Feelings I Forgot, By Dave Anderson

Feelings I Forgot

By Dave Anderson

The world of the surfcaster has changed quite a bit over the past 70 years and the changes seem to be coming at an ever-increasing rate. Back in the early days our forefathers had to adapt, retrofit and improvise just about everything they used. Slowly innovations were made commercially available but it really took a long time for things made specifically for surfcasting to hit the mainstream market. These days we have roughly 8,000,000 plug builders, a broadening armload of bag makers, state-of-the-art clothing, rods and reels and it’s being shoveled into our hungry mouths at a rate faster than we can chew and swallow.

The feeling of not wanting to be left behind or miss out on something new and awesome has it’s pros and cons. Yes, there are great innovations like the SP Minnow or the Stick Shadd that have achieved dedicated tube status in our surf bags, but there are far more duds than home runs. The ill effects of opening your mouth for the fire hose are that tried and true standbys sometimes get lost in the jumble. Sometimes a look back to days gone past can help you remember who really loves you.

Since the introduction of the SP Minnow, I admit, I have neglected the Red Fin, I still talk about it as a viable tool, but for some reason I tend to reach for the Daiwa these days. The funny thing is, I haven’t caught anything all that big on an SP and the Red Fin has been very good to me. You may know, if you’ve read articles by me in the past, that I don’t have a lot of affection for rattling plugs and yes, the SP does rattle. Tonight I’ve been sitting here thinking back to the pre-SP days and remembering some amazing catches.

One of my favorites was a night in early May. It was viciously stormy with a wicked wind. My partner, Dave Daluz and I had our sights set on a sod bank in a back river where the wind would be mostly over our backs. A cold rain pierced down as we traversed a dark woodsy trail. As we neared the point a silhouette was visible on the bank and I was immediately mad! And further, I wasn’t sure if we should fish, maybe this guy didn’t know what he was doing, if the fishing sucked, he might never come back! We weighed the walk back to the car and our measured a set of plan-B’s; ultimately we settled on fishing here and hoping that he’d leave before the tide made up.

I walked by, said ‘hello’ shortly, and asked if he’d had any luck. It was around 2 a.m. and pitch dark, our friend was throwing a popper—I figured I knew the answer—and I was right. “Nothing,” he said, “I’m basically just waiting for sunrise at this point.”

Talk about the bad negating the good! It was good that he hadn’t hooked up, but it was bad, VERY BAD that he was just going to stick it out. Now we were in the very strange place that only surfcasters know—fishing and hoping that the fishing isn’t good. I snapped on my trusty blurple water-loaded Red Fin and flipped it out into the rip. About five cranks into the retrieve the plug stopped dead with the force of a lightning strike, my rod bucked hard and curled into a cursive “C”. I kept my rod tip down and half-prayed I’d drop the fish, and I did. Dave looked at me and I tried to convey the news using exaggerated body language to alter my silhouette in the darkness. I cast again, and once again—BOOM—I was tight to a good one. This one splashed on the surface and our trespasser asked with a spark of hope, “are you hooked up?” With my rod low to the water I fought the urge to speak a tale that would soon be exposed as a lie. The fish came off, “Nah, I had a fish on, felt like a small blue.”

I wheeled around to Dave and said, “Dude, that’s two in a row and they were both good fish!” He rummaged for a blurple ‘Fin as I made a third cast; crank-crank-crank-crank, SLAM! Fish on again and this one was hooked good—the water exploded in front of me and line sang off my reel. The deep, hollow bursts of a decent bass trying the throw the hook shattered the silence of the night and any hope of concealing the quality of what I was tied to. Finally I slid a nice fish in the low 30-pound class up onto the bank. The hooks were buried and I had to light the fish up—my last secret was spilled—so we took a couple pics and released her. A feeling of dread washed over me as our new best friend changed over to a swimmer—wouldn’t you know that we caught one small fish for the rest of the night and into the morning! Looking back I wish I could take back that prayer!