Jump to content

Favorite Writing On Surfcasting

Rate this topic


Recommended Posts

What are some of yours?


I have a bunch. But here's one:


Perhaps the newcomer's most common mistake is to devote most or all fishing effort to the most publicized, and consequently, most heavily fishined locations. Then he attempts to fish within the crowd which, especially during night tides, will include Montauk regulars. These are hard fishermen who have worked these areas for years, and who know what they are doing. Most have learned to discipline themselves, and have develped a degree of endurance which few newcomers can match. In his prime, a Montauk "sharpie" is the hardest, most competitive, and often the most reckless surf fisherman to be found, a fact that visiting anglers from other states have noted. They have learend to adapt to the worst conditions, accepting the rips, rocks, mauling surf and a bone weary existence as challenges to be overcome by mind and body.


Fred Schwab, Surfcasting With The Experts (wriiten circa 1990)


Wriitten almost 20 yrs ago, but hard to find anyne else who has said it better.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Not one in particular, but I like how he includes his own blunders as part of making a point. Wether they are true or just being used to make a point they are entertaining and let you think you're not the only one that made ( fill in the mistake here).


It is also very touching the way he speaks about his grandfather.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Another dead-on quote that I've posted before. I laughed out loud when I first read this.


"Its amazing how many guys can't keep information to themselves. even if it eventually kills heir own game to share it. And the real kick in the head is that some of these meatballs don't even need to fish to experience a sense of accomplishment. Just reporting to someone else that they were an eyewitness to an impressive catch makes them feel like superstars. I mean calling in close friends and fishing partners-that's one thing-but total strangers? Just to be the hero who broke the news?"


-Night Tides (about Billy The Greek) by Michael G. Cinquemani


I also recall an end-of-the-season article written by John Skinner in Noreast some years ago. I have not read the new Z book yet, but in my mind that article was some of John's best work to date . He came across as almost relieved it was the end of the season. The end of the season for him meant he could let his guard down and get on with other aspects of his life. To me, this was writing about surfcasting on a whole new level. I could not find that article from that website's archives. I have to ask him about that one.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

i like Z's and DJ's books...

"A GAMEFISH (which striped bass should be) Is too valuable to be caught only once"...Lee Wulff


When the people fear the government, there is tyranny. When the government fears the people, there is liberty" - Thomas Jefferson


"I'm from the government, and I'm here to help." Most dangerous words in the English language...Ronald Reagan

Link to comment
Share on other sites

i like diagnault's (sp) style the best. havent read z's or dj's books yet! redface.gif

-Hey dumbass it's not about a kill or no kill tournament, it's about how much your 2nd favorite club can mug you! That's it...

-the reports thread is the yenta section for NJ..  

-If’n ya cut yer teeth on Ava and teaser fishing please take a seat in the back and keep quite… 

-is monkey see monkey do fishing even fun..?? 
-yes I still fish with mono..  On occasion 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

View PostI also recall an end-of-the-season article written by John Skinner in Noreast some years ago. I have not read the new Z book yet, but in my mind that article was some of John's best work to date . He came across as almost relieved it was the end of the season. The end of the season for him meant he could let his guard down and get on with other aspects of his life. To me, this was writing about surfcasting on a whole new level. I could not find that article from that website's archives. I have to ask him about that one.


John - I'm pretty sure its "The Grand Finale" of 2000. "I pasted it below. In my book, "A Season on the Edge", I used the same title for the closing chapter, but it was based on a different year's end. "A Season on the Edge" is written in the same style as this story. My two chapters in the new Z book are mostly straight how-to.




The week leading up to the Grand Finale had been a good one. On Monday, I wore myself out catching big blues as they chased herring and peanut bunker on Long Island's North Shore. The scene was the same on Thursday some 30 miles farther east. Knowing that the sun set on the latter location on Friday evening with school bass surrounding thick schools of peanut bunker, I was counting on a developing strong northwest wind to again put gorilla bluefish on the bait the following morning.

As daylight lit my surroundings, dark clouds of gulls told me that fish were, indeed, on the bunker again. Within 30 minutes, I found myself alone on a point with birds so thick it made casting difficult. There were plenty of fish, but they were all bass, weighing less than 2 pounds. It was a sure sign that the end was near. After several hours of moving around and blind casting in a cold wind, it was becoming clear that the big blues we caught two days earlier might very likely be my last of the season. It was the eighteenth day of November, and the calendar was not on my side.

Before the sun set that afternoon, I found myself dozing off in a movie theater, as my wife and kids laughed their way through The Grinch. The Christmas scenes of that movie and the inappropriately early Christmas decorations that we passed on the way there gave me a feeling that it was later than the middle of November. The fact that I had difficulty staying awake through the movie had little to do with the movie itself, and everything to do with being burned out from having spent the last six months trying to do as much fishing as possible without cutting into quality time with my family. I was fully aware that sleeping at 4 o'clock in the afternoon in a movie theater was probably not what my children considered quality time with Dad.

On the way home, my wife asked the question that for the past couple weeks I found myself answering in a somewhat defensive manner - "Are you fishing tomorrow?"

I knew for sure that I would not be heading back to the North Shore. I had information that there had been sporadically good shots of fish on the South Shore beaches between Shinnecock and Moriches, but I wasn't sure I would make the trip. The next morning held a variety of family obligations in store. It didn't seem fair to thrust the responsibilities on my wife alone. I understood, too, that she had grown tired from the season. "There's a good chance I'm done." I responded, realizing that a long stretch of very cold weather was to settle over the 50-degree waters within the next 36 hours.

A message on my answering machine would change my mind.

The afternoon's dropping tide had brought big blues and keeper bass to the beaches east of Moriches. My plan became to take care of the family stuff in the morning, and get to the beach in time for the 1:00 p.m. high-water turn.

I awoke the next morning feeling as if I should already be on the beach. I volunteered to go to the deli for coffee and pastries, knowing full well that the primary motive of the trip was to glance at a nearby North Shore beach, just in case some unanticipated blitz was going on. It was, but not on my side of the Island.

About 30 minutes before the first obligations of the day were to kick in, I got the call.

It was an almost delirious Capt. George Grosselfinger, who had traded his Orient Point charterboat, The 2nd Chance, for a surf rod a few weeks earlier.

"John, they're all over the place!" he said. "I've already got three between 20 and 30 pounds! I'm somewhere near Westhampton. Call my cell phone when you get close."

My wife didn't have to hear the conversation. She knew by the look on my face that I would need to be institutionalized if I didn't leave the house immediately.

"Go ahead," she said. I'll take care of everything."

The 27-minute drive across the Island seemed like an eternity. On the way there, I was able to raise George on his cell phone. "The second groin! Fish breaking!" was all I could make out over the weak signal. I realized that my quickest route to the fish would be to leave my truck in a parking lot near the bridge and cut between the beach front hotels on foot.

That would have been impossible a few months ago. The lots would have been filled with luxury cars and my out-of-place truck probably would have ended up ticketed or towed, but the parking lots and upscale hotels were deserted now. I headed for an opening to the beach that I had used before and passed quickly through the ghost town of the rich and famous.

As I emerged from behind the dune grass, the scene was everything I'd hoped for. A huge flock of birds worked between the groins and quality bass acted like bluefish, slashing through schools of peanut bunker. George had already landed his fourth fish over 20 pounds as I ran in full gear to the surf line and fired a 1-ounce bucktail into the fray. A bass of about 12 pounds was a nice start. Within a few minutes, I was hooked up with one about twice that size. Over the next couple hours, 10- to 15-pound fish became the norm, and one more over 20 pounds also found my jig.

As the schools thinned, it seemed we could always find surface action, but one thing was very clear - these fish were moving west rapidly. As good as the day was, I had a feeling that the next day would be totally different. We were witnessing the Grand Finale of the 2000 surf season.

We saw some thrilling sights that afternoon. We found a thick school of bass and bunker packed in a hole next to a groin. By standing high up on the unusually steep beach slope, we were able to watch large bass flashing under the bunker in the gin-clear water. Our bucktails never stood a chance. On a few occasions, the bunker were pushed to the beach so hard that they ended up high and dry in the receding waves. It was not until five hours after I arrived that we finally ran out of boiling fish. Still, for those who arrived late and were not spoiled by the earlier mayhem, an occasional fish could be picked near the jetty tips.

As I got back to my truck at 4:00 p.m., I realized that I could make it to Cupsogue with enough time left to get in on some good action as the daylight faded. I arrived there to find a few sparsely scattered bunker schools and a handful of fish boils.

As the sun set, the cold made itself felt. I knew that despite all I had experienced during the day, this really could be the end of my season.

As I was walking away from the water's edge, a splash caught my eye. I turned and threw a bucktail in its direction. The sharp rap that followed meant a little more to me than the ones that came easier earlier in the day, and I was glad to feel that I had hooked up. I played this one a little slower and looked at it a little longer as I placed it back in the water and watched it swim away. I decided not to make any more casts. My day and the season would end with that fish.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to register here in order to participate.

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

  • Create New...