- Thu Jun 25, 2009 11:36 pm
[report]A show in Philly, downtown at Rittenhouse Square. The boys are already at the Cape. You know how that goes- the fishing will be great, then I get there, it drops off, and I spend a couple days listening to all that I missed.
I’m torn down and packed up by 8:30. Rumble up the Jug, and off I go.
Out of Philly with out too much traffic, but NYC- shit. Crazy for a small town boy.
I follow the GPS to the address. 3 am, barely awake. I step out of the van into a clear, cool night. Shit, a cluster of cottages, which one is it? I stand there in the dark, the engine pinging cool. Feels good to stand, listen. There’s a rumble. I wander between a couple cottages, follow the sound. The collective snoring of 5 guys. Once I’m inside, turns out it’s an olfactory experience as well.
The place is tiny, fridge blocked by a cot- the Professor. I could do without the beer.
Bullshit. He wakes up- Tides at 5, you be ready? Probably not, but try me.
There’s no room left.
Yeah. I’ll sleep in the Jug.
A beer on the deck. Back in the Jug.
Feels like 30 seconds later, a tap at the window. I’m up, but I’m a zombie.
I brought a bunch of rods, but I’m here with an extra purpose. Special flies for a special rod. I rig the skagit.
Turns out fishing has been slow the last couple days. The tides are small, the fish spread out. Mostly schoolies.
Magic scored the big fish before I’m here. 34 inches.
A few schoolies show up in the outflow.
I’m shot. Really needing coffee.
Back to the cottage for a nap. Well, ok, I fish instead. I’ll sleep tonight- the night tides are right for sleeping, not fishing.
We hit my favorite flat for the afternoon tide. I’ve had quiet evenings out here, and a few memorable blitzes. But the few and far between continues this evening.
Fishing is slow, but the more I sling the skagit, the more I like it. A rhythm develops, and it starts to feel like a mantra.
Beers and early to bed. The drive caught up with me.
It's lime the battles between sperm whales and giant squid half a mile below the surface of the ocean. Only it happens in the palm I your hand.- thndr
when I fall, I am still cold and wet, but much more stylishly dressed. as my hat disappears in the riffle- flybug.pa
"Sugar? No thank you Turkish, I'm sweet enough."