December 6, 2019 – Enter Sandeel – Ocean County Surf

Sunrise with a 1970's 'stache

I did not deserve to catch 10 short bass, including a double, this morning.  I have not put in any time this year, have not been out scouting, have not read or made reports.  The only thing I did right today was get to an Ocean County beach at the right time of the morning (well, earlier than the right time) and throw the right lures for this time of year and wear the right hat—one of my dad’s fishing hats that I rummaged, along with other clothes and gear, from his secret closets and his fishing shed this past weekend.  You see, before he passed, Joe was probably my only remaining surf fishing partner AND a renowned purchaser/seller of bargain-priced outdoor gear (more on a two-man SOT kayak this spring, I hope).  Ironically, as I write this I have a Sunday trip with my old friend and fishing buddy Dolf, and Joe and Dolf were Facebook buddies, of course, but for the last several years it has just been Joe rolling up to my house at 3 or 3:30 AM on a late fall morning.  I missed him this morning, but in the solitude of the beach at sunrise, I had no problem talking to him and giving him a shout out. He would have been psyched to see me land a rare double this morning.  A 24 incher took the deceiver I had on as a teaser, and an 18 incher took the T-Hex (fancy Ava jig) at the same time.  I thought I hooked the possibly rarer December keeper until I noticed my line going in two directions as the cousins struggled simultaneously to lose me and each other.

Doub Life: not entirely why I keep them so far apart, but a welcomed side-effect.

I also had a brand new Tsunami Shield 4500 on my Ron Arra 1083 waiting in the car if the fish were really prevalent and particularly dinky, or if I could get away with throwing light plugs and small metals.  This was another find in the old man’s fishing shed.  It was my recommendation for him to buy it for this fall’s fishing that now won’t happen, so I will definitely get it salty for him soon.  Because it was almost low tide at sunrise, I needed to haul off on 2 ounces of metal to reach the bar or over the bar, even standing waist deep in the surf.  Fish were almost all at the end of my casts, so I used my Ron Arra 1084 instead.  I think the time for my 10 foot Super Surf has passed this year, unfortunately!  With the purloined hat on and his gear mingling in the ‘Ru with mine, maybe I got a little help this morning?  I did see three shooting stars and the sun looked like it had a 70’s mustache (which Joe definitely had in the 70’s).  Then again, shooting stars and partially obscured sunrises are pretty common this time of year, but either way I was lucky to be out this morning.

Enter sandeel bite at sunrise

With calm seas knocked down by a NW wind overnight, the surf was too calm in the dark. Hard to see whitewater when there is none.  Having no spots, per se, I headed to a stretch of beach where a bar often gets cut at some point every fall, at least since the beach replenishments destroyed all my favorite hard structure in this area.  I threw a black Mag Minnow and a teaser for a couple hours without even a bump.  Not losing faith, as the false dawn began, I headed up the dunes to have a piss and dig for a T-Hex in my plug bag.  I would be comfortable, warm, and ready for the sandeel bite that I was convinced was going to happen when the sun got higher.  It took a while, but it did happen, and I had a steady pick for two hours before it petered out at 9 or 9:30 AM like clockwork.  I noticed on the drive into town that there was still standing water in some of the intersections, so that precip or higher tides and the blow all week might have explained why the water was a little stained, not dirty with debris, but a bit off-color.  Once it got bright out, however, fish took the green tube of the T-Hex and the white over chartreuse deceiver with some fervor.  I even landed one and dropped another on a clown Mag Minnow, an orange suspender that is one of my favorites for these small fish.  They were not having any trouble finding brighter colors, so I never again popped back on the black plug or a darker teaser.  Maybe a needle fish would have accomplished the distance needed too, but I was happy with the action I had, and I only had to rinse off three lures and a teaser at home.  I landed the vast majority of fish I hooked, only dropping two little fish, and only getting a couple bumps that did not connect.  A few fished choked the teaser, so I even bled a couple times from the knuckles while digging it out without pliers or gloves, which is a sure sign of a good morning on the surf. There was now blood in the water, you know?

Mag Minnow too, just to mix it up in closer.

I only talked two other fishermen and watched maybe two other buggies move around in the dark, so even on a Friday many must feel that the fat lady is singing.  Bait is hard to come by, especially fresh bait, and hunting season is on, so I understand.  I do intend to get out at least a couple more times, however.  As I mentioned above, I want to give Joe’s Tsunami Shield a work out on my lighter plugging rod, and I have Sunday slotted to meet Dolf somewhere on the sand.  Gannets were still diving in the distance, and there were rumors of peanut bunker to the north of me.  At false dawn, I even saw Atlantic herring or perhaps shad flopping in front of me for a few minutes, so if fish remain around there is bait for them to target in the surf zone.  Two of the bass I landed were covered with active sea lice, so I assume these shorts and schoolies are still the tail-end of the fall run not resident fish.  Historically, it ends with the uber-dinks, but December blitzes are not all that uncommon, so it may take a thorough skunking (or just tired arms) to send me back after the post-spawn trout.

Pretty flat, but good conditions to wade out waist-deep and be one with the fishes and loons.

So, in the end, maybe I did not deserve a successful morning on the beach, but I will take good fortune and help from cosmic mustaches any day.  The prospect of sending two ounces of shiny metal and a fly, just two hooks, into the vast Atlantic Ocean and feeling that alien bump and angry thumping of a bass on my line seems, short arrogance and blind faith, continually, eternally improbable.  And yet, there they are on the sand, all fat brilliant white bellies full of eels and who knows what else, eager to get back to eating and migrating.  A few quick photos, a point to the old man out there somewhere, and I send them back, grateful and somehow still amazed each and every time.