Blue water. It was absolutely beautiful offshore. About 20-25 miles from land. Waves were high, five feet, maybe more. But, they were so far apart that we never noticed them.
Apparently, it was too nice. We left Tideline Marine, in Jacksonville, on time. 0635. But, stupid me forgot to load a spare container of oil on board. So, a mile downriver, we came back. Ok, got the extra oil. Glad we weren't 15 miles downriver, or worse, 20 miles at sea, when I remembered what I forgot.
Ok, spare oil on board, and here we go again. 0650. Not too bad, but later than I wanted. Live bait was all over New River. Turned out that not only had I forgotten 'bout everything I recently learned on chunking a cast net, the live bait was mullet minnows, not menhaden. Nothing unusual for us. That's why we're usually pretty good with artificial bait. It's out of necessity. Gotta learn to thrown one of those nets. The right way, every time.
Down the river we go; inlet, here we come. First trip offshore since Hurricane Irene stopped by for a visit. Knowing that channels change with storms, we were pretty careful approaching New River Inlet. Good thing, too. The channel across the bar had moved even further northeast than it was before. A month ago, the buoys were in the wrong place. By about 50 yards. This day, 100-150 yards northeast of the buoy. Reading the conditions, though, allowed us to find safe passage into he ocean. By reading, I mean...don't go where the waves are breaking. That would be shallow water.
Ok, we're across the bar, in the ocean. Now, where are the birds? May as well try to put some spanish in the cooler first thing. To avoid being skunked. My, oh my. Not a spanish bird to be found. We opted to run northward. Towards Bogue Inlet (near Swansboro). No birds. No where. We put lines in the water, a few miles from a shipwreck that has proven fruitful in the past. We trolled. Five lines. For quite a few miles. Ever on the lookout for some sort of action, in the air, and on the so-called fishfinder. We marked bait. Lots of bait. Bait, for you non-fishing types, is small fish. They show up in blobs of red and yellow on my alleged fishfinder.
Then, HOLD ON! One rod started screaming. And, we were finally off to the races. Adrenalin flowing. I take the rod, Thurman gets the wheel and slows us down a bit, as the fish is peeling off a lot of line. I tighten the drag. Just a bit. Hook is firmly set, and I begin the artful process of, as my wife says, cranking in the fish. Only took a couple minutes to get it to the boat. I knew it wasn't big, not like the 29 pound king mackerel we nailed on the last trip. But, it was fighting pretty good. A big spanish, I thought. I hoped. At the boat, though, it was just good ol' Fat Albert.
Fat Albert is a False Albacore. A toothless wonder with no food value for humans. They fight pretty good. And, at times, they're all over area waters. This was one of those times. Wasn't long until another reel went to screaming. I just love that sound. Another nice Fat Albert, I surmised. A little surprise this time. Not in the fish. In the rod. The ^%%$*# thing broke! I grabbed for the reel. It was almost new. And, I held onto both sections of the rod. Thurman started reeling in the slack line, laughing the whole time, while I hauled in the fish. Handlining, it's called. I didn't want to lose the lure. Those Yo Zuri Deep Divers have worked well for us.
And, of course, we needed a picture. And, T-Man took care of making sure this adventure was documented.
That done, we decided to move a little ways. In retrieving the lines, would you believe, a SECOND rod broke. No fish on it, just a lure. And, this was a brand name rod, one we put in service last spring. It's seen only a little action. What the heck?!?! Guess I need to notify Shimano.
Then, it was T's turn.
One reel starts screaming, and he was on it. Almost immediately, a second one went off. I set the hook on that one, and left it in the rod holder. I needed to get a picture of Thurman, in action.
Ok, we had had enough of this quadrant. Let's make the run, we decided, to an area that's been good to us before. Punched in the GPS info, and off we went. At 35 MPH, across the blue water, headed for Christmas Rock.
Ok, spare oil on board, and here we go again. 0650. Not too bad, but later than I wanted. Live bait was all over New River. Turned out that not only had I forgotten 'bout everything I recently learned on chunking a cast net, the live bait was mullet minnows, not menhaden. Nothing unusual for us. That's why we're usually pretty good with artificial bait. It's out of necessity. Gotta learn to thrown one of those nets. The right way, every time.
Down the river we go; inlet, here we come. First trip offshore since Hurricane Irene stopped by for a visit. Knowing that channels change with storms, we were pretty careful approaching New River Inlet. Good thing, too. The channel across the bar had moved even further northeast than it was before. A month ago, the buoys were in the wrong place. By about 50 yards. This day, 100-150 yards northeast of the buoy. Reading the conditions, though, allowed us to find safe passage into he ocean. By reading, I mean...don't go where the waves are breaking. That would be shallow water.
Ok, we're across the bar, in the ocean. Now, where are the birds? May as well try to put some spanish in the cooler first thing. To avoid being skunked. My, oh my. Not a spanish bird to be found. We opted to run northward. Towards Bogue Inlet (near Swansboro). No birds. No where. We put lines in the water, a few miles from a shipwreck that has proven fruitful in the past. We trolled. Five lines. For quite a few miles. Ever on the lookout for some sort of action, in the air, and on the so-called fishfinder. We marked bait. Lots of bait. Bait, for you non-fishing types, is small fish. They show up in blobs of red and yellow on my alleged fishfinder.
Then, HOLD ON! One rod started screaming. And, we were finally off to the races. Adrenalin flowing. I take the rod, Thurman gets the wheel and slows us down a bit, as the fish is peeling off a lot of line. I tighten the drag. Just a bit. Hook is firmly set, and I begin the artful process of, as my wife says, cranking in the fish. Only took a couple minutes to get it to the boat. I knew it wasn't big, not like the 29 pound king mackerel we nailed on the last trip. But, it was fighting pretty good. A big spanish, I thought. I hoped. At the boat, though, it was just good ol' Fat Albert.
And, of course, we needed a picture. And, T-Man took care of making sure this adventure was documented.
A small fat albert. Broken butt of the rod in my teeth. You'll note that I saved the reel. In spite of its name, this fish was NOT big enough to break this rod.
That done, we decided to move a little ways. In retrieving the lines, would you believe, a SECOND rod broke. No fish on it, just a lure. And, this was a brand name rod, one we put in service last spring. It's seen only a little action. What the heck?!?! Guess I need to notify Shimano.
Then, it was T's turn.
Note the tip of the rod in the background. That's the second rod that broke.
Ok, we had had enough of this quadrant. Let's make the run, we decided, to an area that's been good to us before. Punched in the GPS info, and off we went. At 35 MPH, across the blue water, headed for Christmas Rock.
This was taken at a slow speed. Before we kicked it up a notch. I didn't want to try and hang on to the side of the boat while running and bouncing.
The auto-pilot is great! Picked a course, set it, and, for the most part, it kept us heading in the right direction, correcting for wind and current. And, some of those heavy seas. Best thing is that it allowed me time to hit the cooler and fix a sandwich. Let me tell you about Thurman. He brings all the fixings for some fine sandwiches. Those thin wheat type buns are good for several reasons. They're tasty, they aren't so bread-y, and they don't fall apart like white bread. And, there's roast beef, turkey, ham, onions, mayo, mustard, and several kinds of cheese. The man is a walking deli! I fixed the Dagwood-style of sandwich. Several times. Gotta do something while we go from Point A to Point B.
We arrived, we trolled, we jigged on the bottom. We tried just about everything this side of dynamite (an old southern way of fishing, as I've been told). Nary a thang. No dang where. Pulled 'em in, and headed for another spot. An artificial reef. That's a place where NC's Marine Fisheries arranged to have all sorts of junk dumped. Metal debris, like boxcars, old boats, steel structures. Things that were sanitized, of course, to remove all of the oily contamination. Those reefs provide good habitat, hiding spots for small fish. And, things start growing on them. And, the little fish have food. Little fish attract big fish. And, that's what we were after.
We threw some lures towards a school of bait fish on the surface, hoping for those bigger fish to take hold. It was only seconds before we saw them. Big teeth. About a dozen, in all. Barracuda! They often hang around the reefs, looking for easy meals. And, they like shiny lures. Like ours. I lost two shiny ones, and a fake eel (cobia like eels, and I now know barracuda do, too). No match for the cudas, it was time to make our way back to the inlet. GPS said we had about ten miles to run. Sea was still nice, and we made it pretty fast. Saw the birds working, finally. Those little spanish birds. Feeding on small bait at the surface. So, we set up a couple rigs to troll along the brown water-blue/green water line. The brown water was the dirty stuff coming out of the river and ICW. Spanish macks often work along that line, mostly on the clear side, as bait heads offshore from the river.
The birds gave us a sign. A sign of bait. But, if there were any spanish there, they didn't like what we had to offer.
It was, all in all, though a gorgeous day. Great for a boat ride. And, maybe...before next time...I'll brush up on throwing a cast net.
As high school football coaches say after losing on Friday nights, "wait until next time". As I said when I called Robie on our way home, "the blood on my clothes this time is not mine. It's the fish". Too bad we didn't have fresh fish for dinner. Had to settle for some fresh shrimp on the grill, and deep fried softshell crab. My recipe in another blog.
We arrived, we trolled, we jigged on the bottom. We tried just about everything this side of dynamite (an old southern way of fishing, as I've been told). Nary a thang. No dang where. Pulled 'em in, and headed for another spot. An artificial reef. That's a place where NC's Marine Fisheries arranged to have all sorts of junk dumped. Metal debris, like boxcars, old boats, steel structures. Things that were sanitized, of course, to remove all of the oily contamination. Those reefs provide good habitat, hiding spots for small fish. And, things start growing on them. And, the little fish have food. Little fish attract big fish. And, that's what we were after.
We threw some lures towards a school of bait fish on the surface, hoping for those bigger fish to take hold. It was only seconds before we saw them. Big teeth. About a dozen, in all. Barracuda! They often hang around the reefs, looking for easy meals. And, they like shiny lures. Like ours. I lost two shiny ones, and a fake eel (cobia like eels, and I now know barracuda do, too). No match for the cudas, it was time to make our way back to the inlet. GPS said we had about ten miles to run. Sea was still nice, and we made it pretty fast. Saw the birds working, finally. Those little spanish birds. Feeding on small bait at the surface. So, we set up a couple rigs to troll along the brown water-blue/green water line. The brown water was the dirty stuff coming out of the river and ICW. Spanish macks often work along that line, mostly on the clear side, as bait heads offshore from the river.
It was, all in all, though a gorgeous day. Great for a boat ride. And, maybe...before next time...I'll brush up on throwing a cast net.
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