Needlefish
Even though quite a few years have passed, I remember the scene like it was yesterday. A crisp fall day with an onshore breeze made for some fishy looking conditions on this stretch of beach at Jones Beach State Park. Alas, the fish obviously did not share my excitement about the nice looking white water rolling over the sandbars, as they were nowhere to be found. Suddenly there was a movement in the wave; a glimmer of hope for a surfcaster. A single, long and slender needlefish almost a foot long broke the surface. For what seemed like an eternity, it stood suspended above the rolling wave before gracefully disappearing in the foam. A few minutes later another one made a somersault followed by yet another. I frantically searched in my plug bag for a needlefish lure, knowing full well that I had packed none since this was a daytime excursion and I use needles mostly at dark. “Maybe, just maybe, there was one left from a previous night excursion,” I thought to myself. No such luck! And try as I might, I just could not raise a fish, that day. However, seeing needlefish jumping clear out of the water gave me an excuse to change my original plan of plugging the backside of the inlet. Instead I decided to return here in the dark and this time I would carry some needlefish lures.
A painful experience…
Making a trek to the West End Two pocket over the soft sand is a chore but doing it twice in one day? That is just pure torture! However, the vision of stripers chasing needlefish in the white water was too tempting to pass up so I plodded on through the mosquito infested path, at times running full speed while waiving my arm madly, trying to avoid bites from these little blood suckers. I finally reached the surf line totally soaked in sweat, not looking forward to doing the same dance on the way back, later.
Since I was out of breath, I decided to make a few casts right in front of the path instead of walking towards the pocket as I originally had planned. I attached my favorite needlefish, an old 7 inch Super Strike painted in mackerel pattern. This lure had been so productive for me over the years; I rarely, if ever left my truck without it. I made a long cast up tide and picked up line with my index finger contemplating whether I should just stay here until dawn instead of risking another trip back through the nightmarish, mosquito infested weeds. Lost in my thoughts, I was startled when a fish slammed the lure with authority. Continue reading




















