Any Fishermen Out There
- Thread starter PPB
- Start date
I so want to go giant grouper fishing!!!
I watched a show on it and it looked like a lot of fun.
I watched a show on it and it looked like a lot of fun.
I love it, but one or two big ones will wipe you out.
Big gag grouper don't compare to the goliath
from one of my faves...
mike mike mike mike
it would be better if it wasnt thirsty thursday, and hump day tho
mike mike mike mike
it would be better if it wasnt thirsty thursday, and hump day tho
In the 1950's I was in my single digits, and my buddies and I used to fish for sunfish under the boat docks on Cranberry Lake in Sussex County, Northern NJ. We used hand lines from the country store, and bought a loaf of bread, fashioning bread balls by compacting the doughy bread and sticking the hook through them. We were all proficient with split shot for sinkers. We'd put the line into the split, then bite lead ball to secure it.
Later on, in the 1960's my Elder Brothers taught me fly fishing and brought me along to Roscoe in Upstate NY, fishing in the Beaver Kill. The trout were small, but they fried up really nice over the evening camp fire. I would return to the Beaver Kill all through my life until we recently moved to Arizona. I now live in the high desert, and what is available is not worth fishing until I get a lot more desperate.
In the 1970's through the 1990's, we owned recreational trailer in a larger (1000 sites) gated Campground called Tall Timbers in Sussex NJ. Our Daughter grew up going there every w/e and all during summer break. Every Saturday and Sunday Morning, up with the Sun and run down to the lake with Ultralight Spinning poles and dug worms. We'd gang up on the Crappies and have a ball landing them on the ultralight tackle. Jen got pretty comfortable around a fishin' pole. We'd fry up the crappies (pretty small, but bunch could make for a decent Brunch), but that eventually ended when somebody put an outboard on the lake and the 2 cycle oil from the exhaust got into the fillets.
Also in the 1990's I would drive over from Northern NJ to Long Beach, Long Island, and spend a weekend or two a month with my Eldest Brother Bill. He had a floatdock out back on the Reynolds Channel, and a 27 foot Sea Ray with a pair of 200hp Outboards tied on it. We'd thread our way out to the Verrazano Narrows and beyond into the open ocean, cutting across to Long Beach NJ to fish Flounder and Fluke.
That Sea Ray would get up and outright fly. We'd pull into the Shark River Inlet just before midday high tide, and break out the gear. Bait was Mussels we'd plucked from the mud flats across the Reynolds from his dock. We'd each work two poles with helicopter rigs (two hooks on short leaders on a wire spreader bar, with a heavy Pyramid sinker on a short tether below the bar). We'd chum with Kennel Burger, and stir up the bottom with Flounder Pounders (old window sash weights on enough clothesline to reach bottom).
The agitated bottom mud and Kennel Burger would draw them like moths on a flame. We'd be busy for an hour or two, literally constantly going back and forth to retrieve the lines on both poles, sometimes catching doubles on the H-Rigs. Eventually we'd run out of Kennel Burger, energy, and tide after about two hours, pull in the lines, toss in the remaining Mussels and settle into the high speed run back to Long Island. The fish were kept alive in immense coolers. The usual catch would exceed 100 fish, often by quite a bit more.
We'd fillet the flatfish for about an hour. We'd toss the offal up into the air, and the swirling Gulls would snap them up right out of the air. That stuff never reach back down to the water out back. One of the Gulls was Pinocchio, a Herring Gull Bill had rescued immature and raised when it had a broken wing. Pinocchio would come back with the mob each year and was hand-feeding tame.
Eventually we'd have a huge pile of fillets, and another big bunch of whole fish we just didn't have time or energy left to do. We'd scoop out a dozen or so fillets for supper, another big bag of filet for me to bring back home to NJ, then bag up the rest and take that all to the local fish markets. We'd end up paying for the boat gas, get a little cash for ourselves, and retire to have supper of golden fried in butter breaded fillets, salad, spaghetti and red sauce on the side, with Rheingold or Schaeffer Beer, then relax in front of the Yankees or Mets game later over Cutty on ice. The next morning I'd grab my bag of fillets from the freezer, and hit the road back to home and family.
Good days, I miss them a lot; Bill too...
Greg
PS Tonight is Taco Thursday at the VF. Thursdays except first Thursday, which is Stuffed Baked Potato Night. Last Night was Wacky Wednesday, dish to pass. I spent most of yesterday simmering my "Infamous Irish" Beef Stew (with a generous saturation of Cabernet Sauvignon). Big Crock Pot full up to the VF, it all went in about 20 minutes.
Used to be, everything was Mexican dishes, but Celia and I are introducing more Northerly dishes with some appreciation and success. Not one to waste time, I also made up a medium sized pot of Spaghetti Sauce, with ground pork and White Zinfandel wine simultaneously with the stew. Got 5 1/2 pints in the jars and canned; one of my better ones, too.
When I'm home alone, I cook.
My Girls (Celia and Granddaughter Elena) are up in Phoenix since yesterday Morning, with Elena doing the Warped Tour (huge touring bands concert) and Celia scoping out Ikea for a new kitchen, purchases to be made before returning home Friday. Nice thing, the Ikea stuff all boxed to be assembled, we can get a buncha stuff into the back of the Grand Caravan for the trip home, where Elena will do the Cuss-n-Fuss putting it all together. Watching that, offering moral support, is better than HBO.
Phoenix temps today, reaching 114. Henhenhenh, I'll out back behind the patio soaking in the new hot tub under the huge beach umbrella. We'll probably hit 105 up here in the High Desert.
The dogs are boarding at Puppy Paradise up on Lizard Lane, and the cats have the run of the place; Eureka, baby!
Meantime, I'm Batchin' it; eating my own cooking and loving it.
Later on, in the 1960's my Elder Brothers taught me fly fishing and brought me along to Roscoe in Upstate NY, fishing in the Beaver Kill. The trout were small, but they fried up really nice over the evening camp fire. I would return to the Beaver Kill all through my life until we recently moved to Arizona. I now live in the high desert, and what is available is not worth fishing until I get a lot more desperate.
In the 1970's through the 1990's, we owned recreational trailer in a larger (1000 sites) gated Campground called Tall Timbers in Sussex NJ. Our Daughter grew up going there every w/e and all during summer break. Every Saturday and Sunday Morning, up with the Sun and run down to the lake with Ultralight Spinning poles and dug worms. We'd gang up on the Crappies and have a ball landing them on the ultralight tackle. Jen got pretty comfortable around a fishin' pole. We'd fry up the crappies (pretty small, but bunch could make for a decent Brunch), but that eventually ended when somebody put an outboard on the lake and the 2 cycle oil from the exhaust got into the fillets.
Also in the 1990's I would drive over from Northern NJ to Long Beach, Long Island, and spend a weekend or two a month with my Eldest Brother Bill. He had a floatdock out back on the Reynolds Channel, and a 27 foot Sea Ray with a pair of 200hp Outboards tied on it. We'd thread our way out to the Verrazano Narrows and beyond into the open ocean, cutting across to Long Beach NJ to fish Flounder and Fluke.
That Sea Ray would get up and outright fly. We'd pull into the Shark River Inlet just before midday high tide, and break out the gear. Bait was Mussels we'd plucked from the mud flats across the Reynolds from his dock. We'd each work two poles with helicopter rigs (two hooks on short leaders on a wire spreader bar, with a heavy Pyramid sinker on a short tether below the bar). We'd chum with Kennel Burger, and stir up the bottom with Flounder Pounders (old window sash weights on enough clothesline to reach bottom).
The agitated bottom mud and Kennel Burger would draw them like moths on a flame. We'd be busy for an hour or two, literally constantly going back and forth to retrieve the lines on both poles, sometimes catching doubles on the H-Rigs. Eventually we'd run out of Kennel Burger, energy, and tide after about two hours, pull in the lines, toss in the remaining Mussels and settle into the high speed run back to Long Island. The fish were kept alive in immense coolers. The usual catch would exceed 100 fish, often by quite a bit more.
We'd fillet the flatfish for about an hour. We'd toss the offal up into the air, and the swirling Gulls would snap them up right out of the air. That stuff never reach back down to the water out back. One of the Gulls was Pinocchio, a Herring Gull Bill had rescued immature and raised when it had a broken wing. Pinocchio would come back with the mob each year and was hand-feeding tame.
Eventually we'd have a huge pile of fillets, and another big bunch of whole fish we just didn't have time or energy left to do. We'd scoop out a dozen or so fillets for supper, another big bag of filet for me to bring back home to NJ, then bag up the rest and take that all to the local fish markets. We'd end up paying for the boat gas, get a little cash for ourselves, and retire to have supper of golden fried in butter breaded fillets, salad, spaghetti and red sauce on the side, with Rheingold or Schaeffer Beer, then relax in front of the Yankees or Mets game later over Cutty on ice. The next morning I'd grab my bag of fillets from the freezer, and hit the road back to home and family.
Good days, I miss them a lot; Bill too...
Greg
PS Tonight is Taco Thursday at the VF. Thursdays except first Thursday, which is Stuffed Baked Potato Night. Last Night was Wacky Wednesday, dish to pass. I spent most of yesterday simmering my "Infamous Irish" Beef Stew (with a generous saturation of Cabernet Sauvignon). Big Crock Pot full up to the VF, it all went in about 20 minutes.
Used to be, everything was Mexican dishes, but Celia and I are introducing more Northerly dishes with some appreciation and success. Not one to waste time, I also made up a medium sized pot of Spaghetti Sauce, with ground pork and White Zinfandel wine simultaneously with the stew. Got 5 1/2 pints in the jars and canned; one of my better ones, too.
When I'm home alone, I cook.
My Girls (Celia and Granddaughter Elena) are up in Phoenix since yesterday Morning, with Elena doing the Warped Tour (huge touring bands concert) and Celia scoping out Ikea for a new kitchen, purchases to be made before returning home Friday. Nice thing, the Ikea stuff all boxed to be assembled, we can get a buncha stuff into the back of the Grand Caravan for the trip home, where Elena will do the Cuss-n-Fuss putting it all together. Watching that, offering moral support, is better than HBO.
Phoenix temps today, reaching 114. Henhenhenh, I'll out back behind the patio soaking in the new hot tub under the huge beach umbrella. We'll probably hit 105 up here in the High Desert.
The dogs are boarding at Puppy Paradise up on Lizard Lane, and the cats have the run of the place; Eureka, baby!
Meantime, I'm Batchin' it; eating my own cooking and loving it.
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