What About Bob?
The Midnight Rambler
John W. Papciak
You know what they say, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, but expecting a different outcome.”
Well, that’s about how I felt two weeks ago, when I was visiting Egypt Beach in East Hampton on the East End of Long Island.
If you’ve been fishing reasonably hard this fall you already know – in many places – it’s been very hard to scare up a few fish. Those gravy years in the late 90s and early 00s, with 20, 30 or ever 40 fish outings are now a distant memory. That’s not to say some of you (and even me once in a while) are not finding fish – but we’ve gone on and on in blogs and articles worrying about where all the fish have gone.
Sure, sure, we might have a good year class or two coming up. Just maybe. But it doesn’t make it any easier being on the beach in Montauk, and seeing school after school of adult bunker go by, but with not so much on them – and certainly not enough to push the bunker toward the beach and create the blitz conditions that we almost took for granted more than a decade ago.
Zeno had a really good story he shared at one of the bass hearings last year on Long Island. I dunno, I guess he gives the fish names, you’ll have to ask him about this. He called this fish Bob.
What about Bob?
Well Bob was a striped bass that Zeno could always find, almost like that time tested and trusted friend. Didn’t matter what else was going on, up and down the beach, as the season went along. Sometimes all the other fish were gone, but he could always count on Bob, or a small handful of fish just like Bob, at some very specific places.
OK, I’ll admit I never named my fish, but I also had those reliable places.
But just like Zeno, over the past few years in particular, those fish are just not there. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll keep fishing for them, but I’ve more or less gotten used to the fact that Bob is just not around like he used to be.
Anyway, let’s get back to Egypt Beach.
This is usually at the western end of my jurisdiction, and one of the last places where I can use my East Hampton beach driving permit.
Lotta good memories here, especially during those epic years with the peanut bunker.
It’s right by the hoighty-toighty Maidstone Club. That’s the golf club where even Bill Clinton was not allowed a tee time (you’ll have to Google the tabloids to get the full dirt on that).
Anyway, two weeks ago, the Bonackers were at it again. Remember Haul Seines have been outlawed in New York, but not the beach launching of gill nets. Turns out the Bonackers were following the schools of bunker, just like any good fisherman should. And when they saw some hints of activity in the way of predators on one of the schools, they set a net around it that must have gone out the better part of a mile. You would think they would have netted the motherload of cow bass – that would certainly have been the case 15 years ago – but on this set, pretty much all they got was a big pile of bluefish. You might wonder exactly how many fish, and what sizes, are out there. Well this will tell you all you need to know.
Was kinda sad to be honest. But I wasn’t only disturbed by the dead fish now rotting in the sun. Was just as sad for the guys doing the netting. Just all this effort, and all this equipment, and all they will get is (reportedly) is 90 cents a pound for that small portion that will make it to the market in reasonably decent shape. The rest I’m not even sure will be eligible for catfood.
Just imagine how many fishermen –especially surfcasters – who would have given half the bills in their wallet to tangle with these fish on an otherwise dead weekend afternoon.
It’s just one more reminder of how greedy we’ve been, and how the recreationals are just as guilty of this as any commercial.
We can only hope those more recent year classes do make it out of bay, and into the coastal stock (they call that process “recruitment”).
Let’s hope so – we humans appear to be incapable of knowing when to cut back when Bob is nowhere to be found.
