Today, I returned to the Hudson River in Riverdale, the site of both personal triumphs and disappointments.
This is one fishing trip I'll always remember--for different reasons.
I prepped for the trip a couple of days ago by checking tide charts and a solunar calendar. The latter reported the best time to fish would be for a two-hour window in the late afternoon.
I bought two fresh bunker, three frozen herring, and two dozen bloodworms from Jack's. When I got to the Riverdale Metro North Station, I couldn't find an empty space. However, the attendant, whom I've seen several times before, let me park near the entrance in an illegal spot for nothing.
I went to the last area on the promenade. By 3:30 or so, I had two lines in the water, one with a bloodworm and one with a piece of fresh bunker. I had no bites for the first 30 minutes or so.
At one point, I replaced the treble hook on my Ugly Stik pole with a single one with a longer shank, which seemed better for bloodworms. My judgment, for the first time in a while, proved correct.
I immediately got a hit. When I was certain that I hooked something, I began to reel it in. I caught a 17-inch striped bass. I thanked God for enabling me to catch something sizable for the first time since 2009. I released the fish back into the water.
As I waited for another hit, I settled into my usual routine, listening to music (Bruce Springsteen) and using my cellphone to access the Internet. Every fisherman faces the possibility of losing his rod in the water through some unforeseen circumstance such as dropping it in the water or having a pretty big fish run away with it.
As I was looking down at my cellphone, I startled by a noise and looked up to see BOTH of my fishing poles go over the metal railing and into the river. Apparently, a rather large bird--a member of either the duck or gull family (or something else)--collided with my fishing lines in midair and pulled them into the water. When I fish, I always keep the anti-reverse switch locked, so I know when I have a hit. If I didn't, I would never know when I got a hit, especially when casting into a flowing river.
I just stood there in disbelief. Nothing like this ever happened. Once, when fishing on the Potomac River in a rowboat, I reached over to get something, and my glasses and rosary fell out my shirt pocket into the water. But I've never lost a rod.
One of the rods I lost was the very first one I ever bought, a black Ugly Stik I bought from a Sports Authority in Maryland in 1996. It's been with me on many trips. The other one that fell in was my long, two-piece blue one. I soon saw it floating in the water. Unfortunately, it was too far out to reach from below. It seemed to go back and forth. Did I hook something? Fortunately, the current didn't catch it.
I made a couple of attempts to reach it. I carefully went down the rocks. As the tide recedes, you can see the previously-submerged rocks, which are covered with slippery, green moss. I had to be extra careful not to slip and break something else. On a second attempt, it was still out of reach. Finally, I went into the water up to my knees and successfully retrieved it. I reeled in the line, and the fresh bunker was still attached to it. I escaped the water quite wet and with my jeans covered in green moss. This whole process must have taken one hour.
I changed the bait and put a bloodworm on the hook and cast it. I was hoping the receding tide would reveal where my Ugly Stick was, but I never saw it again. Maybe it will wash back in with the tides. Of course, a visitor might find it and figure some idiot threw it away in frustration.
I had a few more hits, but nothing else got hooked. I stayed until 8 PM and then went home, where I threw my clothes into the wash. I watched the rest of the Yankee game and then Psych.
