Someone once told me that the more time I planned to spend in Montauk, the
less fishing I would actually do.
I didn’t get
it.
So here I am coming back from a long stay
in “M” over the 4th of July, but don’t ask me for a fishing report this time.
I didn’t.
Nope.
Not
for one minute.
The rods never made it to the
rack on the front bumper.
First time ever,
actually. Shocking.
You see, there was a time
when I would drive out to Montauk for a few days and live right out of the back
of my truck. A slide on camper was waaay out of my price range. And it didn’t
matter anyway. I would put on the wetsuit as the sun was setting, I’d fish most
of the night, until I was completely exhausted, then slog back to my truck. I
had two gallons of water in separate containers. I’d pour 1/2 of the first
gallon over my head, then I’d lather up with shampoo, then pour the rest over me
while I stripped off the neoprene in the night air. A quick towel dry and then
off to dreamland under a musty sleeping bag, sometimes with the rear gate open
if the bugs weren’t too bad. (We don’t need no stinkin’ camper!) And with any
luck I’d get some quality rest before the mid morning sun made sleep unbearable.
The rest of the day was usually spent sharpening hooks, replacing korker studs,
and trading information. Important stuff like
that.
Then came wife and kids (thankfully in
that order).
Initially, my wife was a saint
about my fishing addiction. But I should have known my life had changed forever
that first time she drove out to Montauk – unannounced – with our baby girl.
“I just felt like coming out, and we missed
you,” she said so innocently.
So then my
sleeping bag in the back of the truck gave way to a budget hotel room, and then
over time, to progressively more “female friendly” accommodations, and longer
stays.
Somewhere around 1999, she had taken
full control of booking our stays, and began encouraging other families to book
adjoining rooms. It all sounded good, at first.
It wasn’t long after that when she lobbed that
first grenade at me – “Can’t you just leave your fishing stuff home this
time?”
But I always held my ground. Some things
are sacred. You should never go to a football game without a cooler and
tailgating supplies, and you should never go to Montauk without fishing gear.
Never.
I got busted looking at my watch while
we dined with another couple on more than a few occasions. Plenty of nights
coming home after a full night of fishing and being awoken after 45 minutes of
sleep with the kids jumping in my bed, demanding to be taken to the beach. My
wife made plenty of offers to take so and so’s husband surfcasting. So a night
of wetsuiting was out – I had to scramble to “guide” a few newbies to fish on
the sand beaches – but I wasn’t getting paid for
it!
The fishing gear came this time too – but
it took 15 years to get me to the stage where the rod actually never did make it
to the water. There was full intention to go fishing, mind you, right down to
the fresh batteries I slipped into my mini dive lights.
But that was before the raw bar at West Lake
<maybe I’ll fish later> the frantic trips to get wood for bonfires
<maybe I’ll fish later> the lengthy attempt to tow a Honda Accord off the
beach (why they tried to drive on the beach, we will never know) <maybe I’ll
fish later> the drop off of the kids at Hither Hills to meet friends
<maybe I’ll fish tonight> the morning runs to the bake shop for jelly
donuts and iced coffee <maybe I’ll fish tonight> the 4 trips to IGA
<maybe I’ll fish tonight> the beer distributor <maybe I’ll fish
later> the shuttling of people back and forth to the beach <maybe I’ll
fish this afternoon> the pickups and drop offs at the train station <maybe
I’ll fish tonight> and then finally the restaurants and the sampling of
Montauk’s nightlife <maybe I’ll fish early
tomorrow>
Observation #1: And you think
Montauk is crowded during a daytime blitz in late September? Try getting a drink
at the Sloppy Tuna at 11pm on a Saturday
night!
Observation #2: After seeing the lines
to get into some of these places, we should all just be very very thankful that
for all those people who come to Montauk this time of year, only a tiny fraction
have any interest in fishing.
(I will be
getting back to fishing,
promise.)

















