Todays blog post is from blog reader Ryan Chenette …enjoy and I hope you are enjoying the weekend….Zeno
The Sunset of Summer
I pulled in to the dusty gravel lot at the beach and was surprised at how many people were there. The beach in mid-September can be hit or miss. Some days are sunny and warm with a slight breeze; others windy and cold. This one happened to be a clear, warm day. I parked my car by the rocks overlooking the breachway and walked over the dunes towards the beach.
There were groups of people scattered along the beach. Adults sat in beach chairs thrown in rough circles in the sand. Some groups had picnic dinners and glasses of wine, toasting the setting sun. Others just sat, basking in the sun. It was as if, like squirrels gathering nuts, they were gathering up the last breaths of summer.
The children did not have the same intent as their parents. They were using up every last drop of daylight that they could squeeze from the sky. There were sand castle builders, kite flyers, rock skippers, and wave runners. There were a few brave souls; or as I like to call it, youthful idiotic bliss, that were swimming in the glistening surf line. They were not aware of their own shivering blue lips. Muckling in the waves was far too important to notice such things. These might be the last waves of the year.
The sun was a bright orange ball as it sank in the West. The grayish clouds wore purple and pink hues as the rays of the sun passed through. The clouds in the East were now turning their own shade of pink to match the West. The silhouettes of birds could be seen crossing the horizon, looking for the resting place of the night.For them, the day has come to an end.
As the day gives way to night there are only a few sweat shirted people left on the beach. Couples wrapped in blankets, reluctant to let go of the closing day. But, as every season ends , another begins. As one group notices the end of one season, another group awaits the beginning of the next. The camping lot is full of folks awaiting the beginning of Fall.
I make my way inland,along the channel. The back pond is full of bait fish, mostly peanut Bunker and Mullet , that have spent the summer in the safety of the inlet. Feasting and growing all year in the shallows away from predators. Now that the days are cooler, they gather in numbers, getting ready to leave their sanctuary and follow the coastline south. The Striped Bass and Bluefish know this and stand guard where the ocean meets the inlet, waiting for their meal. This migration will go unnoticed by most people, but not those in the campground. This is what they came for.
The campground is bustling with life as the cars of the beachgoers leave in a cloud of dust. The smell of charcoal, burgers and hot dogs fill the air. Men gather in small groups to finish their meals and tell lies over cups of coffee.Laughter and light hearted arguments can be heard from all around.The mood is energetic with anticipation. Fishing poles line the back of the campers, standing ready for the nights battles. Small tables are lit with lanterns as gear is checked one last time before heading out.
It’s time for me to get my own gear ready for the night. I pass a group of old timers on my way back to the car. Sitting in chairs with their rods in holders, they wait for a bite and sip cold beers. No longer willing to brave the rocks and the falls and scrapes that come with them. Unwilling to give up the sport they love, they compromise with throwing out some bait and waiting. Time is something they have. I’m looking for more action and pass by with a nod and a “good luck”.
Back at the car I see that more cars have arrived. This is no longer a quiet fishing spot, word has spread. I go through my ritual of getting ready, waders,boots,jacket and belt. I look in my plug bag and wonder if I have what the fish will want: a few substitutions that feel right, and it’s still a crap shoot if a fish will take one. Flashlight,knife, pliers and rod, I’m ready.The surf is calling.
I walk out on the rocks that my feet know by heart. There are people sitting on white buckets throwing bait out into the channel that will never hold in this current.They look at me, in their sweatshirts,and me water proof from head to toe.I won’t be stopping here. The waters edge is calling, out to the end where the waves smash against the rocks and spray foam up into the air. I step up to the last rock between me and the vast sea and take a cast.
The fall run is on.
