Swimming in a Fish Bowl Year After Year

   On June 13, 2014, I returned to the Hudson River in Alpine, New Jersey. I didn't catch anything or stay long. The heavens opened up, and it quickly became unbearable. In the above photo, you can normally see Yonkers across the Hudson when it's not covered by a thick layer of fog.



   As you can see from the image above, where I usually go quickly flooded, and I was standing in several inches of water.

   It was a miserable experience. I abandoned the Alpine Disaster of 2014 and returned home to dry off.

You Know You're Nobody's Fool

   My last fishing experience was ten days ago, Tuesday, June 11. I've been a little distracted and run down recently, which I hope explains the frequent delays in posting. My three regular readers should not worry. I have no plans--and no need--to return to the disabled list. Anticipating that I might update my blog days later, I wisely decided to taje detailed notes during the trip.

   I returned to Alpine, New Jersey once again. This time, in addition to bloodworms, I also bought a pint of clams at Jack's to use as bait. A search of my blog's archives shows that I used clams twice before, but I didn't catch anything with them.

   Anticipating the traffic on the Cross Bronx Expressway, I left home around 10 AM. After picking up the bait, I got to Alpine around 11:15 or so, and had three lines in the water by 11:30 AM. The solunar calendar reported that the best time to fish began at 12:49 PM. The area, as I prefer, was deserted. When I started, the sun was out, and it was hot and humid. So I removed my jacket.

   A short time after I began fishing, I started getting hits with the clams. Since this happened long before the "best time," I hoped I would have a great day fishing. Unfortunately, I couldn't catch anything with the clams. Whatever was going after them was just playing with the bait--just nibbling and picking at it--while avoiding the hook. At one point, from a distance, I saw something large stick its head out of the water maybe to catch a fly. I don't know if it was a fish or some other animal. Most fish tend to jump out of the water rather than sticking their heads out.

   At 12:30 PM, I reeled in a perch. It was small, measuring between nine and ten inches. I threw it back.

   I continued to have hits with the clams and even the bloodworms for the next hour, but I couldn't catch anything. As usual, I began to get frustrated.

   At 1:49 PM, I had my second and third catches of the day. I caught two small crabs that were stuck together. The smaller one was somehow attached below the larger one. Was the smaller the offspring of the larger? I managed to throw the larger one back. The smaller one, however, crawled away, and every time I went near it, the little crab began moving and snapping its claws. So I left it alone.

   When fishing, I've caught crabs before. However, the experience reminded me that a number of the many hits I've been getting were likely crabs snapping at the bait and smaller perch. Still, a fisherman shouldn't get picky.

   At one point, I had a hit that caused my rod to tip over. It seemed like a big fish, but it let go.

   I also had to deal with the rapidly changing weather. By 2:19, the rain started. A brief fog once again obscured the George Washington Bridge. (The Elizabeth Dane, fortunately, was nowhere in sight.) By 3:30, the sun was out again.

   The tide was going out. The "best time" had passed. I thanked God for what I caught. I gave up at 4:30.

 

 

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.

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.

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.