(Feeding the Masses, Continued from page 1)
be colder" or "you shoulda been here last week" were commonplace.
Thus, my first visit to the Outer Banks appeared to be headed for a lot of fishing, but no catching. Most of the lack of success was due to a persistent Nor'easter producing such surf and current that not even eight ounces of lead would hold bottom. So poor was the group's luck, we did not have enough fish to feed us all by the day of our last evening's fish fry.
Nonetheless, Alvin and I headed South toward the Cape Lookout lighthouse and stopped to lob lead somewhere near the 38-mile marker. Here again we were beset with 8 foot seas, high northeasterly winds and currents which threw our heavily weighted offerings right back on shore … however, our fortune was soon to change.
Early that afternoon, a fast moving cold front blew in from the Northwest with lightening, thunder, heavy rain and high winds. Plastic buckets rolled down the beach like tumbleweeds.
Alvin and I hunkered down in the Suburban parked in the lee of nearby sand dunes managing to stay dry and warm. The brunt of the storm passed leaving a stiff, westerly breeze, scattered clouds, showers, and miraculously a relatively flat sea without currents. We decided to take advantage of this west wind by floating a balloon rigged with a wire leader and large hook through the back of one of the few eating size whiting we had in the ice chest. Prior to sending our last ditch effort into the surf, Alvin led us in prayer asking the Lord to bless us with a catch we could use for the fish fry.
The wind continued to blow the balloon out to sea where it was tossed about wildly in the white caps putting moderate tension on the 20 pound test line and causing the 12 foot Zipplex drum stick's tip to twitch erratically. When the rains returned, we put the rod in a holder on the Chevy's front end and continued to watch the balloon from inside the cab. The bobbing balloon suddenly skittered rapidly across the water, the rod jerked in large sweeping arcs and the Ambassador reel sang. Alvin jumped out, grabbed the rod making sure the hook was set. He then handed the rod to me saying, "Reel him in".
We weren't sure what we had; just that it was big and strong … perhaps a large ray. Whatever it was, it swam first south, then turned and swam north along the shore alternately taking and giving up line. Had it decided to go east, I couldn't have stopped it.
The rain and wind picked up with more lightening in
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distance … I intensified the pressure on the creature as much as I dared gradually working him closer to shore. Finally, we glimpsed the entire length and shape of our quarry in the curl of a cresting wave. SHARK!! I proposed to Alvin that I might be able to maneuver the fish into a cresting wave to "surf" him up into the shallows. Agreeing with the plan, Alvin grabbed a gaff and waded out knee deep into the roiling surf. Soon, the shark became visible in a curling wave and I quickly ran back 3 or 4 yards pulling hard on the fish. The wave broke and washed the shark right up behind Alvin where it thrashed at his feet … unseen, behind him! I yelled a warning but he couldn't hear me over the wind and surf. Just behind me came the insistent blaring of a horn from a pickup truck that had been following the action. Alvin spun around, deftly slid the gaff into a gill slit and dragged the shark up onto the sand at which point she gave birth to a baby shark, which swam into the waves. |
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