Marley
04-05-2009, 05:45 PM
Hello, my name is “Marley,” and I’m a fishaholic. At least I was this weekend, having taken the rare Saturday off to fish the Sport Chalet derby and returning to fish Sunday’s Masters qualifier. I can’t remember when I’ve been lucky enough to spend two days in a row at one of my favorite places doing my favorite thing.
The days were similar, with moderate winds making holding an anchorage tricky at best to downright frustrating just before turning maddening. Cold, pre-dawn conditions warmed quickly to bright, sunny days with temperatures rubbing 80 at times.
There were fish to be had, if you looked in the right spots. I was fortunate to have found a couple of such spots, although Saturday’s fish took a little longer to locate. Thinking outside the box paid off in a limit of fat fish, but left me (once again) 2 ounces out of the money on Saturday, and a frustrating 4 ounces out on Sunday, forcing me to be looking at the Masters from the outside. Oh well, there will be next year and besides, I fished well and am fortunate to have caught limits on both days.
There were a couple of incidents of unsportsmanlike conduct that reared their ugly heads, but there was one in particular that happened to me and that gnaws at me.
I was set up in what turned out to be an outstanding spot. Intuition and a little bit of experience put me on a spot Sunday that was holding a meatball of bigger-grade fish. I dropped three into the basket and farmed another before 7:30, and I didn’t even get on the water until 6:45. It was one of those days when you stumble onto something sweet.
Well, unbeknownst to me, I had caught the attention of a couple of guys in a rental who were fishing outside of my spot. Wanting to catch something (heck, don’t we all?) they came in on me and anchored a decent 20 yards downwind. They watched me catch another fish and farm two more (weeds were an issue). And then they pulled their anchors and started to leave. We had been talking and I had been answering their questions, giving tips and suggestions, so I asked them if they were going to “call it quits so soon.” They said that no, they were going to try “that spot.” I quickly realized that “that spot” was my spot.
They motored upwind of me and put down their anchor and promptly drifted right into my motor. They cast out their bait right on where I had cast. Not close, but right in the same splash. But, I apologized to them when they caught my line on the retrieve. They realized after a few minutes that they were too close (probably the crashing of the aluminum boats gave them a clue, I don’t know) and asked for some help anchoring. I told them what to do, and they were able to get moved and set. Heck, one even caught a nice trout.
One really strong gust pulled them off their anchor and they drifted again into my boat. They pulled up and left the spot. I cast back out and was instantly on a bigger fish. As I played the fish down, I saw these two guys motoring right back to the spot they had left. I asked them to hold off and let me get the fish, that it was my fifth and I was leaving. The guy driving just steamed full-speed ahead right over my line and my big fish. I could feel the prop beating my stressed 2-lb. Somehow, the fish broke free of their boat and I was able to get a couple of winds on it and as it came to the surface 15 feet away, one headshake parted the line at the wad of frayed mono and my Masters invitation swam away, free to slurp midges and test someone’s mettle another day.
It’s not that they were close. Their boat was rubbing mine and, if they had been any closer, they would have been in my boat with me. The next closest boat was 150 yards away at least, so there was no crowd. And it’s not their choice of tackle because it’s likely all they had. But, even tips from Marley can’t do much when one reel is spooled with 20-pound (heck, it even caught a fish) and the other spooled with, I kid you not, 50-pound. It’s that they were just so discourteous, especially to someone who was helping them, and I was the one who lost.
Now, if you were one of the souls within earshot of my, um, address to these two guys, may I offer my sincere apology. While grammatically correct and, of course, perfectly punctuated, I used a couple of, shall we say “colorful” metaphors and adjectives not entirely appropriate for mixed company. And I was never a sailor. After all is said and done, it was just a fish and I will hopefully catch a couple more before I hang ‘em up for good. And I will not stop passing off biting fish or answering a question or two, or even offering a half-used tub of wigglers -needing-to-be-herbed.
So, thank you Irvine Lake for stoking this fire within us that drives us to the brink over the sport we all love, the sport we call “fishing.”
I’ll see you in two weeks for the WON zoo. I mean derby.
The days were similar, with moderate winds making holding an anchorage tricky at best to downright frustrating just before turning maddening. Cold, pre-dawn conditions warmed quickly to bright, sunny days with temperatures rubbing 80 at times.
There were fish to be had, if you looked in the right spots. I was fortunate to have found a couple of such spots, although Saturday’s fish took a little longer to locate. Thinking outside the box paid off in a limit of fat fish, but left me (once again) 2 ounces out of the money on Saturday, and a frustrating 4 ounces out on Sunday, forcing me to be looking at the Masters from the outside. Oh well, there will be next year and besides, I fished well and am fortunate to have caught limits on both days.
There were a couple of incidents of unsportsmanlike conduct that reared their ugly heads, but there was one in particular that happened to me and that gnaws at me.
I was set up in what turned out to be an outstanding spot. Intuition and a little bit of experience put me on a spot Sunday that was holding a meatball of bigger-grade fish. I dropped three into the basket and farmed another before 7:30, and I didn’t even get on the water until 6:45. It was one of those days when you stumble onto something sweet.
Well, unbeknownst to me, I had caught the attention of a couple of guys in a rental who were fishing outside of my spot. Wanting to catch something (heck, don’t we all?) they came in on me and anchored a decent 20 yards downwind. They watched me catch another fish and farm two more (weeds were an issue). And then they pulled their anchors and started to leave. We had been talking and I had been answering their questions, giving tips and suggestions, so I asked them if they were going to “call it quits so soon.” They said that no, they were going to try “that spot.” I quickly realized that “that spot” was my spot.
They motored upwind of me and put down their anchor and promptly drifted right into my motor. They cast out their bait right on where I had cast. Not close, but right in the same splash. But, I apologized to them when they caught my line on the retrieve. They realized after a few minutes that they were too close (probably the crashing of the aluminum boats gave them a clue, I don’t know) and asked for some help anchoring. I told them what to do, and they were able to get moved and set. Heck, one even caught a nice trout.
One really strong gust pulled them off their anchor and they drifted again into my boat. They pulled up and left the spot. I cast back out and was instantly on a bigger fish. As I played the fish down, I saw these two guys motoring right back to the spot they had left. I asked them to hold off and let me get the fish, that it was my fifth and I was leaving. The guy driving just steamed full-speed ahead right over my line and my big fish. I could feel the prop beating my stressed 2-lb. Somehow, the fish broke free of their boat and I was able to get a couple of winds on it and as it came to the surface 15 feet away, one headshake parted the line at the wad of frayed mono and my Masters invitation swam away, free to slurp midges and test someone’s mettle another day.
It’s not that they were close. Their boat was rubbing mine and, if they had been any closer, they would have been in my boat with me. The next closest boat was 150 yards away at least, so there was no crowd. And it’s not their choice of tackle because it’s likely all they had. But, even tips from Marley can’t do much when one reel is spooled with 20-pound (heck, it even caught a fish) and the other spooled with, I kid you not, 50-pound. It’s that they were just so discourteous, especially to someone who was helping them, and I was the one who lost.
Now, if you were one of the souls within earshot of my, um, address to these two guys, may I offer my sincere apology. While grammatically correct and, of course, perfectly punctuated, I used a couple of, shall we say “colorful” metaphors and adjectives not entirely appropriate for mixed company. And I was never a sailor. After all is said and done, it was just a fish and I will hopefully catch a couple more before I hang ‘em up for good. And I will not stop passing off biting fish or answering a question or two, or even offering a half-used tub of wigglers -needing-to-be-herbed.
So, thank you Irvine Lake for stoking this fire within us that drives us to the brink over the sport we all love, the sport we call “fishing.”
I’ll see you in two weeks for the WON zoo. I mean derby.