Hook, Line and Misery

Hook, Line and Misery

Having spent much of my early life on the eastern sea board, it became natural to take up hobbies such as jetty fishing. For those unfamiliar with what a jetty is, a jetty is a large pile of boulders stacked from the shoreline straight out into the break water. It is used for two purposes only- fishing and jetty jumping.

Of course, fishing off of a jetty is an art form. One must be graceful and deft when holding a tight line off a jetty. For instance, My friend Ozzie and I fought with a tight line for three hours off a jetty. Ozzie pulled and reeled and jerked for all he was worth.
" Come on Ozzie! You can get it! Just a few more pulls!" Ozzie wiped the sweat from his brow and set the rod down on the rocks.
" I guess we'll just have to wait till the tide goes out to get the hook. It's my last one you know." Ozzie said.

I suppose I should have mentioned that you'll lose more hooks to the rocks than you will the fish. That is if you ever get the hook in the water after the first cast. Of course if it is executed properly, a hook extraction can be quite easy. Just three quick, moderate tugs while whipping the pole in a clockwise direction and one final pull straight back and your free! Of course, be careful not to pull too hard, or else your line will have a sort of sling shot effect. Ozzie once extracted a hook that also had a three ounce sinker attached, and when he woke up he had no recollection of ever going fishing!

Jetty jumping, as it sounds, it usually reserved for after the fishing is done. Primarily because your pack is lighter from all the hooks you have lost and you rarely have fish to carry. On rare occasions you may even be short a fishing rod! Usually, we would run as fast as we could manage, leaping from rock to jagged rock. We always took the proper precautions. First, always look down. Though the boulders are large, the spaces between them are larger and usually fill up with sea water and debris. Also, always sing while running. The reason is that if your friend behind you stops singing, start searching holes.

Though jetty fishing was our favorite pastime, one summer day, we got an idea that forever changed our perspective of fishing. While performing a half spin, double pull back extraction, Ozzie called my attention to a large boat coasting down the inlet toward us. The people were all laughing with poles in hand while the crewmen were filleting what looked like hundreds of fish.
" What is it? " I asked.
" A party boat." Ozzie said.
" So that's where all the fish are goin'."I said.
" You know, I got a friend who does that sort of thing. Maybe he can get us a good deal."
" Yeah, I'd try it."

Later that season we finally managed to coordinate a party-boat fishing trip. My brother, Brian, and I met Ozzie at the docks. The crewmen were your typical gruff, smelly, bearded men wearing yellow, vinyl overalls. They took care of everything. Bait, rods, hooks, and even Dramamine. Yes, often people would have need for Dramamine. We were expecting a night like that for others, but we were seasoned fishermen who had spent many years casting baited hooks into choppy seas. Of course, jetty's are rarely move up and down with the waves. If one did, it would probably be time to build an ark and evacuate. Nevertheless, we proudly boarded the "Sea Pigeon" as it was called.

Once we were under way, it would be over an hour before we would reach the first spot to drop our lines. We waited anxiously as the ship's engine rumbled along pushing us forward through increasingly choppier seas.

The ship was probably close to sixty feet long, with the cabin in the middle which contained a small snack bar. Above the cabin was the helm and also a deck for those who chose not to fish but rather enjoy the view. On both sides of the cabin were narrow walkways that on one side had a railing to fish over and on the other, the cabin wall. These walkways, ran the length of the ship leading to the bow where there was a larger deck for the anchor cleats. At the stern was a another larger deck with a table where the crew rigged poles and filleted fish.

It just so happened that on the night we went, a group of New York firefighters were aboard to have an evening out. Most were already drunk before we shoved off. Ozzie, Brian and I don't drink alcohol. Instead, we find our relaxation time in a booth at a diner or in a buffet line. Needless to say our stomachs were contented that evening prior to our deep sea excursion. A fact that proved detrimental.

After some time our patience began to wear thin. I wanted to start fishing. "Are we there yet?!" I asked Ozzie.
" I think it's just a few more minutes before we get to the spot."
" I sure hope your right." Brian said. " I'm excited! So excited I can feel it bubblin' up inside." Why, I can feel the fish on my--
" I think I feel it too." Ozzie said, putting a hand on his stomach. His countenance had also begun to change, his face now displaying a dull, greenish hue. His eyelids sagged and he seemed immediately drained of all energy. Motionless, Ozzie sat, drooping on the bench. He plugged his ears to drown out the low, steady hum of the engine. His eyes were closed to spare him of the sight of the horizon, slowly bobbing up and down rhythmically. Yet, his equilibrium betrayed him. Gravity toyed with his inerts like a child tossing a ball up and down, and up and down again. And then, without warning, his eyes widened in surprise. His cheeks inflated like an airbag on impact as he pinched his lips closed. I don't know what compelled him to do it, but Ozzie, instead of leaning over the railing, shot for the cabin like a runner off the starting blocks. Once through the door, he dove for the garbage pale, head first. He made it in time, but the sound effects that are included with such episodes, alarmed one of the cabin mates.
" Hey, take it outside buddy!!" The gruff crewman bellowed.
Presently, outside the cabin, my brother and I stared blankly at each other, wondering where Ozzie would go in such a hurry. A young cabin boy, carrying a bucket of slimy, squid bait, was walking by us when we heard the crewman inside bellow out at Ozzie. Startled, my brother jumped from his seat so he could look inside the door to see what had happened. Upon leaving his seat so hastily, Brian's right shoulder made direct contact with bucket of squid, liberating the bait all over the deck. Ozzie, being the thoughtful person that he is, obeyed the orders of the man, paused momentarily from his retching and rushed back outside. Upon exiting the door in haste to continue his episode over the railing, Ozzie was taken by surprise when he suddenly found himself without footing. His feet were instantly propelled in front of him, and squid went spraying like shrapnel in all directions. Brian and I watched in disbelief as Ozzie seemed to fly above the deck for a moment. Nowadays, when someone flies for that long, they're usually offered a small bag of peanuts.

Here I should mention, for those unfamiliar with marine craft dynamics, that when a sea craft is increasing its speed, the ballast is tipped to the rear, so the front of the craft can tilt upward and ride above the waves. This gives the boat a fairly acute angle.

Having said that, we return to Ozzie, plummeting toward the deck. Upon impact, his body was swept downhill, his arms flailing wildly. As mentioned earlier, we were fishing next to a group of New York firemen. Seven or eight of them stood, forearms propped on the railing, all in an orderly row of side-by-side, drunken firemen.

Brian and I winced and screeched in terror as one after another, the firemen flopped to the deck like bowling pins, completely unaware of what had just swept their feet from beneath them. Unfortunately, Ozzie's path of destruction did not stop there. The rear of the boat is where the crew stores their large, fifty-five gallon, plastic barrels of chum, but I'll leave that to the imagination. It's far too horrific.

That night proved to be a complete fishing failure. In fact, the fish seemed to have all agreed upon not biting.At one point the crew threated to tie Ozzie to a line and throw him in, claiming he would be the world's first elongated chum stick.

We drove home in partial silence that night. Primarily because Brian and I had towels tied around our faces to keep out the stench. "Say, you guys hungry?" Ozzie asked.
"Hmffnnmmff." Brian said.
"Whas at?" Ozzie said.
"I said, I don't think I could keep anything down." Brian said, pulling the towel from over his face. "Your foul odor's makin' me a bit queezy."
"Well, I'm hungry." Ozzie said, pulling over into the parking lot of a local diner. We parked next to a brand new, fire engine red, convertable sports car. I was getting nervous. We got out of the car and I could almost see the paint beginning to peel from the rotten odor eminating from Ozzie. As we walked past a few tables to get to the counter in the diner, I looked over my shoulder and could see out of the corner of my eye that people were giving the same kind of look that dog walkers give when you see them bent over scooping up what their dogs leave in your front lawn. "Can I place an order?" Ozzie said to the waitress behind the counter.
"Tell me this is for take out." The waitress said, her face contorted in a massive wince. Needless to say, we ordered to go. Ozzie got a double cheeseburger, and I ordered my usual, chicken salad on wheat toast

After we got our order and walked outside, we headed for the car, Ozzie peering into his bag for loose french fries to devour. "Man! I'm starvin'!" Ozzie said. As he walked across the parking lot, his face glaring into the depths of a brown paper bag, I turned just in time to see Ozzie stumble right into a yellow, concrete bumber in front of a parking space. Time stood still. My heart stopped. French fries sprayed through the air in slow motion as Ozzie looked up, his eyes widening from surprise. The bag scattered its contents all over the front seat of the red sports car, a sesame bun glued to the head-rest by melted cheese. Ozzie's body gained altitude, his arms and legs splayed out in all directions. He landed with a loud splat right on the hood. The owner saw the ordeal from the diner window where he sat in a booth and came bounding out of the diner, furiously swinging the door open. "Hey!!" He screamed. I turned to see the man storming in our direction. Ozzie slid on his belly back down off the hood, his chum saturated clothes leaving a wide brown and green streak. "What do ya think yer doin'?" The man screamed, closing in with fifteen or twenty feet more to go before he would reach Ozzie, and no doubt thump him. "Runnin!!" Ozzie replied. He took off out of the parking lot and down the road. He would have hopped in the car had not Brian and I screeched away in it seconds earlier. "Slow down!" Brian hissed. "Ozzie's catchin' up." I let off the gas and Ozzie ran along side the car and in one great leap dove through the rear driver's side window, his legs dangling out of the car. The furious pursuer began to tire and then gave up, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. Ozzie gathered himself in the back seat, still clutching the bag in his hand. "Whhhheeew! That was close." Ozzie huffed. He reached in the bag and extracted my sandwich. "Here's your tuna sandwich." He said passing it up from the back seat. "Hey!" I sighed. "This is supposed to be chicken salad."
"Well, it's tuna now." Ozzie said.