Picture this, if you will: You’re kayak fishing. You hook up with a small, 24-inch bass which you easily land. As you pull it from the water to release it, you receive a standing ovation from hundreds of cheering fans. A dream maybe? Nope. This was my Monday.
OK, so as usual this isn’t as much a “fishing” report as a fishing story with a report built in. It starts with me skipping a work party so that I could go feel sorry for myself while fishing under Ponquogue Bridge. My attitude sucked. I’d made 4 unsuccessful trips in a row to the Point this week – two where weather didn’t allow a launch and two where I simply got skunked. I wasn’t feeling like much of a success and needed a tight line just to know I could still do it. There was also another small craft warning in effect at Montauk, so my thinking was: I’m going to go to the bridge, catch a couple of small fish, feel underwhelmed by the experience, but go home having at least felt the sensation of a tight line. Who knows? I might even hook something with some size.
My boss, a former administrator at Hampton Bays High School was throwing the party. I just had to get to the bridge without being spotted by any of the partygoers – no mean feat when you’re carrying a 16-foot-long kayak on your truck. I traveled a circuitous route, so as to avoid detection, and upon my arrival I sensed that something was different. The lot at the beach was half filled at 5:00 on a Monday and at the north end of the bridge, by the Coast Guard Station, a hook-and-ladder truck was extending across the roadway at the foot of the bridge to suspend a giant flag. Saddened somewhat by the prospect that it was a funeral march of some kind, I settled into my malaise and launched. I was fishing. I was invisible. I began to decompress.
As preparations for the event continued, additional rescue vehicles, both police and fire, began to arrive and set up at either end of the bridge. I watched with intrigue. Which way would they march? Who was the fallen hero? It was then that I began to detect a tone unlike that of a funeral procession. I could hear voices raised in the distance, and they were happy voices. They were young voices. It was a graduation ceremony. It was the graduation ceremony for Hampton Bays High School. As a teacher, my mood quickly shifted from somber to celebratory. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as they slowly but enthusiastically marched toward the apex of the bridge. Upon spotting me below, some began to call out.
What began as a smattering of teenagers shouting “Hey Kayak Man!” evolved into an concerted effort to get my attention. I responded with a shout of “Congratulations!” and they erupted in cheers. Their ascent of the bridge was followed by a car parade, and as I thought of all that this particular group of graduates has had to endure, all that they were robbed of as a result of circumstances beyond their control, I could feel their pride. I was no longer wallowing in self-pity. I was sharing in the warmth and the glow of their achievement, and felt especially honored that they would even notice me. I remembered how special my own daughter’s graduation ceremony was. Stop looking down here, you silly kids! Look around you and absorb every second of this moment before it’s gone! Just as I would have been, they were distracted by my endeavors, and when I connected with my first fish, all eyes fell to watch “Kayak Man.” It was a short fight. It was a small bass. And it was followed by a raucous ovation from hundreds of cheering onlookers. So much for flying under the radar.
The ceremony waned after about 40 minutes and the crowd dissipated until only the last of the fire trucks remained. I continued to fish into the outgoing tide while the sun set, catching about four bass and as many bluefish. That’s the “report” part, but the message I received yesterday was more about my attitude than whether or not I caught fish. There are bigger, brighter moments on the horizon to focus on. Always keep looking up!
OK, so as usual this isn’t as much a “fishing” report as a fishing story with a report built in. It starts with me skipping a work party so that I could go feel sorry for myself while fishing under Ponquogue Bridge. My attitude sucked. I’d made 4 unsuccessful trips in a row to the Point this week – two where weather didn’t allow a launch and two where I simply got skunked. I wasn’t feeling like much of a success and needed a tight line just to know I could still do it. There was also another small craft warning in effect at Montauk, so my thinking was: I’m going to go to the bridge, catch a couple of small fish, feel underwhelmed by the experience, but go home having at least felt the sensation of a tight line. Who knows? I might even hook something with some size.
My boss, a former administrator at Hampton Bays High School was throwing the party. I just had to get to the bridge without being spotted by any of the partygoers – no mean feat when you’re carrying a 16-foot-long kayak on your truck. I traveled a circuitous route, so as to avoid detection, and upon my arrival I sensed that something was different. The lot at the beach was half filled at 5:00 on a Monday and at the north end of the bridge, by the Coast Guard Station, a hook-and-ladder truck was extending across the roadway at the foot of the bridge to suspend a giant flag. Saddened somewhat by the prospect that it was a funeral march of some kind, I settled into my malaise and launched. I was fishing. I was invisible. I began to decompress.
As preparations for the event continued, additional rescue vehicles, both police and fire, began to arrive and set up at either end of the bridge. I watched with intrigue. Which way would they march? Who was the fallen hero? It was then that I began to detect a tone unlike that of a funeral procession. I could hear voices raised in the distance, and they were happy voices. They were young voices. It was a graduation ceremony. It was the graduation ceremony for Hampton Bays High School. As a teacher, my mood quickly shifted from somber to celebratory. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as they slowly but enthusiastically marched toward the apex of the bridge. Upon spotting me below, some began to call out.
What began as a smattering of teenagers shouting “Hey Kayak Man!” evolved into an concerted effort to get my attention. I responded with a shout of “Congratulations!” and they erupted in cheers. Their ascent of the bridge was followed by a car parade, and as I thought of all that this particular group of graduates has had to endure, all that they were robbed of as a result of circumstances beyond their control, I could feel their pride. I was no longer wallowing in self-pity. I was sharing in the warmth and the glow of their achievement, and felt especially honored that they would even notice me. I remembered how special my own daughter’s graduation ceremony was. Stop looking down here, you silly kids! Look around you and absorb every second of this moment before it’s gone! Just as I would have been, they were distracted by my endeavors, and when I connected with my first fish, all eyes fell to watch “Kayak Man.” It was a short fight. It was a small bass. And it was followed by a raucous ovation from hundreds of cheering onlookers. So much for flying under the radar.
The ceremony waned after about 40 minutes and the crowd dissipated until only the last of the fire trucks remained. I continued to fish into the outgoing tide while the sun set, catching about four bass and as many bluefish. That’s the “report” part, but the message I received yesterday was more about my attitude than whether or not I caught fish. There are bigger, brighter moments on the horizon to focus on. Always keep looking up!
