjoy the experience. When I get my butt kicked by the fish I get mad!--madder than a box of bull frogs... Then, I sit around moping and thinking about all the things I did wrong."

More than anything, I think my overriding feeling about being skunked is one of disappointment. I also work hard to do better the next time. In this case, that effort will translate into a trip to a different spot the next time I'm on the water. I certainly won't be spending another day in West Neck on my next outing. Had a note from my buddy, Charlie, when I got home, saying he had had a little luck down south today, so perhaps I'll check out the creek where he caught his fish.

Saw some friends on the water today but didn't get up with any of them at the dock this afternoon, so don't have any more reports to share--sorry. Till next time, Tight Lines!

A Pictorial Tribute to Die-Hard Winter Anglers Everywhere

But as for my house and mine...