Part 3
I could go on for hours, typing about our adventures fishing the mid-South Shore rubble for both blackfish and Cod. Back then the ABR, certain local wrecks, the Rockaway Reef and the wrecks to the South and SW were all crawling with good-sized tog. I recall one trip to the Turner which was just so awesome it defies description. Just crazy-good fishing.
And then there was 17 Fathoms - which was the "Promised Land," as far as I was concerned. The stories that the then "Old Timers" would tell were just too good to believe. I spent many hours pondering the prospects, constantly working on my Uncle to consider sailing waaaay down there.
At that time my Uncle and I belonged to the Eastern Anglers fishing club, and there were a few really accomplished bottom fishermen in that bunch. The best that I remember was Whitey Berman, who originally with his 34' Post sport fisherman and later with his 35' Bruno Downeaster, Ho Choy, just loved sailing off for both tog and cod. I would often speak with him about 17 Fathoms, and his stories were just beyond belief.
After many attempts at prying some numbers from him, he finally gave us a set that put us right up on the 95' plateau down there. I guess I was a major PITA back then, even more so than today - and that's saying something! But I did succeed in wearing Whitey down - and he finally gave up those numbers after he saw how much I wanted to give those grounds a shot. I was relentless!
So off we went for our inaugural trip - and sure enough, that friggin' Micrologic LORAN began error flashing as soon as we got close. Back then sailing to 17 out of JI was considered a MAJOR run for a small boat, and this being our first time, I cannot express the frustration inflicted upon us by that stoopid machine, that day in particular. The words that came out of our mouths were "creatively colorful." My Uncle was a Marine Corp. veteran of the Korean Conflict - so believe me when I tell you he could swear with the best of 'em!
So what we did was to ignore that POS, and found two party boats that were anchored several hundred yards apart. We ran between them, saw some very nice bottom and threw the Prestone bottle. Down went the two anchors (without crowding the head boats), we settled back, and it was a perfect strike, dead-nuts on the buoy.
I just cannot find words that I have not repeatedly used in these posts to describe what happened next. A total all-out slaughter, with many, many outsized fish, to right around 9lbs, or maybe more. We three in the boat had every tub in the boat filled. The two in-floor fish boxes filled. And fish sloshing all over the deck, to the point of crazed stupidity. Looking back, in the long view this kind of piggery is what got us all in trouble, flashing forward to the present day, in shameful reflection. Had we known then what was to come - never ever would we have done this sort of thing. But back then the savage was strong in all of us, and for this I am eternally sorry. Damn, how stupid were we?
Anyway, that was my introduction to 17 Fathoms. That trip, and many other were what has made me look forward to every late Fall's first cold snap. Get that water temp down below 55 degrees and we were (and still are) on our way "down South."
When it became the proper time for me to acquire my own boat, the principal over-riding requirement was that it was large enough, and sufficiently seaworthy to make our trips to places like 17 a relatively uneventful event. Barring screwy forecasts, of course.
And so it continues to this day for me and my Lep buddies. We still sail to the SW every late Fall. Not all that often to 17 any longer, as many of my best drops have been pounded into dis-recognition, thanks to our friends the roller trawlers. But not all that far away - there's still TONS of great deep bottom off the South Shore, and God-willing I'll be fishing it for as long as I can comfortably take care of my boat.
Truth be told, the end of my boating career is not that far down the road. I'll be retiring in a few seasons, and the cost of boating will be more than I can justifiably continue to outlay every year. Not to mention the toll that Spring make-ready and general seasonal maintenance and repairs take on my aging self.
Lucky for me I have a bunch of (younger) good friends that seem all too happy to have me aboard their boats, as irritating as I am to be around. I'll give my friends my drop book once the Lep has moved to its new owner. It took a goodly part of my life to put it all together and I do hope that its as helpful to them as it has been to me. They are all really great guys and I want to help them enjoy the sport as I have over these 45-plus years of sailing out of Jones Inlet.
Wow, that's a looong time, right? So many great blackfish trips over those years. And I haven't even touched on the excellent local codfishing, some days as close as the 50’ fingers and nearby hard bottom, right in front of JI.
Or the pail-per-man winter flounder fishing limit we had to impose on ourselves, fishing up in Merrick's Rowboat Alley. It was really a “How many fish do you want to fillet today?” kind of limit.
The crazy 70's to early '80's weakfishing, both local to me and all the way out on the East End. The mid-Summer Bay mixed bag of kingfish, schoolie weaks and monster blowfish. The crazy early Summer bass clam-chumming up behind the Bay islands, trips with an easy 60 fish per tide.
The days when you could expect to catch fluke to 7lbs in Hempstead Bay, nearly every trip. The wire-lining of nice bass, right after the moratorium was lifted. Later, the long runs we made for the nutso flounder fishing up in Raritan Bay - and later on off Roamer Shoals, and later still the “Jersey Pines” and Nudie Beach. Or how about the drifting with clams on a 3x3 rig, behind the dredges off Jones Beach? That was exciting fishing . . . while it lasted.
The crazed Bass and bluefish jig blitzes you could find nearly every Fall day, running the beach between JI and Brooklyn. The insane green bonito troll bite we used to have, pulling FW Bass-sized plugs in big circles just North of Cholera every September. The jumbo Seabass we'd pull from the Steel & Coal Wrecks every Summer, using our "secret bait" - live Killies.
The sick mackeral fishing right off the JI head buoy that came around every May, like clock work, with the baseball bat-sized whiting right under them.
The truly excellent Codfishing in the Fire Island 100-ft deep fingers every Fall, not to mention the wreck fishing on the 20-mile wrecks in that same general area. All gone now. But far from forgotten, by guys “of a certain age.” Like me, for instance.
Yep, and my younger friends ask why I want to move away upon retirement. Why I would want to end my fishing days the way I started out, on a nice FW Bass impoundment, maybe somewhere in the mid-West.
Welp, they weren’t around to see Long Island fishing when it was really something - no matter the time of year. Nowadays you can have a day to remember, once in a while. But to me, its just about over, a shadow of what I can recall. Too bad, as we did a lot of the damage to ourselves.
Lep
That's a fine-looking Tog in the photo.
