piemma
03-16-2023, 07:25 AM
Jerry Takes a Swim
By Paul Iemma
The day dawned cold and blustery. November is like that. Spring comes in on cat paws, but the end of fall is like the roar of a lion. The seasons are changing and winter is knocking at New England's door. The move was over and the last of the big stripers would be hustling their way south. There had been a good run of blueback herring, and gannets were all around which is the signal that it's almost over.
Jerry wanted to fish Quonny this day or at least around it. I called him and suggested Barringer’s which is east of Quonny. With a northwest wind it would be somewhat easier to fish as the wind would be at our backs.
I met Jerry at the small parking area just east of the breachway. He had brought me a pile of brand new, two-ounce bucktails which he had just finished pouring. This was a welcomed gift as I was just about all out as the long season neared its end. We suited up and cut through the dune grass to the shoreline. ” Holy Crap!!! It's huge! The weather guys didn't say anything about this!” I announced. The waves were 10-feet high with every third going an easy 12 feet. The wind was northwest as predicted and literally blew the tops off the waves. There was also a huge back sweep when the surf receded. We would have to watch ourselves today.
As I scanned the water I couldn’t believe what I saw. “Jerry, look in the waves, all bass!” I proclaimed. The bass were running right in the waves across the beach and these were big girls—20 to 30 pounders. We stared casting white and green Gibbs bottle-swimmers and almost immediately hooked up. Jerry landed a 23 and decided to keep it as he had no bass in the freezer. I landed a fish about the same size that I released. After about 20 minutes the bite slowed and I decided I'd walk west to the "The Chimney". This is another spot with great structure similar to that of Barringer’s. I told Jerry to pay attention to the water and watch his daydreaming as I would not be around to help him if things went wrong.
I made my way to the west and got into fish once again about 200 yards from Jerry and around the next point. This was in the days before the cell phones so I couldn't call Jerry to let him know the fish were moving with the tide. I just kept fishing, crushing fish up to 32 pounds, figuring he would make his way to me eventually.
Sometimes the little man in the back of your head tells you things and you don't know why. Well, after a few fish, my little man told me to go back and see if the old guy was ok. The waves were still huge and it was just about full high tide. It was about 3:00 and the wind was screaming northwest at 20, maybe 25 knots. I started to really hustle back. To this day I don't know why, I just had this premonition that I needed to check on Jerry.
I finally rounded the corner and was about 50 yards from Jerry when he saw me. He was hooked up on a good fish, his rod bent into a "C". He saw me coming and yelled that he was on. “No, really?!?!?!?” I thought to myself. Well, there was Jerry, big grin on his face, fighting a massive bass, and BANG he gets hit with a monster wave and down he goes into the angry surf. He tumbled around like a rag doll before the sweep grabbed hold and began to pull him out. I didn’t see him for a few seconds and panic set in. I threw my 10-foot Lamiglas rod and Penn 704 up in the weeds with my plug bag and broke into a dead run. As I closed the gap between us, it was obvious that he was headed for Block Island on his back and I could see the terror in his eyes. His waders were full of water and he was going to dinner with King Neptune.
I dove into the surf and made two quick strokes in his direction but he was still out of reach. Jerry had a complete look of terror in his eyes that said “Help me.” I yelled to him to spin around and he spun just enough for me to grab the hood of he Grunden oil skin. “Kick you old bastard! KICK!” I screamed. I finally felt bottom and told Jerry we would make it.
When we eventually reached dry land, we both collapsed on the warm rocks and caught our breath. We were soaked to the core with 50-degree water but had so much adrenalin pumping through our bodies that we couldn’t feel the cold. Jerry looked over at me and quietly said, “You saved my life.” It was the last thing I wanted to hear and told him so. “No, really, you saved my life,” he repeated.
“You say that one more time and I will drag you back in and drown you myself!” I yelled. We looked at other and just cracked up. After a few minutes Jerry asked me where his plug bag had ended up. “What? Are you kidding me? I was a little busy and didn't see it. Of course I could have let you drown and saved you bag, but I thought otherwise” I joked. We looked around for a bit and actually found his bag, but the rod and reel were gone. He was hooked up when he went into the water, so the fish most likely dragged it out to sea. I'm sure she broke it off in the rocks and the plug rotted out after a few days.
When we got back to the truck I sat Jerry on the tailgate of my pickup and we talked about the incident. We needed to decompress from the near-death experience I guess. Jerry was so shaken by the incident that he wasn’t sure if he would ever go back into the surf. I knew he would be back; he had been at this game for over 40 years. “If you weren’t here, I would be dead,” he muttered.
I did my best to reassure him, to convince him that this was no reason to give up fishing the surf. He could always fish with a partner if he wasn’t comfortable enough to go it alone. Jerry and I fished together all the time, or there were others like RJ, Pogy Face, Plugman and Larry. There was always someone fishing from our crew.
Jerry and I fish together for another eight or 10 years. He eventually became too frail the last few years and gave up the surf. He still got his beach permit and rode the beaches every fall; he just wouldn’t wet a line.
Jerry died in 2011. Rest in peace and tight lines my friend.
By Paul Iemma
The day dawned cold and blustery. November is like that. Spring comes in on cat paws, but the end of fall is like the roar of a lion. The seasons are changing and winter is knocking at New England's door. The move was over and the last of the big stripers would be hustling their way south. There had been a good run of blueback herring, and gannets were all around which is the signal that it's almost over.
Jerry wanted to fish Quonny this day or at least around it. I called him and suggested Barringer’s which is east of Quonny. With a northwest wind it would be somewhat easier to fish as the wind would be at our backs.
I met Jerry at the small parking area just east of the breachway. He had brought me a pile of brand new, two-ounce bucktails which he had just finished pouring. This was a welcomed gift as I was just about all out as the long season neared its end. We suited up and cut through the dune grass to the shoreline. ” Holy Crap!!! It's huge! The weather guys didn't say anything about this!” I announced. The waves were 10-feet high with every third going an easy 12 feet. The wind was northwest as predicted and literally blew the tops off the waves. There was also a huge back sweep when the surf receded. We would have to watch ourselves today.
As I scanned the water I couldn’t believe what I saw. “Jerry, look in the waves, all bass!” I proclaimed. The bass were running right in the waves across the beach and these were big girls—20 to 30 pounders. We stared casting white and green Gibbs bottle-swimmers and almost immediately hooked up. Jerry landed a 23 and decided to keep it as he had no bass in the freezer. I landed a fish about the same size that I released. After about 20 minutes the bite slowed and I decided I'd walk west to the "The Chimney". This is another spot with great structure similar to that of Barringer’s. I told Jerry to pay attention to the water and watch his daydreaming as I would not be around to help him if things went wrong.
I made my way to the west and got into fish once again about 200 yards from Jerry and around the next point. This was in the days before the cell phones so I couldn't call Jerry to let him know the fish were moving with the tide. I just kept fishing, crushing fish up to 32 pounds, figuring he would make his way to me eventually.
Sometimes the little man in the back of your head tells you things and you don't know why. Well, after a few fish, my little man told me to go back and see if the old guy was ok. The waves were still huge and it was just about full high tide. It was about 3:00 and the wind was screaming northwest at 20, maybe 25 knots. I started to really hustle back. To this day I don't know why, I just had this premonition that I needed to check on Jerry.
I finally rounded the corner and was about 50 yards from Jerry when he saw me. He was hooked up on a good fish, his rod bent into a "C". He saw me coming and yelled that he was on. “No, really?!?!?!?” I thought to myself. Well, there was Jerry, big grin on his face, fighting a massive bass, and BANG he gets hit with a monster wave and down he goes into the angry surf. He tumbled around like a rag doll before the sweep grabbed hold and began to pull him out. I didn’t see him for a few seconds and panic set in. I threw my 10-foot Lamiglas rod and Penn 704 up in the weeds with my plug bag and broke into a dead run. As I closed the gap between us, it was obvious that he was headed for Block Island on his back and I could see the terror in his eyes. His waders were full of water and he was going to dinner with King Neptune.
I dove into the surf and made two quick strokes in his direction but he was still out of reach. Jerry had a complete look of terror in his eyes that said “Help me.” I yelled to him to spin around and he spun just enough for me to grab the hood of he Grunden oil skin. “Kick you old bastard! KICK!” I screamed. I finally felt bottom and told Jerry we would make it.
When we eventually reached dry land, we both collapsed on the warm rocks and caught our breath. We were soaked to the core with 50-degree water but had so much adrenalin pumping through our bodies that we couldn’t feel the cold. Jerry looked over at me and quietly said, “You saved my life.” It was the last thing I wanted to hear and told him so. “No, really, you saved my life,” he repeated.
“You say that one more time and I will drag you back in and drown you myself!” I yelled. We looked at other and just cracked up. After a few minutes Jerry asked me where his plug bag had ended up. “What? Are you kidding me? I was a little busy and didn't see it. Of course I could have let you drown and saved you bag, but I thought otherwise” I joked. We looked around for a bit and actually found his bag, but the rod and reel were gone. He was hooked up when he went into the water, so the fish most likely dragged it out to sea. I'm sure she broke it off in the rocks and the plug rotted out after a few days.
When we got back to the truck I sat Jerry on the tailgate of my pickup and we talked about the incident. We needed to decompress from the near-death experience I guess. Jerry was so shaken by the incident that he wasn’t sure if he would ever go back into the surf. I knew he would be back; he had been at this game for over 40 years. “If you weren’t here, I would be dead,” he muttered.
I did my best to reassure him, to convince him that this was no reason to give up fishing the surf. He could always fish with a partner if he wasn’t comfortable enough to go it alone. Jerry and I fished together all the time, or there were others like RJ, Pogy Face, Plugman and Larry. There was always someone fishing from our crew.
Jerry and I fish together for another eight or 10 years. He eventually became too frail the last few years and gave up the surf. He still got his beach permit and rode the beaches every fall; he just wouldn’t wet a line.
Jerry died in 2011. Rest in peace and tight lines my friend.