Earlier in the week my Mom, Dad and I caught some nice striped bass fishing live eels from my boat. That's great and all, but if you are like me, nothing beats catching a big striper from the beach. To catch a nice striper from shore was my goal late last night, as I walked out onto the beachfront.
The nearly full moon was covered in grey misty clouds, but the beach was still on the bright side. There was no need for my headlamp, so I kept it off and enjoyed the luminous beach conditions. The night would only get brighter as the clouds gradually parted.
I wore my neoprene waders despite the humidity. The water was cold and the wind was howling. It was not a night for wearing my bathing suit.
My backpack was full of food, gear and some live eels. I wasn't sure how long I would be fishing for. Sure I had a feeling there would be some good fish around, but I've had those feelings many times before. Going into a surf casting trip feeling confident certainly helps, but ultimately the ball is in the fish's court.
If they show up, then they show up. And if they don't show up...well then they don't show up. It is what it is.
A Splash in the Moonlight
I setup a small camp of sorts on a sand and cobblestone point that jutted out into the ocean. To my left the beach undulated to a few feet above sea level, where as to my right the beach fell sharply into the water, creating a gouge that was a foot or two deeper than the surrounding areas.
The tide had turned and was on its way in. It was the right time to be at this particular spot. I hurried to hook an eel.
Despite the brisk breeze I could still hear water lapping against the shoreline. I think with my sight hindered, due to the darkness, my hearing improves. I don't think I consciously make this happen, and I bet it happens to you too, granted you spend at least some time in the dark fishing a lonely stretch of sand.
WHACK!
It was a bass without a doubt. To my right a bass had just walloped a piece of bait on the surface, no more than 20 feet from shore. I hustled to get a hook into my eel, and finally arrived at the water's edge.
I cast out as long as I could directly into the moonlight. In the dim reflected light I noticed 3-4 inch long bait fish swirling around my boots. They were everywhere and were undoubtedly the spark that had ignited that fish into slamming the surface.
A Powerful Take
My first several casts did not produce any action. I decided to move twenty or so yards to my right down the shoreline. Had the fish already moved off, or were they still in the area? Often times from the sand you only get one shot, and I was beginning to wonder if I had missed my chance.
Yet things can change quickly when animals are the ones in charge.
On my second cast the water 10 feet from my rod tip exploded. I had reeled my eel virtually into shore when a fish, that either came out of nowhere, or was following the eel the entire way, decided to turn and slam the bait.
The bass threw water up into the air, to the left and to the right. I felt tension on my line as the fish grabbed and turned with the eel. Then nothing. It ended as quickly as it had occurred.
The fish had missed the hook.
A Second Chance
I was disappointed to have missed the fish, but excited to know for sure that there was life in the area. I ran back to "base camp" to grab a new eel and swap out my hook for a larger one. Based on the size of the splash I knew I was not dealing with schoolies.
For once the eel cooperated and I was able to get him onto the hook in just a few seconds.
I hustled back down to the shoreline and heard another splash as I was running. This fish was further down to the right so I decided to take chase. After a 10 second jog I was in position and I fired my hapless eel into the promising area directly in front of me.
I reeled the eel in slowly just below the surface, keeping my rod tip high the entire time, waiting for that tell-tale bump. I could feel the eel pumping on the end of the line. The vibrations made the supple rod tip bounce ever so lightly. I continued reeling at a slow but methodical pace, to keep the eel off the bottom and in the strike zone.
And then it happened.
With a JOLT! my rod tip bounced hard as a powerful fish grabbed the eel. The bite was vicious and the line quickly came tight as I dropped the rod towards the water's surface. I then setup on the bass and lifted my rod tip back into the sky. My light spinning rod crippled over under the weight of the fish.
The striper then exploded into the air just yards in front of me. The bass came hurdling into the air three times in a row, sending white water in every direction. I caught glimpse of the bass's belly as she fell back into the ocean, and then shot off into the darkness, pulling around 50 yards of line in just a few seconds.
