Casting Without Fishing

The tide is pushing through the narrow breachway at mid-tide and the sun is setting.  As the Boston Whaler crosses the boundary from the pond into the confines of the breachway, the force of the flow increases.  Small baitfish splash along the western edge which has a small section of shadow growing over the eddies and swirls along the seaweed-laced granite “rip-rap”. 

Mixed in with the small splashes of tiny fish are bigger swirls and loud splashes and schools of fleeing bait of bigger size.  The rocky bank has no visitors other than the snowy egrets and little green herons waiting like sentinels for preoccupied silversides being swept into the pond. 

We edge closer to the action and the rocks.  There are pockets of baits being swept in and corralled into an indent in the wall and the action and our hopes quicken in unison.  Under the boat, thousands of two to four inch fish are swept along with the tide and around them millions of tinier other fish that dimple the surface like a steady drizzle.  Seaward, three terns dip into the schools and wheel away to return dinner to their mates on the beach across the dune.  The rip rapped shore is thick with Montauk Daisy and beach plum and the air smells like low tide and bayberry.

As my partner hold the boat steady in the current, I pull the line from the reel in 12 movements.  The yellow line coils at my feet and I’m careful to look for “catchpoints” on the deck before I cast.  In four metronomic sweeps, I drive the Clowser minnow to its full length.  I let it drop at the rock’s edge and begin pulling back in short, quick strokes through the disappearing swirls of feeding stripers.  I’m anticipating the bump and heavy resistance that a hit will produce but it doesn’t come. 

The feeding becomes more frenzied and now some mid-20 inch fish begin cartwheeling through the pods, large square tails briefly pointing skyward – a sight that the most seasoned angler would be hard pressed not to be thrilled by.   My casts are strong and downstream at 45 degrees with no result.  I turn the rod over to my partner and take the wheel.  He begins the same drill but hooks up after several attempts. The bass is small but healthy and strong and we lift the 20-incher and admire it for a second before sending it back.  I continue as the feeding builds in pace.  He takes another smaller fish with a Kastmaster and we decide to drift back into the pond. 

We anchor on the flats  in four feet of water as the sun nears the horizon.  4 paddle boarders cross the channel and several small bass actively feed on both sides of the boat as the light continues to drop and the bait continues to flood in.  I finally hook up with a small fish and we release it as the sun sets.  He continues to cast and talk drifts to the health of my dad and the loss of his mother and father in the past year.  We talk about medical issues of aging, which, as a physician, he is learned in.  We move on to talk about quality of life as we age, mortality and the emotions that men usually avoid discussing or reserve talk of for moments of quiet beauty and casting a line without fishing.