The Last Cast

[DZ]

Many of you have taken or will take your last cast of the season in the near future. It's always a sad event for me. Recently I penned a small story after my annual trip to Block. I can't seem to get the photo to display but the story says it all. Hopefully it strikes a cord with some of you.



The Last Cast

By DZ

Al and I continued to cast our plugs into the smooth sea on this, our last night on the island. We had a very slow pick of small bass going; about one fish a spot, ”resident bass" as we refer to them. We worked our way past Cat Rock Cove as the solar wind created a magnificent show of Northern Lights. What a great way to spend a night: casting plugs and watching the heavens flash hues of green, yellow and an occasional red corona that just blew us away with its beauty. Al hooked up just 20 yards to my left. I wandered over to him as he slid a plump 15 pound bass onto the cobble beach. His "clown pattern" Mambo Minnow scored again as it had for most of the week we've been on the island. "Each bass may be your last" I told him. Al understood the meaning of my statement as our time on the island was growing shorter by the cast. Soon we would reach that melancholy moment when we'd take our last cast on the island until the next season.
Two hours later we had reached the end, I announced to Al that my next cast was indeed my last cast of the season. He agreed and let fly with his last cast, both were unproductive but for the significance of the event which ended our season. We then took what live eels we had left and "released the eels" and watched them swim away.
There comes a moment in every surfcaster's season when they take their "last cast". Some may take it on their last planned outing of the season, others try and end their season with a cast producing a striper and call it over at that point. I, for one, hate letting the fickle November weather dictate when my last cast will be. I'd rather quit on my terms than let the elements beat me. Many of my seasons end on Block Island in mid-November. Over the years I've taken a "last cast" on Grove Point in a hard northwest blow with temps in the upper 20's, off Southwest Bar on a calm overcast night while snow flurries fell silently in the water around me, Thanksgiving Turkey just a day away. I still remember those casts, not for what they caught – which was nothing – but for how they made me feel as I reached the end of another season of chasing Roccus. It is a feeling of sadness as I begin to contemplate the next 6 months or so of pursuing great stripers in magazines, books and sometimes, my dreams.