Fishing the 4th

[ThomCat]

If you venture out this day you're bound to run into one or more of these guys. Have fun & be careful


The way anglers handle themselves and, more specifically, their boats on the fishing grounds goes a long way in distinguishing the actual seasoned and civil fishermen from the
“Dangerously Uninformed Mariners Brotherhood." These guys don’t don club jackets or display windshield decals to identify themselves, but you’ll definitely know ‘em
when you see ‘em. I hesitate to use the term “Weekend Warriors” synonymously with the
DUMB disciples, as the vast majority of anglers who confine their fishing efforts to the
weekends are respectful of others. We’re all familiar with the DUMB guys,
they be wired and inspired. If ever the swift butt kick which they seemingly cry out for
were administered, brain damage would likely result. They’re boat can only run at one speed - wide open. Anything less would seem to be a threat to their manhood. OPEC loves them, and it usually doesn’t matter if they’re moving a hundred feet or a hundred miles, they seem to be consumed with the concept of getting from point A to point B as quickly as
their mega-horses will permit. Ironically, these are, at times, the same guys who are hanging over their gunwale waving a menacing fist when a passing boat creates as much as a ripple to disturb their drift or disrupt a trolling effort. If they have any redeeming attribute, it may be that, more often than not, DUMB yahoos pose little threat to the existent fish populations. A prime example is their actions on the Flukin’ grounds, especially when closing in on a cluster of working boats. This is where we meet
“Mr. Whoa, dis must be da Place." It perplexes me as to just what compels a guy to race (at full bore of course) to within 50 feet of a drifting boat with its crew having their
lines in the water, only to go another hundred yards and stop. When will the light go on with these discrimination denuded dimwits that their actions disrupt the entire fleet.
Furthermore, these good ole’ boys will often allow their boats to drift right up on yours, then expect you to move. The fact that you’re drift was underway long before they arrived bears little relevance. Then there’s the guy who has sold his soul outright to acquire a real “boat of his dreams” Sportfisherman. This is often a bit too big of a step up from his previous vessel, a 14-foot tin skiff. He’s got all the gear though: outriggers, side riggers, downriggers and all the other pertinent and indispensable riggers. He's got bait wells, fish wells, artesian wells, Orson Wells and any other wells that will help give him credence and certify that he’s a genuine fish catcher who knows his stuff. He’s got the embroidered hat with matching shirt and 4 different color coordinated styles of Topsiders. He also conceals, below decks, several fish identification charts to assist him in distinguishing a Striper from a Swordfish from a Sea Robin. Thankfully, most of these “sports” seldom leave the marina. They are normally more inclined to troll for the fairer gender at adjoining dockside watering holes than for Bluefish that might bloody up their sparkling fishing machines.
When they do head to sea, however, look out! They rarely display much seamanship or any
courtesy and usually have little concern for the perils that their actions generate. They seem to think rights of way are determined by little other than a vessel’s dimensions. When you ask them if they’re familiar with the rules of the road, they generally reply with something caustically clever like, “What road? This is the ocean, Dude." And, “If ya can’t take it, ya shouldn’t be out here!” Then there’s The Shadow. He’s the guy who latches on to a successful fisherman or charter captain and tries to position himself within his hero’s prop wash. These crass clowns are convinced that being in the same proximity as a proficient angler will, through some form of osmosis, transfer to them some measure of the productive piscatory prowess of their protagonist. Let’s not forget the “Egomaniacal Stalker” who will take out the prospects of fishing success for a whole contingency of jetty
jockeys to make sure he gets his shot at a few schoolies. These DUMB fellows sneak in right against the breakwater knowing full well that they’re virtually eliminating the chances of their less mobile counterparts. Then they erupt when a bucktail or two subsequently ricochets off of their boat or skull. The Kamikaze School Scatterers is yet another chapter of DUMB. They’re known for haphazardly rushing into a school of breaking Albies or Bluefish, pedal to the metal, then stopping, at times so abruptly that the caster in the bow is practically launched over the rail. All this in an effort to beat the other racing nimrods
to the first cast at the school that they’ve just dispersed and sent scrambling toward the bottom. This frantic free for all usually results in a hook-up ratio of roughly one to one. That is the outcome generally shakes out to approximately one fish snagged to each angler snagged. Trolling a productive area such as the Southwest Ledge at Block Island in an assemblage of boats doing the same thing always seems to spark the DUMB element to want to apply their own strategy. This is the “I Did It My Way” faction and the fact
that there is a scheme to the fleet’s maneuvers is inconsequential. They are perpetually prone to go with their own version of an old Reggie Bush run from scrimmage.
They like to employ all the moves - the cut back, the open field end around and the zigzag routine - are only a small part of their repertoire as they dissect the area. When called on about this course of action, their universal response is “hey, you don’t OWN the ocean” Land based anglers aren’t immune from antics of DUMB, either. For example, there are several fishing spots in Rhode Island waters where regulars have established certain systems to best approach these spots. The east jetty at the Charlestown Breachway is one such place. The crew that fishes here all the time years ago devised a rotating order that allows each angler to cast into the outgoing current and let it carry their lure out to
sea. After sufficient time passes, that guy moves over to begin his retrieve and the next guy takes his cast. This progression allows a number of angler’s access to the most advantageous post. This brings us to the shorebound chapter of the DUMB known as the Brothers Eliminating Linesider Luck (i.e. DUMB/BELL). These dolts, usually newbies, will march right out to the end of the jetty and commence to dunk a chunk of bait, oblivious
to what’s going on around them. The fact that they’re prohibiting other anglers from participating doesn’t register. In their defense, like I said, it’s most often with rookies. But rookies new to an area should take the time to observe the ground rules. In unfamiliar territory, it’s much wiser (not to mention healthier) to make friends than enemies.
The DUMB/BELL guys also monitor the beaches. Just look around as you land a fish in the surf. The DUMB/BELL guy will be the one walking quite hastily in your direction.
Once you release the fish, you’ll notice he’s standing directly upwind of you. Even as a brisk cross wind whips up, he insists on positioning himself less than a rod length away and
casting at just the right angle to allow his plug to continuously cross over yours. After a dozen or so rounds of untangling, you surrender. Realizing discretion is the better
part of valor, you walk away to the nerve-grinding refrain: “Hey, have a good day”, which is exactly what you thought you were having about 15 minutes previous.
And don’t EVEN get me started with the DUMB Yacht Club affiliate, the “Airhead Sailing Society” which we all refer to as DUMB/ASS.
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