Going surf fishing? Catch up on how to catch fish

Talk about hitting one out of the park.

I love surf fishing - or surf casting, as I call it. The very first kind of fishing I ever did was surf casting. Just last year. Took my son with me on MY first day fishing, and we caught a rockfish off the coast near Gualala, California. We had more fun than I can describe.

I have my giant orange surf casting rod and reel downstairs, eagerly awaiting the next time we get to a suitable stretch of coastline. There's just nothing like it.

Next up, fly fishing, of course. But the Surf Witch has branded me, and I am hers.

 NEAR MISS part 9

"Auntie Severine? Sev? Are you there? What IS that noise? The BIRD? I didn't think Bill was capable of such a racket-he's usually so reserved. It sounds like the rainforest over there. There ARE toucans in the rainforest, isn't that right? Yes, of course...well give him a cracker or whatever, and perhaps he'll belt up. What? He wants your galette? Now I've heard it all. We'll read about it in the Times: Toucan attacks woman for breakfast treat, pictures on page three, not for the squeamish, or some such nonsense. Next you'll be telling me he drinks your cafe au lait as well-through a straw. Right, I forgot-that's Claude does that...no, dear, I know he can't use a straw. He's a cat, though he doesn't seem to know it. Anyroad my love, what time for lunch at Harrod's? Oh dear me no, you know that's too early. I won't be ready to eat then, I just savaged a lovely omelet downstairs. Aye, it was no contest...we'll make it high tea, then. That will be just lovely. They serve that on the roof, right? NO, Sev-that was a JOKE... Bit of shoparound first, what? Brilliant, see you then, dearie!"

I rang off, exhausted. Talking to Auntie Severine can be wearing. There's always something happening around her. She's like a storm generator, but usually it's a good thing. Poor Kate is doubtless receiving a series of eye-openers. Sev never stops, and she rarely stops talking either. One should insert long pauses between each of my statements above, as I wait for an opening to interject. And she was still going strong when I rang off, but it's either that or one never gets away. She knows me, and doesn't take offense. She just picks up the next time where she left off.

I gave myself a shake-back to reality. Even a short while in Auntie Severine's world can be disorienting. I was feeling much better since I learned that Crescent would be in good hands, and receiving callers when she's at home. Much like myself, I giggled.

Now, I should be about sorting her ladyship out. I looked in the mirror, and recoiled in horror. Ugh! I'm a right mess, so I am. Off to the shower, pulling pins from my chignon and shaking out my hair as I ran the water hot and hotter. The wee skirt and jumper did for my breakfast, but I must be at the top of my game for tante, She'll be dressed to the nines, and making it look effortless, as always. I thought about my portable trousseau, what to wear, and as always digressed into the lingerie, sorting different articles into the two lines, LaTour du Jour and ce Soir, as I soaped the body and washed my hair. All my mental juggling, and such fun to make it come real! Much pinning and sewing of lovely fabrics and ribbons and such, Sarita fussing and scaling back my tendency to go right over the top with things. We always have a grand time working up the prototypes in the ‘factory', as we like to call it. It's just a room downstairs I did over for dressmaking. And then there's Kate-dear Kate-who does the research for the little histories of design and fabrics included on the tag. She's the calmer, more sensible facet of our tiny organization. She's always level on the level, but very good in a pitched battle. I'd begun asking her along on vendor presentations. She often sees things that I don't, and I always appreciate her help.

Thinking in the shower...

Now, that's better! I threw on a cranberry velvet sheath, thanking the gods of fashion for spandex, and topped it with a dove-grey herringbone jacket with matching cranberry velvet collar, lace hankie in the top pocket, pearls, black patent peeptoe slingbacks, and the Black Hole over my shoulder. Two squirts of Number Five and I was good to go. I'll say nothing about the lingerie, but I was feeling good and sexy underneath. Oops, almost forgot my gloves-an absolute necessity! And they're off...

I called down, and the staff, alerted that Miss LaTour was on the move, met me in their several incarnations as I passed through the lobby, each bestowing a gift. I received a bottle of water, some chocolate, and one auld lad with snowy hair gave me a small box of raisins and a wee wink. I wasn't quite sure what to make of that last, but otherwise my traverse was entirely satisfactory, I must say. Peter had the Bentley round, and I was whisked to Harrod's in short order.

"I want to see that movie with the new James Bond in it", I whispered to Kate, across the lemon curd. Sev was on the phone again, sorting out her petsitter or something. She shut it with a pop and looked at me.

"What? What movie? They're all so boring, dear."

"That's because your life is so interesting, Tante Severine", I cooed. "You'd best get a scone before I eat them up."

"Wicked child, you'd starve your Auntie if I didn't have you watched at all times."

I tutted and pointed at the teapot. "Shall I be mother, then?" I was just a bit over 5 years younger than my dear aunt, but it pleased her to refer to me as far junior to herself. Aunt Severine has her notions-not to say she's odd, like.

"Yes, of course dear-more tea. More is better, just as in the movies. But movies today have no passion. When I see a movie, I want to be enrage', delire, passionne'! I want to FEEL!!!"

"I like it when stuff blows up good", I said, to get Auntie's goat, trying to keep a straight face. She didn't take the bait, only looked at me all smug and slitty-eyed. An ominous sign...

*I want to be entertained and forget my woes, not be reminded of them or have new ones forced on me," stated Kate matter-of-factly, flashing me a look that was as close as she could come, under the circumstances, to a poke in the ribs. I giggled, drawing my feet up shorter under the table, so as not to be kicked.

I stuck my tongue out at Kate and said "You mean like when you go to Mardi Gras and swill rum?"

"I swore off rum years ago," Kate said warily. "After Mardi Gras...and a night or two I can't quite remember...and waking up with a handful of beads from one of the floats, or krewes, or some such. I was much younger."

"Uh oh," I said, and laughed again.

"No more rum - ever. Especially hurricanes."

"So just what did you flash to get those beads, dearie? One wonders," I said, and whistled innocently.

"I'm sure you can use your vivid imagination, dearie", Kate replied tartly. "You are incorrigible. I will have to be careful what I tell you."

"You must tell me EVERYTHING", purred Aunt Severine, looking at Kate with a new appreciation.

My phone tinkled. The number was unfamiliar, but a friend of mine always advocates adventure, so I answered.

"Hello? Yes, this is Anna. How...? Yes, by all means!"

Kate managed to stretch over and kick me. "Who WAS it?" She stage-whispered.

"Oh, just our friend JP," I said, breezily. "He asked to join us!"

Severine burbled the throaty chuckle she gives out whenever she conspires with herself to make life more interesting. I checked her plate for yellow feathers, but there were only a few jammy scone crumbs...

horses, harleys, and hits, i'm blessed with all three.  fly fishing,  with may flys covering the rivers top water, is heaven on earth.  sometimes if the song birds are in a quite moment, and the pileated is nested, the great blue herons and i can hear, above the waters flow, the sing of a cast from up stream.  melodious.

being the only girl in a large extended family has its perks.  my mother was the youngest of six born in the 20's. every sibling of hers had 4 or more boys, yep start the math, and my father, had two siblings with a total of five boys.  i was surrounded like a wagon.  i have three brothers.  no one ever noticed i never kept my fish.  there were plenty to eat with everyone elses.  i loved the catch, but just couldn't bear the thought of eating it once i brought it in.  having raised beef cattle, i found that i was unable to eat beef if i had looked into the eyes of what was on my plate. all that said, i believe i'm a born catch and release, it has nothing to do with politics or ecology.  it's just the way i was created.
 
now i catch the fish and hoof with digital hits.   i like that technology has created 8gb memory cards.  the art of the 35mm is as exciting as the cast, with just as many misses.

Today would be an excellent day for surf casting here... south wind (big waves!) and light rain falling.

i love to sit and watch surf casting, unable to handle the larger rods and reels well enough, i'm satisfied with just being there.  it's all beautiful.

The photo and the story remind me of one thing: trying to fish for cod from the North Sea shore near Aldeburgh, England.  (I first learned what shingle meant there!).  Scores of fishermen lined the freezing shore with on onshore wind blowing what little sand there was in a sandstorm mixed with icy spray... and not one of those grizzled guys had caught so much as a cold.  I was the noob.   I learned casting into a 20 mph wind ain't that easy.  Oh, and for those who have never heard of bloodworms, here's a photo of my bait... http://www.wormman.com/pd_blood.cfm ; .  My plan had been to cut my cost of living by catching cod on the weekends (and suplementing my much more successful vegetable garden behind my rented home in Halesworth...).  I never did recover the money I invested in my casting rod and reel... 

Oh, if you want the poetic expression of fishing in the damp and cold of the English coast, read Matthew Armond's classic poem (it used to be a standard part of every high school English Lit course) -- Dover Beach. The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

bloodworms, night crawlers and crickets, just to list a few baits.  corn is my favorite, cause if i get hungry..................

Squid. Frozen squid, in the little blue and white box. And then you chop it up (boys LOVE this job), hook it, LAUNCH it into the surf, and wait. I love the sea.

The heavy rod and reels sit ready in the garage for any trip to the Cape.  On last years trip we missed the striper run completely, the year before there were blues were running near the P-town jetty.  Wow!
 
The fly rod and waders are in the car, its a beautiful day here, might have to make it over to the creek.

Give me a cane pole, a can of worms, my straw hat and a slow meandering river in the shade and no one to bother me.

Olivia - Just like the cat that swallowed the canary, I feel a guilty pleasure at reading all of your Near Miss episodes. Congratulations on another superb addition to your continuing story! As I wait for the subsequent installment, riding a wave of growing anticipation, I wonder what you and your characters will be up to next...

Three Fishing Stories:
 
Me, age 9: fly fishing in the River Dee, North Wales. The best equipment money (my father's money) could buy. Six hours, no luck, not one trout. Boy about my age arrived after the 6th hour, using a Huckleberry Finn pole catches several big (and tasy?) trout.
 
Me, aged 20: second attempt at fishing in a river in Vietnam. The explosive force of the grenade sent water and fish all over. Some fish were mystery fish, the kind you get in boxes of fish fingers after they've been bleached white, from the supermarket.
 
Me, aged 58 (sometime in the near past I might add): my next attempt at fly fishing is with my youngest son. Great equipment, great weather, great company. The best instructonal DVDs. The worst fisherman in the world (me). Not a good combination.  Result:  No pride, No dignity, No Fish.
 
Lesson learned?:  The upside is grenade fishing is easy and produces many, many fish in a few seconds. Downside? Obtaining the 'equipment'.
 
Solution: the local fish monger. Or, even better, a great fish restaurant!

I never had the equipment to go surf-fishing, but growing up in Rhode Island and spending almost all of my summers at the shore, I spent many happy hours playing in the surf and digging for quahogs.

Quahogs are hard-shelled clams and to dig them no equipment is necessary. At low tide, you simply wriggle your feet into the sand just below the low tide line, about 3 - 6 inches down, until you feel one with your foot, then you pull it out with your hands, rinse it in the surf, and place it in your trusty sand pail - when you are not using it to make sandcastles.

If you want to get fancy, you can use a clam rake, which looks similar to a gardener's bow rake except that it has longer tines and a short handle. You drag the rake through the sand, until you feel it scrape against something hard, then push the rake in deep, at that spot, and pull it up towards you - it's best to be wearing some old Dockers or gym shoes to keep your toes safe!

My grandmother's quahog chowder was always the delicious reward, for the digging, at the end of the long summer's day. Traditional Rhode Island chowder does not contain milk/cream or tomato, but has a clear broth...and lots of ground quahog meat, potatoes and onions...simple and sublime. Throw in a handful of O.T.C Oyster Crackers and suddenly I'm feeling homesick.

[Guys.
Punch me, please.
It's been far too long since I've contributed to anything around here.]

I feel the need to say something today only because the article is taken from my local newspaper that I never read.
I've only seriously been fishing once, maybe twice, in some failed attempts at "male" bonding with my dad [I'm seen as the son/little brother in my family, I like to think. After my sister the only role to fill was tomboy].
My most prominent memory of the whole ordeal was screaming at the fact that my father was making me stab this poor, innocent worm on a hook and consequently stabbing my own finger in the process of carrying on.
Granted, I was about ten at the time, but with that experience and that fact that my father's fishing gear was stolen from our garage when we moved I haven't had much to do with fish since.
I'm a born vegetarian.

Lovey:  
 
Consider yourself "punched"! 
 
By the way, don't worry, "male bonding" is overrated. Fishing once with my father and attempting to go fishing with my son were not positive bonding experiences. Running marathons with my younger son is a great bonding experience. We start out together, then he quickly says "See you at the finish". He waits, patiently, at the finish. An hour (or two) later I arrive. Then we go for  fish and chips.  Running and eating...now that's what bonding is about. 

ExPat:
It's no wonder running and eating are the ultimate bonding experiences, it's basic survival simplified.
And thank you for the punch, perhaps I'll start being active here again.
At least this week, seeing as I'm a loserface who spends spring break alone on the internet.

Lovey,
 
No one is ever a 'loserface' in my world. With the internet we are never 'alone'. Enjoy your time here. Just be your self. No one ever makes a mistake being themselves, the problem lies in trying to be someone else.........especially someone you're not.
 
Have a good time on Spring break!

I think I need to move to the coast. 

Bonjour, Heiress, Comment ca va? LONG time no see.And you, too, Lovey, Nice to hear from you as well.

Surf Fishing...for me it's Dad standing at the water's edge in Kittyhawk before they even had the Quality Inn!  We'd race from the screened-in wooden bungalow over the dunes to see if he had brought in something big monster yet.  "No, not yet kids...but I've seen fins."  
 
If we'd have known there was nothing to see, we would have at least taken the time to put our zories on since the sand was hot like fire.  You know, we went there every summer growing up and not once was his answer ever different.  Just like the swells of the surf though, you could count on him to always be there.  I'm going to go and dig out those old photos...and call Mom.

Coyotemike:  Come on down brother, the waters fine.  Lovey:  Are you coming east over the break?

I also love some surf casting.  Who cares if you catch anything?  The sea breeze, the salt smell, digging your toes in the sand- there isn't much better than that.  Maybe a cool river with smooth rocks and big trout. 
 
As a kid, we'd use old poles and worms to catch bream from the docks at the sailing club.  Once or twice we had enough to make a supper for the whole family.  Just seeing fish through the clear water was fun enough for me.  There was a rumor that if you dropped Alka-Seltzer tablets into the water, the fish would eat them and explode.  I can't remember if it ever worked.
 
 

Ooh! We played a game with the pledges like that (back in the dear old Delt House), with Alka Seltzer tablets. The first game was a race with a mouthful of Tabasco, and then the next game involved putting two Alka Setzer tablets in your mouth with a big mouthful of water - and then seeing how long you could hold it in. The seltzer game took away the Tabasco pain. Huge entertainment, if you were a drunk fraternity dude/moron. And I often was.

Olivia, I heartily echo Kinlees sentiments.  A masterful writer you are.  Thank you for sharing your dreams and fantasies. Fishing?....... I'm missing the boat on that one.  I remember fishing off the breakwater on lake Michiga as a kid with several of my siblings and my Dad. He spent most of the time baiting all of our hooks over and over again.  The constant stream of his epitaths on those days is still hovering over the Chicago skyline.  We were apartment dweller, not fisherfolks. 

I spent 30years bugging a friend to start publishing his 'stories about the Indians' in pre-Revolutionary Pennsylvania and -- with some nudging and nagging from his wife -- John finally started self-publishing book after book about ten years ago.  He doesn't know it, but if I last long enough, I'm going to bug him to get the small books published in one compendium volume.....  

Soooo..... Now do we have to start the same process with Olivia?  Please GET ON THE STICK,  Miss OLIVIA and publish the full 'Near Miss' (if only in installments on a website we can send friends to!)  Pretty please????

Seconding Doc's motion here Olivia.  This is good stuff.

I like the hand grenade method, much more fruitful than fly fishing.  Some days anyways.  I heard M-80s work pretty good too.  No fishing today, out working in the yard and step daughter had a formal dance tonight.  Teenagers, what a concept.

As to surf-fishing, I'm with John.  I doubt my sitting, age 6 or 7, 'way out far on the jetty at the beach, catching shrimp or using shrimp to catch crabs with Big Daddy (I grew up thinking all grandfathers were named Big Daddy; who'd know, back then, that among stories i'd submit to various journals would be one inhabited by a grandfather named, of course, Big Daddy. The editor and I agreed Tennessee Williams ruined that name for all time, all writers. I changed his name and it was published).
 
CONGGRATULATIONS DPR: i wait to hear more.  please please.
 
ONLY TODAY HAVE I BEEN ABLE TO ACCESS THE 'LARK CHICAGO TRIP' AND TO OBSERVE THAT ALL OF YOU WORE MY DRESS, MY GLOVES, MY BERET!!!  wHCH BEGS THE QUESTION, AS I ADORE CHICAGO AND THAT AND ITS OTHER MUSEUMS, HOW DID I NEVER KNOW THE INVITATION WAS OPEN TO ALL? NO, IT COULDN'T'VE BEEN, FOR AS I READ THE AFTER-REPORTS IT'S CLEAR MISSIVE RECRUITED 2 FROM OUR NUMBER, THEN INVITED FRIENDS, PERFECTLY UNDERSTANDABLE AND ADMIRABLE, AS IT WAS HER IDEA.  I READ THE OCCASIONAL 'LARK' REFERENCE' THE OCCASIONAL 'TRIP' REFERENCE, BUT IT SEEMED ALTOGETHER AN INSIDER-THING, AND PUSHY ISN'T AMONG OUR SOUTHERN QUALITIES; JUST NOT DONE.  I AM NONETHELESS HAPPY, NO: ECSTATIC! IN MISSIVE'S AND FRIENDS' ECSTASY.  AS THE EYE HAS APPEARED IRREGULARLY PAST FEW DAYS, I MAY NEED TO SAY ALL THIS AGAIN.  OH, DEAR...  FOR ROBERTS NEDS C0NGRATS, OLIVIA TOO, MISSIVE. WELL I'LL DO WHAT I MUST
 
OLIVIA, THANK YOU FOR ANOTHER CHAPTER; I WAIT WITH EAGERNESS FOR WHAT FOLLOWS.  MULTI-TALENTED FOLKS INHABIT THIS WORLD.
 
JOHN, YOU'VE A LETTER COMING; THINGS BEYOND MY CONTROL....

My Dear Georgia,
 
Thank you.  If I may say so, the invitation to Chicago was not open to all.  It was only open to women.  So you are in a better position than I.
 
The best part of my gig at Lincoln Center's Alice Tully Hall is that I have been asked back for a similar job on April 5th and yet another on April 10th.  I get to introduce a bunch of student orchestras, talk about composers, the Center, the city, basically fill time and keep the audience's attention in between musical performances.
 
The highlight of the first occasion was when I thanked one orchestra for playing a movement of Dvorak's "New World Symphony" and pointed out that it was the first piece of classical music I ever played on a stereo for my daughter when she was six days old, and that it remains a great favorite.  The audience erupted in applause.

Congratulations, DPRoberts. WHat a glorious experience, and I love knowing you played the Dvorak piece for your daughter at six days old. No better way to start her off. Clearly, your audience thought so, too.  A compliment you'll go again; please keep us updated.  A compliment in the first place, too, that the producer(s) knew you'd do justice to your role.  Not just anyone can do what you did so apparently well.  I'm proud for you, and look forward to more reports.
 
My comments about the 'Lark' spring from ignorance, chiefly, though having seen what it actually was, I well appreciate Missive's determination and the results thereof. 
 
It WAS more than a bit stunning to see they wore MY dress, gloves, beret!  I've always liked that painting, too, and have been to Chicago's several museums, though years ago, but I lacked Missive's gusto: I love drama but failed to learn about this bit. Hurray for them!
 
Among my top priorities, had I been among the chosen, would've been to meet The Men of The Lake, STONEY and JOHN; I've mental images based on their words, of course, but what joy it would be to meet them; sit down with them; walk with them; eat with them....