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.
