During downtime we took turns
browsing the booths. It would’ve been easy to burn a few grand in mere minutes
if I had it, but my line in the sand was $50. A sucker for wooden plugs that I
don’t really need, I made it a few yards before dropping half of it on a mini, flat-bottomed
pencil popper. I showed constraint over the next few isles until stumbling upon something a little more practical for my surfcasting needs—a bin of custom bucktail jigs made by Peace Token Fishing Tackle out of Cape May. The 3/8 oz. ones
in chartreuse and pink screamed weakfish; my preferred size and color patterns
for the elusive species that arrive in Long Island Sound around moon tides each
spring. Still two months from their trial run, I was confident these jigs were catchers.
Fast forward through a crazy wet
spring to mid-May and my first dedicated squeteague outing of the year. With
wind whipping onshore and just one day removed from heavy rain, I could’ve
should’ve turned around when I saw the deserted parking lot. A friend leaving
as I rolled up confirmed it was dead out there, but I had come this far already
and tossed my new jigs in tea-colored water for a half hour to no avail. The
following night I returned and the couple tides in between had cleaned the
water, yet the line of anglers remained sparse. I guess that happens when water
temps are behind schedule and no weakfish reports have flooded social media. I
welcomed the elbow room.
Despite an overflowing plug bag
on my shoulder, the chartreuse Peace Token was the only offering I threw that
night. I broke into my remaining stash of Uncle Josh pork rinds to sweeten the
deal. The jig and pig combo looked tempting in the water. It didn’t cast as far
as an SP Minnow or Mag Darter, but it casted far enough. The confidence was
there, but so was lady luck. A couple dozen guys were out that night and for
two hours of the incoming tide I didn’t see anything caught save for a sea
robin. Then, after what felt like a thousand casts, there was life on the end
of my line. As soon as my jig hit the water, something ate it on the drop. By
the distinct headshakes, I knew what I had on and backed it up gingerly on the
exposed sand. Derrick snapped a shot to document the moment and I released the
fish, but knowing they tend to show in waves we were quick to get back out
there.
That was it though; one and done
and lucky as hell. That weakfish wasn’t big enough to earn the tiderunner
nickname, but it was my best one to date. A beautiful fish and a rare one to
me. Of course I returned on another high incoming soon after. A thunderstorm
had just passed through and, for the first time I can remember, I was the only
angler out there. The water was dirty, recent reports poor, and, I’ll admit, I
wasn’t confident. It turns out I wasn’t lucky either as I didn’t even get a bump.
It helps when anglers are
confident in their spot, their gear, and their offering. Some guys will tell
you confidence is one of the more important aspects of angling. But it also
helps to get lucky once in a while. When the stars and moon align and you are
both confident and lucky, special things can happen—like catching your personal
best weakfish on an otherwise lackluster night.
