A Surfcaster’s Blessing

In mid-December 2024, we received the sad news of the passing of Janet Messineo, legendary surfcaster, taxidermist, and beloved member of the fishing community on Martha’s Vineyard and beyond. Janet’s presence in the surf will be deeply missed, but we can be grateful that she shared so many of her stories in her book, Casting Into the Light, and in magazines like On The Water. In that way, she’ll continue to inspire striped-bass obsessed surfcasters for generations to come. The following is one of our favorites, from the July 2005 Issue of OTW. – Jimmy Fee

People often suggest that it comes naturally for me to fish alone on the beaches of Martha’s Vineyard at night. Believe me, I wasn’t always so brave to fish in the dark. Occasionally, I still get the heebie-jeebies, especially if I am alone around the Aquinnah Cliffs. I have definitely had more than a few nights when I felt my hair stand straight up on end. The problem is that the striped bass fishing is almost always so much more productive in the middle of the night, and that’s why I keep going back.

I started fishing in the night with my friend Tim White almost 30 years ago. We would walk great distances along rocky beaches on the north shore, carrying only the bare necessities, clad in hip boots, old jeans and hooded sweatshirts. Neither of us had a 4-wheel-drive vehicle at that time. Being female made it difficult to get the hard-core fishermen to take me seriously. I asked plenty of guys if they would take me with them, but not many came through. Some just snickered at me. It didn’t take long before I realized that if I wanted to go fishing, I would have to go by myself. It took some time to feel comfortable out there, though.

The first terrifying experience I can remember was on Anthiers Bridge, known as the Big Bridge, in Edgartown. I didn’t even have my driver’s license at the time. Having lived on the island since I was a teenager, I never felt it was a necessity to have a car or drive in those days. I asked my boyfriend, Duane, to drop me off at the bridge in the middle of the night and come back to get me before he went to work in the morning. Unfortunately, he agreed. Well, stupid move for a novice fisherman, for sure! My fishing equipment was pretty primitive, and I didn’t even have one of those headlamps that we all use these days. I had this enormous flashlight strung on a rope around my neck. As I walked, it swung back and forth with a force that could knock me out of balance. I remember my adrenaline flowing with excitement for the first half-hour after Duane left me alone. I tossed my eel over the railing into the current and settled in with the anticipation of catching a nice fish. Once the quiet of night set in, the horror show began. The silence was soon broken with the loud “QUOCK, QUOCK” of the night herons taking to the sky. That certainly changed the atmosphere and my focus from catching a fish to staying alive! Then came the rats. I had caught quite a few fish from that bridge during daylight hours and never saw a rat. I was definitely an intruder in their busy world of scampering back and forth across the bridge, and I was quite scared. I started to quiver, and it actually got to the point where I didn’t want a fish to take my bait. What if I got a fish on and stepped on a rat? What if my flashlight got hung up on the railing and knocked me over? What if I got a huge fish and as I worked my way to the jetty to land him, I fell in the water? (That did happen at a later date.) That was the end for me. My imagination had just run wild with fear. The worst of it was that I was stranded until daybreak. I reeled my line in and found what I thought was the safest corner on the bridge and curled up into a ball to wait for morning. Poor Duane! I was so upset when he came to get me. He probably thought he would find me with a fresh striped bass for dinner, but instead I told him, “If I ever ask you to drop me off in some godforsaken place in the middle of the night, DON’T listen to me!” Not long after that I got my driver’s license.

One night, after I could drive myself, I was at Squibby. I don’t know how long I wore that silly flashlight around my neck, but I remember having it this particular night. I also had one of those small plastic Plano tackle boxes that doubled as an uncomfortable seat. I never knew where everyone else was because, when I went fishing, I seemed to be alone most of the time. Even some of the great fishing spots I had heard about were desolate, hmmmm! Anyway, I tossed out my bait, squid I think, and then suddenly I jumped from my little perch with an amazing hit. I set the hook! I was on! Oh my God, I just knew this was the biggest striper I ever caught. I was pumped, knees knocking and heart pounding. As I got him close to the beach, I started to fear that something wasn’t quite right. Then with my trusty flashlight aimed at the edge of the surf, from the darkness I saw this long, dark, ugly creature. It was a huge conger eel. He had to be well over six feet long with a massive girth. My very first conger, big teeth and all. I tugged and tugged to get my hook free from his fierce jaws, to no avail. I tried standing on him to give myself some leverage. That didn’t work either. I was scared to death once again. I ended up cutting my line, packing up as quickly as possible and running to my car with chills up and down my spine.

One more frightening night I had was on the jetty at West Chop. I was trapped on the end of the jetty by a skunk that wanted my bait. After I threw all my squid toward him, he still held me hostage for a long time. I just could not shoo him away and the water crashing over the end of the jetty almost looked inviting. He finally left me room to pass and I arrived home, grateful that I smelled no worse than when I’d started the night.

As the years pass and I keep at it, these hair-raising experiences become few and far between. Once in a while, the “boogeyman” shows up at one of my favorite spots. I can feel him. Sometimes I let him have the night and I go home. Then again, we have nights when we share the beach quite comfortably. Coming upon another person can be most startling, especially when I assume I am alone and start singing the Oscar Mayer wiener jingle. That’s not only scary but also embarrassing.

Island fisherman Alex Friedman and his friend John Lee, who was visiting from Narragansett, Rhode Island, stopped by my shop last week. He brought his 49-pound striped bass that I mounted in 1992 back to my shop (Island Taxidermy Service) for a dusting. Bachelors! Alex worked on Penikese Island for five years as a staff member and teacher; he is now teaching here on the Vineyard at the Charter School in West Tisbury. He said Penikese Island has the best striped bass fishing in the world. I believe him! Alex said that for him, fishing in the dark probably feels like playing the piano if you’re blind – you’d get a better feel for it! “The actual fishing is no problem, but you need a flashlight once your fish is landed because everything that comes after that can be pretty darn hard, from unhooking the fish to tying knots.” His least favorite thing about fishing at night is “eel tangles” or any kind of line tangle that always seems to be worse in the dark. Running a close second is getting blinded by headlamps. John and Alex both swear by red lenses on their lights. They said that you don’t lose your night vision at all. I think I will try that this season.

He told me a wonderful story about catching his 49-pounder. He said it is the best striper he’s ever caught, and it was on a night when he drove all the way to one of the salt pond openings and forgot his flashlight. He was alone, with just one fisherman on the other side. “The wind was blowing northeast. It was a rainy Thursday night in July of 1992. I had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and I know it was a Thursday because the Simpsons were on TV, so I waited till 8:30.” (I just love the way all fishermen can remember the minute details of catching their most magnificent fish but have a difficult time remembering the mundane responsibilities of everyday life.) He continued, “I went down to the opening with a floating Bomber, and on the fourth cast, bang! I was using a short rod, and with no rocks around, the fish just ran and ran. Now I didn’t have my flashlight, but the guy on the other side did but I was trying to play it cool, of course, not wanting him to see what I was up to. I landed the fish and my knees started shaking because I could see it was a big fish, but I had no idea how big. I managed to hump it back up to the truck. I turned on my interior light and could see that it was right around 50 inches. At that point my hands started shaking so bad I could only take two more casts and decided that I had to go home. Since that night, I now carry two flashlights, one around my neck and one in my bag, and sometimes I even stash a third.”

John Lee grew up reading Jerry Sylvester’s book Saltwater Fishing Is Easy, and the fact that large striped bass were caught after dark at the Narrow River Inlet near his home in Rhode Island was no secret to him. His first attempt fishing at night was the night after his brother had taken a 38-pounder at that inlet. He ventured out alone and had to wade around 150 yards to join the other fishermen already there. He was a young kid, about 15 years old, and I can certainly understand how he felt intimidated fishing among grown men. The moratorium was in effect and you were allowed one fish at 36 inches. He hooked into a nice fish and a guy came over to help him land it. It was clearly bigger than 36 inches, but somehow the stranger convinced John to take it! So, 1985 was the turning point for John. He was bitten by the nighttime fishing bug and started to target big bass in the night. The darker the night, the better he likes it, but once his imagination gets preoccupied with skunks, Sasquatch and the boogeyman, he’s done. He feels that the skunks just know he is afraid of them, and they find him and follow him down the beach.

Alex and John were fishing together down by Watch Hill on a nasty, dark Halloween night into the teeth of a southwest wind. John had a huge fish on and they were scrambling down the beach over the rocks to keep up with the fish that had to be well into the 40-pound range, and the fish was definitely in control. The fish ran east, heading for a boulder the size of a shed. Although John is taller than Alex, Alex grabbed John from behind, around the waist to lift him up so that his 10-foot rod could clear a big boulder in front of him. Now that’s a fishing buddy! He worked the fish right into the wash, but unfortunately, his line had sustained too much damage from the rocks and it parted and they lost the fish. John said, “We had a great night anyway, Alex whaled them on Bombers, and I was using pogie chunks. Jerry Sylvester always talked about ‘the night game’ and I think the night game is THE game. I’m not really crazy about fishing under the full moon, although fishing with bait could pay off. I get a much better feeling with no moon. But it can be eerie fishing at night with a pea-soup fog, a new moon, Point Jude lighthouse going off behind you and you’re alone, wading out 100 yards from shore into the darkness. It can get weird, but it’s great, too – it tunes the senses, waiting for a bump. I know a lot of guys that fish dawn or early evening, but most of the time I fish between 8 p.m. and midnight. I work in the day and I enjoy having dinner and hanging out with my wife for the evening. When it’s a full moon I usually stay home.”

I had a nice chat with John and Alex and learned some new tricks that afternoon.

Now, most of the time, for me, the noises and shadows in the dark are easily identified. Wind through the trees, surf crashing around the rocks, rats or skunks scampering back and forth, an occasional deer running by and even bats flying around the tip of my rod each time I cast.

When the sun sets and I’m standing at the water’s edge after a hard day in the real world, I have the feeling that all is well and I’m alone with my Maker. When I think about those early years when I was learning to fish, I still wonder why I kept at it so persistently. When I wasn’t scared out of my mind, I was dealing with tangles in my line and leaks in my waders and wondered what species of creature was going to attack my bait.

I am not exactly sure what aspect of fishing has possessed me and why. Could it be being with nature? The hunt? The game? The fish? The winning? The defeat? The catching and keeping and eating? The stars? Moon? Rain? Sun? I wonder! I do know that it’s become a part of my being, and like my dear friend and inspiration Charlie Cinto says, “As long as I can put one foot in front of the other, I’ll be fishing.”

Source: https://onthewater.com/a-surfcasters-blessing

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