DZ
09-06-2007, 07:44 AM
Luciano Pavarotti 10/12/35 - 9/6/2007
Very sad day for me - my tribute to Luciano:
Pavarotti Calls The Bass
by DZ
Action had been unusually slow on the beach that night. A rolling surf and a 10-knot Southwest breeze produced ideal conditions. The night, a dark one, was similar to the others when I had "hawked the bass" earlier this week. But for some reason only known to Roccus, they were not biting tonight.
I was at Grove Point, the fourth stop on my surfcasting rounds and I had yet to get a sniff on my plugs. Having two more hours of mid-watch darkness left I decided to continue with the same pattern that produced good results the past two nights. Tired and beat I slowly walked back to my parked buggy on Corn Neck Road. I poured some coffee to help wash down a coffee cake. Looking through my cassette tapes I selected "Pavarotti's Greatest Hits" and popped it into the tape deck. As I drove to Dorie's Cove, my next stop, I listened to Luciano Pavarotti's rendition of Ave Maria. What a wonderful voice this man has. I turned up the volume and remember imagining that my buggy was a darkened auditorium and the great Luciano was performing live. I took a right onto the dirt road and followed it until the ended at the path to the rocky beach. I sat in my buggy and waited for Pavarotti's last song to end. I then geared up, walked down the path to the cove and landed three bass from 30-38 pounds in the next hour. Although I didn't realize it at the time I had just discovered a new superstition. The superstition was to play a Pavarotti tape if the fishing was slow and have him "call in the bass."
Now we all know that some people are superstitious. But surf fishermen like myself bring superstitions to another level. Some have their lucky fishing hat or always wear the same clothes. Still others make sure they go through the same routine every time they fish. For example one of my oldest superstitions occurs whenever I fish the "lumberyard" at Southwest Point There are three paths that lead to the water from the bluff above the point. I always, without fail, take the same path. I also make sure to step on an old log that lies on the ground at the base of this path. For the past 15 years I've stepped on it on my way to and from fishing the lumberyard. This log is now worn down to ground level from a combination of decomposition and my stepping on it. It is still there.
Two weeks later: My reports to John about the great striper fishing at the island of the past weekend were just too much for him to take. Never being one to ignore reports of good fishing John immediately offered the use of his buggy and presented me an all expenses paid trip to Block if I would accompany and guide him to some bass. I don't turn many trips to the island down never mind a free one. The very next day John and I were driving around the island in his Surburban.
Our night started out very slow with no bass taken in two hours of casting at Southwest Bar. John was starting to let into me about the "supposed" great fishing. "Where are all the bass Dennis? You drag me out to an island and there's not a bass to be had. Nice guy." My reply was "the night is still young."
We climbed into John's truck to try a new location. "Time to pull out all the stops" I told him as I rummaged through my overnight bag. I pulled out my secret weapon and popped it into the tape deck of John's buggy. Pavarotti sang into the night as we made our way down a winding dirt road towards Black Rock. I went on to explain my Pavarotti superstition and all John could do was chuckle.
"Where the hell are you taking me?" John inquired as we rounded the bend a scant five feet from the edge of an island bluff with a 200 foot vertical drop. I replied "you'll see" and continued to give him direction down the maze of dirt roads. We pulled into a small clearing overlooking Black Rock and parked the buggy. John then asked "Where are we going to fish?" I said "down on that rocky point." John said "what point? I can't see crap it's so dark!" I guided John down the path and we waded into the waist deep water towards my favorite rock perch on the east side of the point. This particular rock perch was large enough for both of us to stand on. I told John to "cast your Redfin towards that rock". "What rock? I can't see anything it's so dark.." I pointed in the general direction and John took a cast. John then mumbled something like "I hope my plug lands in the water." Three turns into his retrieve and he was onto a nice fish. After a short fight John had a nice thirty pound bass on the stringer. Another hour of casting produced three smaller bass.
Pavoratti had done it again. Called in the bass on a slow night. John was at first skeptical about Pavarotti's magic but was now convinced. He would eventually purchase his own copy of Pavarotti's Greatest Hits.
Fast forward to 1989. Al Rispoli and I were fishing our last night on the island after 5 days without a bass over 30 pounds. Don't get me wrong, we were into good numbers of bass, just no size, "drag pullers" as Al describes them. As I was driving towards Southwest Point I asked Al to pop the Pavarotti tape into my tape deck. Al questioned "why opera?" I smiled at him and said that Luciano was good luck and would find us some "drag pullers". Al laughed at the prospect. It took us ten minutes to reach Southwest, long enough to hear two of Pavarotti's songs.
Out on the bar at Southwest, Al on the north side and I to the south. Ten minutes of no action and I began having doubts that my good luck charm would work tonight. Then a change to a black needlefish provided a hook-up on its first cast. I yelled to Al over the roar of the surf and he was at my side when I slid a 35 onto the gravel. "Black" I told him and he knew immediately to snap on a black Gibbs needlefish. Al's first cast produced a hook-up with a real nice fish that took lots of line into the strong ebbing current. A real "drag puller". After ten minutes Al had this fish at his side, grabbed the leader and led her to shallower water. He hooked her up to the hand scale where she pulled the needle to 49. It was and still is Al's largest surf caught fish. Pavarotti had worked his magic yet again.
Till this day I still use the help of Pavarotti on slow nights. Most times he works his magic. I'm constantly under pressure from those that fish with me to "pop his tape in". But I only use his help during times when I believe there should be bass around because conditions are favorable. The thing I have to remember is not to abuse his power. Pavarotti is not a miracle worker, although my casting partners would tend to disagree.
Ave Maria!
Very sad day for me - my tribute to Luciano:
Pavarotti Calls The Bass
by DZ
Action had been unusually slow on the beach that night. A rolling surf and a 10-knot Southwest breeze produced ideal conditions. The night, a dark one, was similar to the others when I had "hawked the bass" earlier this week. But for some reason only known to Roccus, they were not biting tonight.
I was at Grove Point, the fourth stop on my surfcasting rounds and I had yet to get a sniff on my plugs. Having two more hours of mid-watch darkness left I decided to continue with the same pattern that produced good results the past two nights. Tired and beat I slowly walked back to my parked buggy on Corn Neck Road. I poured some coffee to help wash down a coffee cake. Looking through my cassette tapes I selected "Pavarotti's Greatest Hits" and popped it into the tape deck. As I drove to Dorie's Cove, my next stop, I listened to Luciano Pavarotti's rendition of Ave Maria. What a wonderful voice this man has. I turned up the volume and remember imagining that my buggy was a darkened auditorium and the great Luciano was performing live. I took a right onto the dirt road and followed it until the ended at the path to the rocky beach. I sat in my buggy and waited for Pavarotti's last song to end. I then geared up, walked down the path to the cove and landed three bass from 30-38 pounds in the next hour. Although I didn't realize it at the time I had just discovered a new superstition. The superstition was to play a Pavarotti tape if the fishing was slow and have him "call in the bass."
Now we all know that some people are superstitious. But surf fishermen like myself bring superstitions to another level. Some have their lucky fishing hat or always wear the same clothes. Still others make sure they go through the same routine every time they fish. For example one of my oldest superstitions occurs whenever I fish the "lumberyard" at Southwest Point There are three paths that lead to the water from the bluff above the point. I always, without fail, take the same path. I also make sure to step on an old log that lies on the ground at the base of this path. For the past 15 years I've stepped on it on my way to and from fishing the lumberyard. This log is now worn down to ground level from a combination of decomposition and my stepping on it. It is still there.
Two weeks later: My reports to John about the great striper fishing at the island of the past weekend were just too much for him to take. Never being one to ignore reports of good fishing John immediately offered the use of his buggy and presented me an all expenses paid trip to Block if I would accompany and guide him to some bass. I don't turn many trips to the island down never mind a free one. The very next day John and I were driving around the island in his Surburban.
Our night started out very slow with no bass taken in two hours of casting at Southwest Bar. John was starting to let into me about the "supposed" great fishing. "Where are all the bass Dennis? You drag me out to an island and there's not a bass to be had. Nice guy." My reply was "the night is still young."
We climbed into John's truck to try a new location. "Time to pull out all the stops" I told him as I rummaged through my overnight bag. I pulled out my secret weapon and popped it into the tape deck of John's buggy. Pavarotti sang into the night as we made our way down a winding dirt road towards Black Rock. I went on to explain my Pavarotti superstition and all John could do was chuckle.
"Where the hell are you taking me?" John inquired as we rounded the bend a scant five feet from the edge of an island bluff with a 200 foot vertical drop. I replied "you'll see" and continued to give him direction down the maze of dirt roads. We pulled into a small clearing overlooking Black Rock and parked the buggy. John then asked "Where are we going to fish?" I said "down on that rocky point." John said "what point? I can't see crap it's so dark!" I guided John down the path and we waded into the waist deep water towards my favorite rock perch on the east side of the point. This particular rock perch was large enough for both of us to stand on. I told John to "cast your Redfin towards that rock". "What rock? I can't see anything it's so dark.." I pointed in the general direction and John took a cast. John then mumbled something like "I hope my plug lands in the water." Three turns into his retrieve and he was onto a nice fish. After a short fight John had a nice thirty pound bass on the stringer. Another hour of casting produced three smaller bass.
Pavoratti had done it again. Called in the bass on a slow night. John was at first skeptical about Pavarotti's magic but was now convinced. He would eventually purchase his own copy of Pavarotti's Greatest Hits.
Fast forward to 1989. Al Rispoli and I were fishing our last night on the island after 5 days without a bass over 30 pounds. Don't get me wrong, we were into good numbers of bass, just no size, "drag pullers" as Al describes them. As I was driving towards Southwest Point I asked Al to pop the Pavarotti tape into my tape deck. Al questioned "why opera?" I smiled at him and said that Luciano was good luck and would find us some "drag pullers". Al laughed at the prospect. It took us ten minutes to reach Southwest, long enough to hear two of Pavarotti's songs.
Out on the bar at Southwest, Al on the north side and I to the south. Ten minutes of no action and I began having doubts that my good luck charm would work tonight. Then a change to a black needlefish provided a hook-up on its first cast. I yelled to Al over the roar of the surf and he was at my side when I slid a 35 onto the gravel. "Black" I told him and he knew immediately to snap on a black Gibbs needlefish. Al's first cast produced a hook-up with a real nice fish that took lots of line into the strong ebbing current. A real "drag puller". After ten minutes Al had this fish at his side, grabbed the leader and led her to shallower water. He hooked her up to the hand scale where she pulled the needle to 49. It was and still is Al's largest surf caught fish. Pavarotti had worked his magic yet again.
Till this day I still use the help of Pavarotti on slow nights. Most times he works his magic. I'm constantly under pressure from those that fish with me to "pop his tape in". But I only use his help during times when I believe there should be bass around because conditions are favorable. The thing I have to remember is not to abuse his power. Pavarotti is not a miracle worker, although my casting partners would tend to disagree.
Ave Maria!