[Homerun04]

When I was a kid (probably about 14 - 15 years old) my family kept a summer cottage on the water in Greenport, NY -- out near Orient Point. Each summer, I would stay out there for the season, and become a bona fide fishing nut as a result.

As I got a little older and was sent to work, I would spend my weeks working at the local supermarket in the meat department. My job was to clean up the place after hours. I usually had the weekends off, as the butchers only cut meat during the week, so I would head out to the summer house for a weekend of fishing.

Well, one Saturday evening as all the "grown ups" were partying in the cottages, I was fishing off the local inlet (which had a pier), and decided to try to live-line a snapper (for those not familair with a snapper, it is what NYers call a baby bluefish -- I haven't heard "snapper" used in NE since I've been here the past 15 years). Well deep into the night as I was half asleep, something came along and "BAM" took the snapper and ran like hell. Eventually it took the snapper, hook and all as the line snapped. I couldn;t see what it was as it was late at night, but I heard an aweful lot of splashing and thrashing. I ran back to tell all the parents, but they all said "Yeah sure. Typical fishing story when no one else is there to see it" -- or something to that effect, and dismissed me.

So, ever the enthusiastic fisherman, whatever it was that grabbed my bait caught my attention. It got me to thinking (which is pretty dangerous stuff in my case). So the next week at work, I took a small bucket and filled it with blood from the meat packages. I then took a chunk of meat and tied it to the end of a string. I then dangled the string with the meat in the bucket of blood, covered the bucket, and placed the entire apparatus in the freezer. I ended up with a block of blood ice with a chunk of meat in the middle suspended by a ball of string.

So off to my favorite pier I go again that weekend, only this time with heavier gear. I recruit my younger brother and my cousin to come along this time and see if we can catch whatever was lurking in the dark, deep waters off that pier. Over the pier goes the "blood chunk of ice" and my line with another live snapper. attached.

1 hour -- nothing. Two hours -- nothing. As happens, the three of us get to talking and only half paying attention to the rod in my hands. Out of nowhere "BAM". My roid bends in half, and line starts peeling out of the inlet towards open waters. Needless to say we all come out of our half stupper and are now in full adrenaline rush mode. My cousin grabs the flashlight we had brought with us, and points it in the water at my line. I am holding on to my rod as the line strips out, and all we can see is the end of the line against the black water.

I ran to the end of the pier as far as I could without going into the drink. On the one side of the pier was a beach, so we had decided in advance that we would try to land any fish we caught off the beach. We nominated my younger brother as the net man, me as the angler, and my cousin as the "flashlight" guy. Whatever was on the other end was in a hurry to get out to deep water.

My younger brother starts to get into the water with the K-Mart special net we brought with us. He's in a ready position to net whatever I can get close to the shore. About 30 minutes goes by in a stalemate betwen myself and this great unknown. Suddenly, the line slackens. But my "flashlight" guy was good that night, and we coud see that the great beast was toying with us. Sure he was still hooked, but by now he had had enough trying to run from us, and figured his best chance was to run at us. And he ran at us very quickly heading right for the beach. Fortune seemed to be on our side.

I'll never forget the look on my younger brother's face -- knee deep in the water off the beach -- when the flashlight cast the first light on the dorsal fin as it emerged from the water -- heading right for him. Remind you, this was probably 1979 right around the time of the Jaws phenomenom. He rightly threw the net as he began his escape plan out of the water.

As the beast charged for my brother, he -- LITERALLY -- ran across the top of the water as fast as his legs could take him away from the shark. The shark was chasing him along the beach in about 2 feet of water, and he ran like hell. I still have the image of him "running on top of the water -- like Jesus" to get away from that shark.

Eventually, I got the shark to the beach, and as luck would have it my leader snapped the minute he got on the sand -- from his weight. But that didn;t stop us from landing him. As quick as could be, I grabbed a nearby bucket and put it over the sharks head and sat on it! My cousin grabbed his tail and swung him completely onshore away from the water. We had landed a 6 foot sand shark!

Well, no parents were gonna make fun of us this time. I'll never forget the looks on their faces, as they were partying that Saturday evening as well, and the three of us walked in and dropped a 6 foot shark on thier table. No one ever doubted us again.

Needless to say, I was told to never chum for sharks off the pier next to the beach anymore. But I can assure you, after that fateful August evening in 1979, well as Quint would say in Jaws..."I'll never wear a life jacket again".

Thanks Kevin -- my cousin, and Chris - my brother -- for being there to share this great memory with -- and whose help was vital to landing this puppy.