DZ
08-08-2007, 01:20 PM
Roccus in the Mist
You could feel it in the air, a sort of heaviness that made even breathing difficult. The atmosphere was saturated with moisture yet it wasn’t raining. An hour before dark it came rolling in pushed by a breeze from the southeast – fog.
For the longest time I despised fog – many a good night I missed because I couldn’t see through a heavy mist because of my eye glasses. Getting fitted with Contact Lenses changed all that and enabled me to fish those nights – contacts are critical for me.
I headed out 30 minutes early as the now pea soup fog hastened the coming of darkness. Briskly hiking my way along the shrouded Cliff Walk I could only “hear” the view through the sound of the wave action. Only a grayish-green appeared toward the water.
Although my sense of sight is hampered, my sense of sound and smell become more enhanced. At my first stop I can hear the bass but not see them. I can also smell the overpowering acrid odor of rotting piles of red weed which have been baked in the 90 degree temps of the last week. The odor permeates the fog making it seem like I’m breathing in “liquid weed.”
It’s very still and quiet as I take my first cast. I “hear” the needle hit the water – then start my retrieve. I “feel” the SS Needle glide back towards my perch. Then I “hear the take” a split second before I feel it. When I set I hear the resultant explosion that temporarily ends the silence. A minute later Roccus swims away – and once again all is silent in the mist. God I love surfcasting.
DZ
You could feel it in the air, a sort of heaviness that made even breathing difficult. The atmosphere was saturated with moisture yet it wasn’t raining. An hour before dark it came rolling in pushed by a breeze from the southeast – fog.
For the longest time I despised fog – many a good night I missed because I couldn’t see through a heavy mist because of my eye glasses. Getting fitted with Contact Lenses changed all that and enabled me to fish those nights – contacts are critical for me.
I headed out 30 minutes early as the now pea soup fog hastened the coming of darkness. Briskly hiking my way along the shrouded Cliff Walk I could only “hear” the view through the sound of the wave action. Only a grayish-green appeared toward the water.
Although my sense of sight is hampered, my sense of sound and smell become more enhanced. At my first stop I can hear the bass but not see them. I can also smell the overpowering acrid odor of rotting piles of red weed which have been baked in the 90 degree temps of the last week. The odor permeates the fog making it seem like I’m breathing in “liquid weed.”
It’s very still and quiet as I take my first cast. I “hear” the needle hit the water – then start my retrieve. I “feel” the SS Needle glide back towards my perch. Then I “hear the take” a split second before I feel it. When I set I hear the resultant explosion that temporarily ends the silence. A minute later Roccus swims away – and once again all is silent in the mist. God I love surfcasting.
DZ