55 Bucks and Not Much Else
Arriving at the dock in the early morning hours anticipating a productive fishing trip, I should have known. The captain, a man with the weather-beaten looks and lowkey affect of John Walton, and the mental acuity to match, was handing out registration forms for passengers to fill out. He did not explain the purpose of the form, so when I asked a crew member what to do with it, he stared at me blankly and said, "Like I should know?". It was all downhill from there.
Cattle in the stockyards of Chicago have better accomodations than the humans incarcerated on this boat for 6 to 8 hours. After leaving port (the theme song from "Gilligan's Island" echoing in my head) we arrived at the first of what proved to me many of the captain's "fishing spots". Fishing unproductively with "jigs" or weighted spoons that one simply drops straight down from the 6 inch by 6 inch spot he or she is occupying on the ship, no fish were caught, except for a few hapless "Moss Bunker" that were inadvertently snagged (and which subsequently became striper bait). 5 or 10 minutes of this and the engines would fire up, followed by a short Pavlovian toot of the captain's horn. Time to move. Again.
Arriving at the next "spot", the captain would proffer advice from his perch above. "They're under the boat!" he exclaimed. "They're pushing the bunker right to us!" was his cry. Like Ahab pursuing his whale, we never quite caught sight of our prey. No matter. It was becoming obvious this boat wasn't concerned with catching fish, at least not the kind that swim in water. Plenty of fish were caught by this captain - the green rectangular kind.
The mates on the boat were an interesting lot. Twenty somethings, with a discernable lack of social skills and no real interest in fishing, or at least angling for aquatic creatures. Their interest in catching some of the two-legged fish on board was quite evident, however. They offered no advice, no tips that would have made the day a little more interesting, if not productive. It seemed as if they were just doing a job, and doing it poorly. If you don't like what you do, then do something else. McDonald's is always looking for help.
After several hours of this, the mood on the boat became one of disappointment and discouragement, but the crew and captain never noticed, or never cared. They were too busy cleaning the boat and
moving from one "spot" to another. A good thing we had only gone several hundred yards offshore during the entire trip too, fuel prices being what they are.
Finally, we arrived back at port, tired, exhausted and disillusioned, but the final insult awaited. With a sudden infusion of energy and enthusiasm, the crew sprang to life, lining the exit rail and
cheerfully bidding us a good afternoon, offering a helping hand to all who needed one, the other hand gladly accepting more rectangular green fish.
I should mention that several striped bass were caught on this bluefishing trip, mostly by people with their own fishing gear who suspiciously seemed like "ringers". Perhaps they were relatives of
the captain. They seemed to obtain the choicest places on the boat from which to fish. Interesting.
If you like bluefish, save yourself time and aggravation. Instead of going out on this boat, sleep late and visit the nearest fish store instead. It will be cheaper and more fun I'm sure.