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Fish Tales
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The Sea Hunt - November 8, 2006
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I was on a six hour striper trip a couple years ago with two of my friends,
Bob and Mike. We went out on the Sea Hunt, an older, low-to-the-water, party boat
that runs trips out of Cape May New Jersey's Miss Chris Marina & Fishing Center.
The Sea Hunt’s Captain, Bob White is one funny guy. He would come up behind you
if you said "fish on" to get the attention of the mate. Then he would
yell "Fish On!!!!" in his low gravel and do a limping dance around the deck.
It was particularly funny when he would get on the P.A. System during a slow
period: "Here fishy, fishy, fishy…come on fishy". He certainly had us in
stitches the whole trip.
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The mate was Mike also. He had piercing blue eyes and a set of teeth that where white
and straight, but looked like they were made of wood. You could see by the lines
in his face that he'd been on more trips and met more fisherman than any human
could possibly remember. That was a good thing, though. He knew everything there
was to know about stripers.
My buddies and I got to the Marina early and reserved ourselves a perfect spot at the
stern. Great day for fishing. Water was calm, temp was around 60, sunny. It took us
about an hour to an hour and half to get to our first spot: Somewhere in the Delaware
Bay. It seemed like everyone hooked into one that day. Everyone except Mike and I.
Bob hooked into three and was telling us how much his arm hurt from reeling them
in - Jerk - before we even had a nibble.
We had a fun little incident when a ten year old kid brought up a drum fish that
looked heavier than him. He reeled that thing all the way in by himself. Strong little guy.
Everyone clapped for him.
Some guy actually won the progressive pool that day. Another Jerk. It was for any Striper
over 25lbs. Funny thing is, he had to wait until we got back to the marina, because
striped bass are regulated. There are limits and the fish have to be counted, so they
can’t be cleaned/filleted at sea. This meant that the whole ride back, he just ran his
mouth about his fish. Blah, Blah, Blah. It was especially annoying to Mike and I, who
caught nothing. Well, almost nothing.
On the way in from our trip, the wind was coming straight at us. The Sea Hunt is an open
party boat, no cabin for fisherman to retreat to in rough seas. There are canvas pull-downs
on the sides which stop the spray, but if you get caught on the bow, you're drenched. Bob,
Mike and I had the stern for the whole day, but when it came time to head in, Bob and I sat
in the middle area where there was a little shelter. Mike was sitting at the stern. At the
same time, Mike(The Mate) was setting up his fish-cleaning box. He was facing Bob and I
with his back to the stern. He wouldn't be cleaning any stripers, but there were some
drum fish keepers so I guess he wanted to get those out of the way.
The Seahunt Party Boat
The wind had kicked up the bay pretty good and Bob and I were trying to hang on each time the
boat hit another wave. Well, "hang on" to anything stationary with one hand, and a beer with
the other. This got interesting when the first big wave hit the bow. All the water ran
down the deck, under the canvas pull-downs toward the stern. We all got a little wet
on that one.
Now, through all of this spray, water and high chop, the mate was very matter-of-fact. He pulled
on his bibs/wet gear, pulled out two fillet knives and a box of Ziploc bags. We were asking
him what kind of boats he had been on, and he was obliging us with commercial fishing boat
weather horror stories. He was going on about a trip he was on out of the keys as he began
to clean and fillet one of the drum fish. Every couple of minutes while the mate was talking,
Bob and I would hear an eruption of laughter from the stern. Mike(Friend), who is just one of
those naturally funny people, had the guys on the stern in hysterics. He was going back-and
and forth with the loudmouth pool winner, and they were smoking and draining beers as well.
As the wind whipped across the bow, back toward the stern, it was like everything was in slow-motion.
The mate pulled his fillet knife away from the drum fish and shook it at the deck to remove
excess scales and fish-gut debris. Only it didn't hit the deck. The wind caught it at the
exact moment Mike (friend) opened his mouth to laugh. As I said, it seemed like it was in
slow-motion, but it happened so fast that Mike didn't know what happened. One second Mike is
laughing, the next he has a confused, sour look on his face. Bob and I saw the whole thing,
and the sight of Mike spitting and scraping his tongue while trying to take gulps of beer,
had us lying on the deck in the fetal position in hysterics.
When we got in, the pool winner grabbed his striper, and ran into the marina shop, where he
had it weighed. After a minute or two, he came out screaming 25-5-9!!!!!! 25-5-9!!! I think
he was expecting applause, but he got none. Even his buddy could only manage a “So?”, to
which the pool winner replied “So?, So? So how about 1200 bucks!!!!!!!”.
That was what the progressive pool was up to. It hadn’t been won since the previous year.
Mike had the same reaction as me…”Jerk!”
About the author:
John Larish is a successful web publisher and a regular contributor to my-fishing-equipment.com; your number one online resource for fishing rods, fly fishing equipment, tackle boxes, lures, hooks and reels
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