Wednesday, May 29, 2013

I Hope That's Not the Elizabeth Dane

Out of the dense fog and hard rain, I spotted what looked like a sailboat or an old clipper ship. It moved upriver quite slowly.



It eventually came into view, and I could see it's rain-soaked crew. The old-looking vessel eventually docked nearby, and its passengers soon vanished.


I hope it wasn't the long-lost Elizabeth Dane.

A Bridge Too Far


The usually-visible George Washington Bridge is nowhere to be seen in the fog.

And the Anzio Bridgehead Was Held for the Price of a Few Hundred Ordinary Lives


Yesterday (Tuesday, May 28), I returned to Alpine, New Jersey in the mid-afternoon. I began by picking up two dozen bloodworms and one fresh bunker at Jack's. There, a fisherman had wheeled in his day's catch: a monstrous striped bass. It must have measured several feet, and I was told it weighed over 40 lbs. (Of course, I left my phone in the car, so there's no picture.) He caught it nearby using a piece of fresh bunker. I don't know if he was on shore or in a boat. I congratulated him, shaking his hand and saying, "God bless ya! You're my hero." He appreciated my good wishes.

I then drove to Alpine. Since there was traffic on the wretched Cross Bronx Expressway, I was delayed by 45 minutes or so. I started fishing around 3:10. I missed high tide, and it was starting to recede. The weather forecast called for showers, but over here, it was raining harder than I expected. The solunar calendar predicted nominal fishing success, but I went anyway. As I have written before, fog and a slight, bearable rain usually evoke a pleasant fishing experience I once had on the Potomac River off Fletcher's Boathouse--days after I learned that I would be getting my Master's Degree.


The rain (as you can see in the above photo) created plenty of mud. Of course, I got soaked as did everything else. There was also a dense fog in the area, and I couldn't even see the George Washington Bridge. I put a piece of bunker on one line, and a bloodworm on the other. I didn't have much action at first. I eventually managed to get a few hits on both lines, but didn't catch anything.

The rain continued to batter the area and my aging frame without mercy. (Wisely, I took my pain medication before leaving home.) I managed to hold out for about 80 to 90 minutes before making another early exit (this one due to rain).

I was extra careful driving home because of the fog. Fortunately, the bad weather kept the bicyclists and pedestrians away.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

And If Your Head Explodes...


Again, I'm a little late with the updates. (Story of my life.) On Monday (May 20), I once again traveled to New Jersey. Eager to try new places, I went to Ross Dock, which is also on the Hudson River with clear view of the George Washington Bridge.

In baseball, it's called an "early exit," when the manager takes out the starting pitcher early in the game after a poor performance. I did have a few hits, including what seemed to be a big one, but my hooks kept getting caught in the rocks. I started out with two poles, although I brought three with me. At one point, I accidentally stepped on the third which was resting on the ground. It was the baitcasting rod, which I had brought out of retirement. I crushed its upper half with my boot.

Ross Dock is much cleaner than Alpine and had more people. I often prefer a little solitude. To get to Ross Dock, I noticed it's five miles from the exit on the Palisades Parkway. You have to be extra careful when driving on the road since it's frequently used by cyclists and a few pedestrians. I can get to Alpine much faster.

After about 90 minutes or less, my frustrations (and some physical pain) got the best of me, and I gave up. I'll try not to let this experience, which I have christened the Ross Dock Disaster of 2013 and rivals the Croton Point Park Disaster of 2009, prejudice me against Ross Dock. Next time, I'll just try a different spot.

In the meantime, I have to restock my gear.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

The Catch of the Day


My only catch was a 10-inch perch. I've caught smaller, but I'm always grateful to catch anything. Thank you, St. Peter.

Remembering Games and Daisy Chains and Laughs



I've been a little scatter-brained in the last few days and have failed to update my blog in a timely fashion.

Last Friday (May 17), I returned to the Alpine, New Jersey at the very same spot I fished last time. I brought a third fishing rod with me. I don't believe I've used it since the late 1990s or so. I cleaned and respooled it. It has an Abu Garcia baitcast reel, which is designed for longer casts (at least for fisherman who know what they're doing), with a baitcasting rod. I know I've caught a few fish with this one, but I can't remember how many and how big.

I got to the area around 3:10 or so. The sun was out, and there was a slight breeze. I had numerous hits on all three lines, but for the first few hours, I didn't hook anything. Naturally, I often reeled in the lines to check the bait. Quite often, the hooks were cleaned off. Other times, the partially-devoured bloodworm was still on. I tried different types of hooks, but it made no difference. Near the end of the trip, I was overcome by a sense of disappointment. I can't remember a fishing trip where I had so many hits or opportunities, but failed to land a single fish. I realized this was also a cruel metaphor for my life. As is my custom with despair, I asked for St. Peter's help. I should point out that prayers aren't magic spells. God's answer can always be a "no" or, as I've realized in the last two decades, a "not know." But today, St. Peter delivered.

I reeled in a perch, which measured 10 inches. I looked up and thanked God for rescuing my day. I also realized that most of the hits I was getting was probably from the perch in the river. I don't mind catching perch, but I certainly prefer a stripped bass or a catfish. Since I haven't had much luck with fresh bunker in a long time, I've focused on bloodworms for bait. I know I should try others.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Unladen, Empty, and Turned to Stone


   Yesterday (May 13), I drove up to Hudson Park in New Rochelle. In-Fisherman's solunar calendar reported good fishing between 1 and 3 PM. Unfortunately, I struck out.

   I just took two dozen bloodworms with me. I had two lines in the water by 1:10 or so. I didn't get a single bite.

   It was also colder than normal and quite windy. A couple of times, I took refuge in my car. (I left my jacket at home.)

  I just stayed for 90 minutes and went back home. I had some things to take care of.

Thursday, May 02, 2013

On the Turning Away From the Pale and Downtrodden



Tonight, I'm gonna take that ride
Across the river to the Jersey side

--Bruce Springsteen, "Jersey Girl"

   Yesterday (May 1), I left New York for the first time in over a decade to fish. I didn't go far. I decided to test the waters of the Hudson River on the New Jersey side.

   I took two fresh bunker and about two dozen bloodworms. After crossing the George Washington Bridge, I made a right on the Fort Lee Exit and drove up to the Palisades Interstate Park. I picked the Alpine Picnic Area, which is opposite Yonkers, New York. The place (at least the long and winding road to the picnic area) is beautiful and used by numerous bicyclists and hikers. I didn't see anyone else fishing. I picked one of the benches behind the wall. The area where I fished was dirty and muddy. Several state park buildings and nearby docks still had Hurricane Sandy Storm Damage. As I understand, as the summer approaches, there will be a $5 parking fee.

   By around 3:10 PM, I had my two lines in the water, one with a bloodworm and the other with a piece of fresh bunker. The solunar calendar was once again vindicated, although I didn't catch anything. I did, however, have a number of hits with the bloodworms. In fact, since I've had no luck with fresh bunker recently, I switched the second line to bloodworms as well.

   It was sunny with a slight breeze. The rocks in the water evoked painful memories of the Croton Point Park Disaster of 2009, where practically every cast got snagged on a rock. This time, my lines got caught only three times. It's always a nuisance to attach new fish finders with a sinker and tie a got knot on the snap swivel. But it really doesn't take that long.

   I passed the time--as I frequently do--with my pipe and my iPod. I went through my chronological "Bruce Springsteen Favorites" playlist, appropriately starting with the tracks from The River (1980).

   Despite a few hits, I couldn't catch anything. Still, I enjoyed myself, and I'm glad I found another spot. I will definitely return here soon.

   It's great to be back.

Wednesday, May 01, 2013

Coming Back to Life


Today (April 30), I made my second visit to Hudson Park in New Rochelle. I just took one dozen bloodworms and intended to stay for about two hours. When I planned my trip, I not only took note of high tide but also made use of In-Fisherman's online solunar calendar. It reported a "Major Moon Period"--when the moon would be overhead or underfoot--between 3:26 PM and 5:26 PM. Many fishermen have long believed that various phases of the moon affect the feeding patterns of fish.

By 3:15 PM, I had two lines in the water. After the traumatic and once-in-a-lifetime incident I experienced last week, which resulted in my oldest and favorite fishing rod go missing, I was a little overly cautious. I was on the lookout for birds and was extra careful to make sure my poles wouldn't fall into the water below. The sun was shining brightly, and there was a slight wind. It felt much colder than the reported 65 degrees.

I had no action in the first hour. I eventually got one hit, but I didn't hook anything. Whatever it was, it just nibbled at the bait. The bite gave me hope that I might catch something here for the first time in years. As I waited, I passed the time listening to my iPod and smoking my pipe. I went through my "Country" playlist. Marty Robbins' classic cover of the old Western ballad, "The Streets of Laredo," is a personal favorite. I listen to the song quite frequently, perhaps because I tend to identify with the dying, repentant cowboy in the song who comes to the harsh realization that he alone is responsible for his own tragic plight and sad exit. No doubt, "The Streets of Laredo," is a sad song, but it also conveys hope through personal redemption and the cowboy's struggle to maintain his dignity in his final minutes by seeking companionship with a passerby, some cool water to quench his thirst, and a request for a solemn funeral after he "goes to his Maker."

In the second hour, I reeled in one line to check the bait. I immediately noticed that the line was heavy. Since I was able to reel it in--without a fight--I obviously didn't get it caught on an underwater rock. Did I catch some garbage? When I pulled up the line, I saw that I caught a flounder--my very first. I was thrilled. It measured about 14 inches. A fellow fisherman nearby me congratulated me. Since it was really sunny, I wasn't able to get a clear picture. I cut it loose and returned it to the water.

I gave up around 5:30. We'll see what the month of May brings.