When I was younger and stronger I could really cast a long way. That lure would go clean out of sight and sometimes even past the horizon.

One time I built a fancy new rod with all the gimmicks. I got a special reel from Australia and replaced the stock bearings with Abec 7 ceramic bearings. I also bought some of that rocket fuel and lubed the reel with thinnest and fastest of them all. I went to Race Point and spent about 20 minutes warming up and tsretching to get ready for some real distance casting. Then I tied on a big 4 OZ hopkins lure and was ready to start casting.

As often happens I was pushing so hard for distance I was getting some overruns and wasted a lot of time taking out birdsnests. Then finally I took a few deep breaths , reached way back and put everything into a cast that sailed away perfectly. That thing went so far I lost sight of it over the horizon but even then it kept takling line for what seemed like forever. Finally with just a few turns left on the reel , the lure must have landed because the line stopped peeling off.

I fugured it must be in deep water so I waited a minute or two before retrieving hoping to get down deep for a big fish.

Suddenly i felt a couple of tugs on the line and immediately started reeling it in. I reeled for over an hour until finally I could see where my line was. There was defintely something on the end of my line. Of course I hoped it was a big bass and proceeded to land my catch.

low and behold the Hopkins was no longer on the end of my line. Instead there was a bottle of wine with a note. I read the note with great anticipation. The note said

" Thank you for this beautiful american Fishing lure. They are hard to find in my country. In return for taking your lure I have tied on this bottle of wine which is abundant in my land. I hope you like Port wines. here in Portugal we make the best wines and these Port varieties are our best."

I took the wine home and drank it while eating some Keebler crackers very sharp cheddar. It was a great tasting wine.

Now I swear this is an absolutely true story. I swear it!! :)

I think you drank the wine BEFORE you went fishing!!:uhuh:

I am writing a book about my fishing exploits over the years. here's one of them.

I left the house at 11:00 PM after about 3 hours of fitful tossing and turning. The wind was humping NW at about 20 to 25 and I know the fish would be stacked tight on the dropping tide.
We were headed for “The Back” that legendary stretch of beach on Cape Cod that has given up more than its share of trophy Stripers. A gentle rain fell, occasionally swept sideways by the wind. I knew PJ would be on time at the supermarket, where we met, so I hurried my pace as I hated to keep anyone waiting. It promised to be an epic night and that inner sense of excitement started in my gut. Oh man, maybe we get into some real big fish tonight.

As the truck splashed through the parking lot puddles I could see PJ standing at the back of his SUV getting his gear assembled.
Hey PJ, what’s up?

Not much, you?

Nothing. Looks good tonight.

Yeah, NW over our shoulders and a dropping tide at 2:00 AM.

Come on. Get your stuff together and let’s go. We got a good 2 1/2 hours of driving and it’s starting to come down good.

So off the two Amigos went. PJ was a good %$%$%$%$. A little self-centered but a good surfisherman and he’d watch your back. We had been in a lot of dicey situations over the last 8 or 9 years and always stuck together.

We made it over the Bourne Bridge and were on the Cape. Its funny how 2 grown men can get excited night after night driving to fish. This was a bitch of a drive and we were doing it twice a weekend for about 6 weeks. 600 miles by the time Sunday came around.

Where do you want to go first?

I think we will hit the Second Rip and then move West with the Tide.

You need gas?

Yeah, there’s the Mobil station in Eastham that’s open all night.

OK.

The rain had let up a little but the wind was still blowing, maybe even a little harder.

I think there’s a front moving.

Oh baby, the big girls will be puttin’ on the feedbag. Lanny always says, Bass feed on the front.
Screw Lenny. What the hell does he know??

Come on!! Lennys’ the best.

I know. I’m just bustin’.

He’s caught a lot of big fish and you know he wins the points total every year.

Yeah, but that’s because he’s fishing commercial. We can’t take 800 pounds a night. He can.

Good point my man!!

I pulled into the Mobil station and started to pump gas. PJ ran in to get something to drink as he had forgotten his thermos. So here I am 1:15 AM, pumping gas at a lonely gas station on Cape Cod and a car pulls in on the other side of the pumps. Hmmm, 2 girls.

Now we fished 9 or 10 foot, one piece, custom made surf rods which were all on the roof of the truck in rod racks.

Girl: Hi
Paulie: How ya doin’?
Girl: Good
Girl: Nice rods!!
Paulie: Thanks
Girl: We’d really like to handle your rods.
Paulie (to myself): Oh, oh, here we go.

Just then PJ comes back from the convenience store.

Paulie: Hey PJ, these girls want to handle our rods.
PJ: Hahahahahahahah

Paulie: Not tonight ladies. We have a date with some big, fat girls that are swimming on The Back as we speak.

Paulie: See ya.

The 2 girls just stood there with their mouth open as we headed out of the parking lot.

PJ: Do you believe that??
Paulie; Well, we could have gotten lucky but I’d rather fish.
PJ: Something is wrong with you, man.
The rest of the ride was uneventful. We pulled into the air-down lot at Race Point and deflated our tires, racked the rods in the front rod holders and hit the beach.

PJ: “Where to first?”

Paulie: “Let’s go to the Second Rip. The tides just starting to pull West and the “ladies” should be lining up if there is any bait.”

The rain had stopped and the NW wind would be our shoulders.

We headed down the beach through the RV parking area, past the Plover restricted area, made a slight turn staying on the track and got to the place we call the Second Rip. There a small sand bar that juts out for about a 100 yards and then joins another bar further out. After that the bottom drops off into 100+ feet of water. Perfect bass territory. Current, structure, depth and BAIT!!

As we stopped the truck and got out, PJ let out a yell. No one else on the beach and there is a row a foot thick of sand eels that “something” has pushed up on shore.
We grabbed our rods and hooked live eels on as we ran to the shoreline. PJ cast first immediately followed by my snake hitting the water. One turn of the Van Staal and “I’m On!!! My old Lamiglass 10 foot rod is bent almost in a perfect C and the VS 250 is protesting loudly as the bass peels line off. Two more half hearted runs and I slid a nice 25lb Striper up on the shore.

PJ: “Oh crap, here comes another truck. I’m on and I don’t want him to see me.”

Paulie: “Drop the tip of the rod. If you loose the fish there’s plenty more out there.”

I dragged the still flopping bass up to the truck and threw her in the cooler on the front of the truck. The truck went by and PJ landed his bass. Almost an exact twin to mine. We caught bass for about another hour, all 20 pounders and up. After that, the action slowly started to die as the school moved with the tide.

PJ: “Where to?”

Paulie: “They are movin’ west. We need to get to The Back. I think they will setup at the Mission Bell.

So we racked the rods and off we went. Off the Front, through the air-down lot and up over the big dune onto The Back. A hard right at the bottom of the dune and onto the track heading west.

The Mission Bell is a legendary spot on the Back. It once was a Coast Guard Station. The Bell is still hangs there in a structure that stands about 30 feet high. It’s at the top of a sand dune so it is silhouetted against the sky. You can’t miss it. There is usually a sand bar almost in front of the Bell. It changes from year to year but it’s usually within 50 feet, either side of the Bell.

No sand eels on the shore. “Oh hell, they didn’t move this far down yet.”
PJ: “Where screwed.”

Paulie: “Na, they’ll be here. They are moving west with the tide. I’m tellin’ ya. They will be here!”

I put on a fresh eel and slowly walked down the shoreline trying to make out any swirls, movement or structure. I couldn’t pick up the bar as there was no moon and the Back can be “dark as a pocket” as there are no ambient light sources.

I made a half dozen casts and worked the eels as slow as possible. Nothing. Nada, Zilch!
PJ had decided to work the other direction toward the way we came down the beach. A couple of buggies went by us and, seeing nothing going on, kept moving toward 2 Tenths Hole, Laura’s and Peaked Hill. If they didn’t find fish at Peaked Hill they would be back as this was during the period when the beach was closed from Peaked Hill Bar to High Head.

Wait!! PJs neck light just flashed twice. He’s on! I reeled in and headed toward him. I could just make out his rod bent over. By the time I got there he was in the water grabbing a nice fish by the gill cover.

PJ: “How big?”

Paulie: “Over 30. Maybe 35”

I started casting and had to calm myself down as I was working the eel too quick.

PJ: “Paulie, 33 and change on my scale.”

Paulie: “Nice fish PJ”

Tap, tap, Tap. Yep. Drop the rod, count to 5 and SET!

The first run absolutely astounded Paulie. Biggest fish of the night. Peeled 50 yards of line. Now she was bulldozing against the side of the bar. I turned her head and gained some line. Nope. Still green. Another run but not as long. Back and forth the old girl and I went. Finally she was tired and I knew I had won. Slid her up on the sand and gently unhooked her.

“PJ, bring the scale. I’m gonna let her go.”

The scale pulled down and bounced between 42 and 43 pounds. She was 46”+. I waded in to the lite surf and slowly moved her back and forth. Her gills flared and pulsed as life slowly returned to her body and the lactic acid dissipated from her exhausted body.

PJ: “Damn! No camera.”

Paulie: “Come on girl. You can do it.”

All at once I felt her pull. A slap of her broom tail and she slowly swam away.

Paulie: “Wow! What a fish!”

PJ: “I would have kept her.”

Paulie: “Not this time. We already have over 100 pounds in the box. Let’s go home.”

PJ: “It’s only 3:30 AM! We got another 2 hours till daylight.”

Paulie: “PJ, I’m beat. We must have caught 20 fish over 25 pounds. Let’s leave some for tomorrow.”

PJ: “You’re driving. I’m OK with it.”

Paulie: “NO! You’re driving. I need an hour sleep. Let’s get off the beach, air-up and you drive until we get to the Bourne Bridge.”

We hit the road after air-up and I was asleep before we got to Route 6.
So another epic night on the Back went into the books. There were many nights like that and many night when we never did find the fish. You remember the great nights and try to forget the bad ones. More stories from The Back to follow.

Waiter.
I'll have some of what Saltheart is having.

I have a "Tall Tale"! I go fishing at a spot I frequent from time to time this fall. Its a spot that I see Flaptail at on occasion. So I show up one night, and there are a few folks there I see in the shadows.......and I can of course make out Flaptails shape in the dark.....he is about the only guy I see out there thats much bigger than I am!:rotf2: Anyway.....I kind of slide into the water about 25 feet from Flaptail....and he doesn't know its me (yet).....so I fish for a bit, watching him and just making sure its him....and it is! So after about 15 minutes I say, loud enough for him to hear, "Boy......I didn't know they piled it that high?":laugha: Steve takes a second or two.....and I can see him slowly turn towards me......and he says, in a threatening tone....."Excuse Me?!!!":rotf3::laughs::rotflmao: I bust out laughing and I say "Hi Steve....its me BigFish"....and we both had a good chuckle over it.....it was funny!:rotf2:

I am writing a book about my fishing exploits over the years. here's one of them.

I left the house at 11:00 PM after about 3 hours of fitful tossing and turning. The wind was humping NW at about 20 to 25 and I know the fish would be stacked tight on the dropping tide.
We were headed for “The Back” that legendary stretch of beach on Cape Cod that has given up more than its share of trophy Stripers. A gentle rain fell, occasionally swept sideways by the wind. I knew PJ would be on time at the supermarket, where we met, so I hurried my pace as I hated to keep anyone waiting. It promised to be an epic night and that inner sense of excitement started in my gut. Oh man, maybe we get into some real big fish tonight.

As the truck splashed through the parking lot puddles I could see PJ standing at the back of his SUV getting his gear assembled.
Hey PJ, what’s up?

Not much, you?

Nothing. Looks good tonight.

Yeah, NW over our shoulders and a dropping tide at 2:00 AM.

Come on. Get your stuff together and let’s go. We got a good 2 1/2 hours of driving and it’s starting to come down good.

So off the two Amigos went. PJ was a good %$%$%$%$. A little self-centered but a good surfisherman and he’d watch your back. We had been in a lot of dicey situations over the last 8 or 9 years and always stuck together.

We made it over the Bourne Bridge and were on the Cape. Its funny how 2 grown men can get excited night after night driving to fish. This was a bitch of a drive and we were doing it twice a weekend for about 6 weeks. 600 miles by the time Sunday came around.

Where do you want to go first?

I think we will hit the Second Rip and then move West with the Tide.

You need gas?

Yeah, there’s the Mobil station in Eastham that’s open all night.

OK.

The rain had let up a little but the wind was still blowing, maybe even a little harder.

I think there’s a front moving.

Oh baby, the big girls will be puttin’ on the feedbag. Lanny always says, Bass feed on the front.
Screw Lenny. What the hell does he know??

Come on!! Lennys’ the best.

I know. I’m just bustin’.

He’s caught a lot of big fish and you know he wins the points total every year.

Yeah, but that’s because he’s fishing commercial. We can’t take 800 pounds a night. He can.

Good point my man!!

I pulled into the Mobil station and started to pump gas. PJ ran in to get something to drink as he had forgotten his thermos. So here I am 1:15 AM, pumping gas at a lonely gas station on Cape Cod and a car pulls in on the other side of the pumps. Hmmm, 2 girls.

Now we fished 9 or 10 foot, one piece, custom made surf rods which were all on the roof of the truck in rod racks.

Girl: Hi
Paulie: How ya doin’?
Girl: Good
Girl: Nice rods!!
Paulie: Thanks
Girl: We’d really like to handle your rods.
Paulie (to myself): Oh, oh, here we go.

Just then PJ comes back from the convenience store.

Paulie: Hey PJ, these girls want to handle our rods.
PJ: Hahahahahahahah

Paulie: Not tonight ladies. We have a date with some big, fat girls that are swimming on The Back as we speak.

Paulie: See ya.

The 2 girls just stood there with their mouth open as we headed out of the parking lot.

PJ: Do you believe that??
Paulie; Well, we could have gotten lucky but I’d rather fish.
PJ: Something is wrong with you, man.
The rest of the ride was uneventful. We pulled into the air-down lot at Race Point and deflated our tires, racked the rods in the front rod holders and hit the beach.

PJ: “Where to first?”

Paulie: “Let’s go to the Second Rip. The tides just starting to pull West and the “ladies” should be lining up if there is any bait.”

The rain had stopped and the NW wind would be our shoulders.

We headed down the beach through the RV parking area, past the Plover restricted area, made a slight turn staying on the track and got to the place we call the Second Rip. There a small sand bar that juts out for about a 100 yards and then joins another bar further out. After that the bottom drops off into 100+ feet of water. Perfect bass territory. Current, structure, depth and BAIT!!

As we stopped the truck and got out, PJ let out a yell. No one else on the beach and there is a row a foot thick of sand eels that “something” has pushed up on shore.
We grabbed our rods and hooked live eels on as we ran to the shoreline. PJ cast first immediately followed by my snake hitting the water. One turn of the Van Staal and “I’m On!!! My old Lamiglass 10 foot rod is bent almost in a perfect C and the VS 250 is protesting loudly as the bass peels line off. Two more half hearted runs and I slid a nice 25lb Striper up on the shore.

PJ: “Oh crap, here comes another truck. I’m on and I don’t want him to see me.”

Paulie: “Drop the tip of the rod. If you loose the fish there’s plenty more out there.”

I dragged the still flopping bass up to the truck and threw her in the cooler on the front of the truck. The truck went by and PJ landed his bass. Almost an exact twin to mine. We caught bass for about another hour, all 20 pounders and up. After that, the action slowly started to die as the school moved with the tide.

PJ: “Where to?”

Paulie: “They are movin’ west. We need to get to The Back. I think they will setup at the Mission Bell.

So we racked the rods and off we went. Off the Front, through the air-down lot and up over the big dune onto The Back. A hard right at the bottom of the dune and onto the track heading west.

The Mission Bell is a legendary spot on the Back. It once was a Coast Guard Station. The Bell is still hangs there in a structure that stands about 30 feet high. It’s at the top of a sand dune so it is silhouetted against the sky. You can’t miss it. There is usually a sand bar almost in front of the Bell. It changes from year to year but it’s usually within 50 feet, either side of the Bell.

No sand eels on the shore. “Oh hell, they didn’t move this far down yet.”
PJ: “Where screwed.”

Paulie: “Na, they’ll be here. They are moving west with the tide. I’m tellin’ ya. They will be here!”

I put on a fresh eel and slowly walked down the shoreline trying to make out any swirls, movement or structure. I couldn’t pick up the bar as there was no moon and the Back can be “dark as a pocket” as there are no ambient light sources.

I made a half dozen casts and worked the eels as slow as possible. Nothing. Nada, Zilch!
PJ had decided to work the other direction toward the way we came down the beach. A couple of buggies went by us and, seeing nothing going on, kept moving toward 2 Tenths Hole, Laura’s and Peaked Hill. If they didn’t find fish at Peaked Hill they would be back as this was during the period when the beach was closed from Peaked Hill Bar to High Head.

Wait!! PJs neck light just flashed twice. He’s on! I reeled in and headed toward him. I could just make out his rod bent over. By the time I got there he was in the water grabbing a nice fish by the gill cover.

PJ: “How big?”

Paulie: “Over 30. Maybe 35”

I started casting and had to calm myself down as I was working the eel too quick.

PJ: “Paulie, 33 and change on my scale.”

Paulie: “Nice fish PJ”

Tap, tap, Tap. Yep. Drop the rod, count to 5 and SET!

The first run absolutely astounded Paulie. Biggest fish of the night. Peeled 50 yards of line. Now she was bulldozing against the side of the bar. I turned her head and gained some line. Nope. Still green. Another run but not as long. Back and forth the old girl and I went. Finally she was tired and I knew I had won. Slid her up on the sand and gently unhooked her.

“PJ, bring the scale. I’m gonna let her go.”

The scale pulled down and bounced between 42 and 43 pounds. She was 46”+. I waded in to the lite surf and slowly moved her back and forth. Her gills flared and pulsed as life slowly returned to her body and the lactic acid dissipated from her exhausted body.

PJ: “Damn! No camera.”

Paulie: “Come on girl. You can do it.”

All at once I felt her pull. A slap of her broom tail and she slowly swam away.

Paulie: “Wow! What a fish!”

PJ: “I would have kept her.”

Paulie: “Not this time. We already have over 100 pounds in the box. Let’s go home.”

PJ: “It’s only 3:30 AM! We got another 2 hours till daylight.”

Paulie: “PJ, I’m beat. We must have caught 20 fish over 25 pounds. Let’s leave some for tomorrow.”

PJ: “You’re driving. I’m OK with it.”

Paulie: “NO! You’re driving. I need an hour sleep. Let’s get off the beach, air-up and you drive until we get to the Bourne Bridge.”

We hit the road after air-up and I was asleep before we got to Route 6.
So another epic night on the Back went into the books. There were many nights like that and many night when we never did find the fish. You remember the great nights and try to forget the bad ones. More stories from The Back to follow.


Am I the only one who read on, thinking that the two frisky ladies were going to show up at the end of the night, and then get exactly what they were looking for? Now, that would have reeallly been a story:love:

Thanks for sharing, Paul

That's another chapter. They were 2 lesbians at Peaked Hill bar.

You will have to buy the book when it comes out.

Sex and fishing don't mix. My wife told me so!

Sex and fishing don't mix. My wife told me so!

Please keep your private exploits with Flaptail off this site...its a family place, you know.

In 1978 we spent our first year fishing Monomoy from the surf. We were a rag tag bunch from Worcester MA. To us Worcester was the center of the striper fishing universe due to so many of the early "pioneers" of fishing the Cape came from there. If you weren't a Wormtown striper fisher you didn't count. O f course we were all heavily influenced by Woolner's writing in our local paper, the Worcester Telegram & Gazette, Woolner Bros. Outdoor TV Show and Slatwater Sportsman always featured a central MA Worcester area local in it's monthly publications.

All this led folks to capitalize on that "influence". Some started writing about it. Some moved to the Cape and became commercial striper fisherman or charter skippers, some of us in high school came to seek jobs on those smae charter boats. Anyway, in 1976 I met a guy who ran a tackle business out of his house on Hamilton Street in Worcester named #^&#^&#^&#^& Pleska and his youngest son Wayne. #^&#^&#^&#^& was selling tackle out of a room on second floor apartment. Most of the stuff he sold was geared to striper fishing. He had a real job as machinist in a small foundry in town during the day but his real ambition was to become a tackle distributor.

He made weekly trips to Cape Cod in his chevy station wagon (we called it a beach wagon) loaded with all sorts of plugs, rods, blanks etc., all the trappings needed to catch stripers. He often helped folks get started in the tackle shop business with his easy credit terms. He was a pants pocket business man. You could pay in cash, fish, lobsters, booze and other "ways".

Well in the summer of 1978 we would often meet or follow #^&#^&#^&#^& on his rounds on the Cape. If we had room in our vehicles he would load us up as well and we would make the rounds on Friday's. We would stop at places like MacReed's, Tony C's Bass Run, and numerous other shops around the Cape. He had his first real tackle shop now, a store front on Grafton Street in Worcester and was doing quite well, he quit his day job and had so many customers business was coming out his ears. In order to pay back his clients somehow he would take them to Monomoy to fish often enabling his clients to score a lot of big fish. One day while riding with him on his route he mentioned to me that there must be a better way he could show his customers his appreciation. I jkingly said to him "maybe you could get some hookers and show these guys a good time on you, booze, broads etc. you know"?

He said nothing and we continued on our rounds for the day ending up as usual on Monomoy that night to surfcast. Several weeks went by and I happened to be down on vacation and decided to take the skiff out to the island to fish. When I got to Claflin's Landing in Chatham that evening I noticed #^&#^&#^&#^&'s tan station wagon and several other trucks I knew to be some of his clients. I launched my skiff and was on my way down the length of Pleasant Bay, past Morris Island then the northern channel along Nauset and the green can and back to Monomoy.

As I pulled up and waited for the right sequence of waves so I could land my skiff in the surf I noticed a bright fire from up in the dunes and I could make out laughing and shouting. Someone was having a party out there it seemed.

I landed, jumped out and threw the 3 foor piece of 3 inch pvc tube under the keel and rolled her up the beach above high water. Before I knew it someone was waddling up to me and sluring his speech with a bottle of something in his hand said "Da youse shnow #^&#^&#^&#^&ie Pleshka" Heesh a Hell of a guy! says he and wanders off into the dunes back to the party location.

So... being curious I carefully made my way up to the scene and lo and behold there was a tent and in the tent was a light shining which played out shadows onto the walls on the tent backlighting what was going on in the tent. I was never a prude but my jaw dropped as I saw the silhouettes of a woman on her knees "satisfying" someone standing with what could be recognized as waders and pants around his ankles. A quick glance over to the fire going beside the tent and there was #^&#^&#^&#^&, bottle in hand yelling "who's next"!

Well he had taken my suggestion to heart and found the hooker and I don't know what she was paid but there she was in a nylon tent on Monomoy Island. I wanted no part of it and wandered off along the beach going farther south to the new cut through and every once in awhile casting a glance back to the light in the dunes and shaking my head.

I cannot remember if I caught anything that night. I never told his son Wayne what I saw and don't know if he ever found out. #^&#^&#^&#^& passed away several years later from a heart attack at 45 years old. Too much chinese food, booze, smoking and loose women. Unfortunately his sone Wayne went the same way at roughly the same age of the same thing. He opened up a new world of striper fishing to me, many of the people I idolized and still do he introduced me to and the many places on Cape I learned to fish were from him and his connections. He was wild and times moody to the extreme and at those times you learned to stay away. But he was my friend and I miss him and those days as well.

But most of all, no matter how many fifties he caught, how many places we fished I will remember most the night #^&#^&#^&#^& Pleska brought a hooker and a tent to Monomoy Island.

I was never a prude but my jaw dropped as I saw the silhouettes of a woman on her knees "satisfying" someone standing with what could be recognized as waders and pants around his ankles.

WOW, she came all the way over to fix a leak in his waders?

Great stories guys, thanks for sharing.