 |
| It's hard to photgraph splashing bunker from way up on the dunes, but see if you can spot the signature flip. |
I used to wear pants until June and shorts until Christmas when I was a kid. What that means is that changing gears away from what I am into and into something else is not one of my best attributes. That is my excuse for missing the first day of good action this week. Driving up the ocean road with a modest east wind, clean water, low clouds and whatever else- it just had that feel the fish were feeding. And they were.
I got the missed it report, and was informed of a few big bass and then big blues. From what I gathered, they came in waves and if you kept blind casting even when it appeared there was nothing there, it was possible to keep raising fish. Phrases like 'he had a big one on the beach when I got there' and 'I had a 30 pounder' echo what the regulars told me. It was on and off throughout the day and snagging took fish early. That was enough to transition me into it.
As it is with the spring bass fishing, there is dualism. Scoring a heart racing bite of 30lb bass at sprint pace is countered by lazy hours spent staring at bunker schools and gabbing with fellow bipolar thrill seekers. It's very much like being a fireman- you stand around talking about gear and fixing things up- then the bell rings and it's a sprint to the water to get the first snag or pop. Then you lose your mind and self and scream instead of talk to communicate from the adrenalin. Then it's a high that lasts all night and gets you up at 5:00 am to do it again. Then you're back staring at bunker for hours and falling asleep.
It is on.
