Gone Fishin'

The ride to Greenport was a long arduous trip leaving Queens at 4:45 am with a full tank of gas and a cooler filled with ice, sandwiches, snacks and beverages for the arrival at 7am. My ten-year-old son Sean fell rapidly back to sleep, a veteran of these trips since he was six. The Peconic Star with Captain Dave was our destination and a midweek trip assured us that it would not be overly crowded. Departure would be about 7:30ish waiting a few extra minutes for stragglers with money to cover the cost of gas and bait by paying fares.

            A mate greeted us at the dock, helping us up with our heavy cooler. The Peconic Star had a nice, polite, respectful crew that treated everyone well. The bathrooms were small but clean, a rarity on party boats. A wonderful stereo system had been installed on the boat and as we pulled away from the dock Willie Nelson’s “ON THE ROAD AGAIN” played loud and clear to celebrate the launch of our trip. We had found a quiet spot on the port side of the ship, out  of the way of traffic.



            Our Mate Pete brought rods and rigging followed a little later by buckets of bait. I gave Pete a gratuity to improve our service during the day.



“Hey Pete, how has the fishing been this week?” I asked.

Pete’s face grew serious. “Well I have seen better, a lot of shorts and a pick of keepers, but still a beautiful day on Peconic Bay,” Pete optimistically suggested.

I tied rags onto the rail to keep our hands clean and marked off the legal limit of fish length. Our rigging consisted of an eight-ounce weight and two Porgy hooks tied about eighteen inches apart on which we double hooked clam strips in preparation for the arrival at the fishing grounds.

It was about an hour and a half ride to our first stop; Willie Nelson, BB King, and Johnny Cash crooned away along with Patsy Cline on the beautiful ride through the clear, pristine, blue waters past Orient Point and up near the Connecticut coast. An old black man named Sam was stationed to my left with a heavy southern accent, I initiated the conversation.

“A bad day of fishing is better than a good day at work,” I exclaimed.

“Yes Indeed,” Sam laughed,” but a good day of fishing would beat all!”       

“Yes indeed,” I agreed.

Suddenly the ship slowed down in view of the Connecticut coast and the horn blew, signaling time to drop lines. A whirring sound could be heard as hook, lines, bait and sinkers penetrated the water all over the boat. A few Porgies were pulled up along with some Sea Bass and Sea Robbins but it was a little slow. My son, losing patience ran down to see a Sand Shark that had been pulled out of the deep. Next the horn blew again and lines were pulled up rapidly as the boat took off to another more promising location. The music stopped and Captain Dave came on the P.A. System.

“Good Morning Everyone, I think my next spot should be better. We had some luck there yesterday.”

The Rolling Stones began to play “Brown Sugar” as we cruised through the choppy water. After a short ride the boat slowed, the horn bellowed, the fishermen stood up and the lines were dropped precipitously into the abyss, everyone hoping for better luck. Right off the bat, lines started vibrating, reels started spinning, and rods begn bending as men and boys all over the boat jerked their rods, setting hooks and snagging fish. I could see the look of excitement in my son’s eyes as both of our rods were struck simultaneously by fish. I pulled up a nice Size Porgy keeper glistening and iridescent in the sun as Pete dropped a five-gallon bucket for each of us. Sean was struggling a little and pulled up two nice keepers, one on each hook. The day was off to a good start. All over the boat, rods were active as men and boys pulled up fish. Rods were rebaited and sent down again and again in rapid succession, nobody wanting to miss out on the action. Sam already had half a bucket of Porgies and then landed a five-pound Sea Bass, a beautiful purple and black fish attractive enough for any aquarium.

“That’s a nice one!” I commented.

“Indeed! He will be on the plate tonight,” Sam yelled over Tina Turner.

Mates hustled, running all over the boat; buckets were filled to overflowing, then coolers were filled, fishermen pulling out sandwiches and drinks to make room for more fish in the coolers. Less successful fishermen’s buckets were filled by complete strangers having already reached their limits. Sea Bass, Porgies, and Blue Fish waddled around the deck as fishermen pulled in the bounty, ankle deep in a frenzy of writhing flopping fish. The stereo played Patsy Cline as fishermen young and old with aching arms harvested fish, exhausted by the plethora of biblical proportions as if Manna from Heaven had blessed the ship reigning down on it.

For some the trip was recreational and fish would be handed out to friends and family or brought to fish fry’s, but for others, their filled freezers would sustain them and their families during the long winter months ahead. Removed heads would become a fish stew, not wasting anything and justifying the fare to questioning wives.

The music stopped and Captain Dave returned to the P.A. “Well, I didn’t lie. This spot was better, he boasted! “We will be going back soon since everyone has reached their limit. I hope you all had a great time. The mates will be around for anyone who wants their fish cleaned at the back of the boat. If you entered the pool and have a contender for a pool winner, bring him to the back of the boat for weigh in now. The prize today is $195. Dollars! Enjoy the ride back and I’ll see you all on the dock.”

Willie Nelson ended the days musical selections with a rendition of “The Party’s Over,” an appropriate song to end a bountiful and beautiful day of fishing on Peconic Bay.

Jim

June 2020