A Surfcaster Looks at 40

By the time you read this, you, the cultured, well-read anglers of the Northeast, I’ll have crested the “hill” and turned 40 years old. Approaching this manufactured milestone, I passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks, and I have become acutely aware that the tide is ebbing, and there is still quite a bit I’d like to do before it bottoms out, six feet down.

First, it felt like the time to freshen up that surf-fishing bucket list, to put less emphasis on how many and how big, and more on the where, the why, and the with who.

Catch a Cod in the Surf

Yes, I want a surf cod, 200 years too late.

The old guard paints images of anglers huddled around blue-flamed driftwood fires, taking pulls of blackberry brandy, waiting for a cod to knock the ice out of their rod guides.

Sliding a writhing cod out of the winter surf has been a dream of mine since I was 3 feet tall—partially because it justifies the impulse to fish the surf all year  long and partially because of the connection to surfmen of the past. Even if I never cross paths with a codfish within casting range of the beach, the excuse to surfcast under the light of the Wolf Moon is its own reward, especially if I can sucker a good friend into joining me out there.

Really Learn to Cast a Conventional

I love fishing conventional reels. The extra stopping power and the ability to deliver heavy loads a long way out make them valuable tools in the right hands. Plus, they have that old-school look that just feels cool to fish with.

In skilled hands, a conventional outcasts a spinning reel because once the spool starts turning, it actively feeds line to the lure or rig without any added resistance. However, knowing the proper mechanics of the cast, and how to tune your reel, are essential to achieving maximum distance. This requires practice. Practice? I share Allen Iverson’s view on practice, but perhaps the wisdom of advancing age will inspire me to spend a few winter afternoons dialing in my conventional cast.

Catch a Striper from the Maine Surf
I always thought it would be neat to catch a striper from every state that’s on their migratory route.  David DiBenedetto did it in one glorious fall, documented in his book On The Run, but doing it over a lifetime would be nearly as satisfying. I’ve checked off every state from North Carolina to Massachusetts, but my personal migration ends somewhere around the Merrimack River. It’s time to change that.

I’d like to see all the places where our stripers swim—to catch this familiar fish in unfamiliar waters and compare the experience to back home.

Catch a 60-Pounder

Striped bass larger than 60 pounds are exceedingly rare. Precious few are caught every season, almost always from a boat. Yet Al McReynolds, Tony Stetzko, Tim Coleman, Al Pellini, and Ralph Vigmostad, to name just a few, found hungry super-cows within casting distance of shore, so why not aim high?

I know that I’ll almost certainly make my last cast without ever grabbing the lower jaw of a 60-pounder, but if the pursuit of that dream keeps me out for a few extra casts each outing, extra casts that add up to hundreds or thousands over the years, what more can I ask for?

Get Back to Montauk with Dad

For years, my dad and I made an annual trip to Montauk in mid-October. Some years, the blitzes went off as if on a schedule, every morning and afternoon. On the worst year, a storm left the water muddy for our entire week, and we watched from the bluff as boats caught and surfcasters skunked. On the best year, a nor’easter battered the north side with head-high waves while jumbo bluefish and heavy bass feasted among the chaos. One year, we drove right from the beach to a film festival, caked in bluefish slime and still wearing casting tape as we dug into the popcorn and Snowcaps.

That tradition survived only two years after my move to Cape Cod, where I found it difficult to leave the fishing in October, explaining to Dad that we had a better shot at big fish at my new, adopted home. I’d been missing the point, of course, that for Dad those trips weren’t just about the quality of the fishing, but the time spent together.

Catch a Striper from the New Hampshire Surf
See “Catch a Striper from the Maine Surf.”

Fish Block Island in November

I’ve been to many of surfcasting’s high holy grounds—Montauk, Cuttyhunk, the Outer Cape—but Block Island is, to date, a gap in my resume. While I’d happily fish this island at any time of year, the tales of glory of Novembers past makes it the perfect month for a pilgrimage that’s more about basking in surfcasting history than catching.

Show My Kids What Surfcasting is All About

My kids will ultimately make their own decisions about whether or not surfcasting is their passion, but I’d really like to get each of them, individually, on a trip that shows them what drives me out there, night after night. It could be a fall blitz when the waves thicken with panicked baitfish as the bass herd them against the sand; it could be a slow night punctuated by one good fish at the end of the tide; it might be a sunrise spent driving the beach with a coffee steaming in the cupholder and binoculars at the ready to spot distant birds.

Whatever it is, I’d like them to end the trip with an answer to their question: “Why do you like fishing so much?”

Accept a Changing Relationship to Surfcasting

Surfcasting, I’m reluctantly learning, is a young man’s game—at least the way I’ve done it the last 20-some years. That is, all night, every night, and if you aren’t calling about the next set of tides, you’ll hear from me in December.

Fishing the surf at this level pushes one to the fringes of society, where many surfcasters feel most comfortable. You get to know the graveyard-shift workers at all the gas stations and convenience stores on your routes to the beach. Your waders never dry and your striper thumb rarely heals. It’s glorious, but never meant to last. For how much longer can I be the unshaven, glassy-eyed dad at the bus stop, nursing a high-test coffee, and reeking of eels, while the other parents, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, talk excitedly about … well, whatever it is people talk about when they aren’t wondering why the bass didn’t show up the night before.

I simply can’t maintain the surfcasting intensity of an unattached 25-year-old while managing the familial and professional responsibilities of an over-40 victim of fate. If I want family and fishing to continue to be sources of joy through middle-age and into old age, then I need to find the balance now.

That’s enough for the moment.  There are a lot of casts to take and plans to make, so I’ve got to stop wishin’, I’ve got to go fishin’. See you on the other side of the hill.

(Photo by Liam O’Neill)

Source: https://onthewater.com/a-surfcaster-looks-at-40

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