On the morning of April 14, 2018, I was manning a table at the old Ocean City fishing flea market when a buddy called about a hot bite up north the night before. I had a 9-foot Tsunami Air Wave with one an old PENN 706 in my SUV for just such an emergency, along with a minimally packed plug bag and a set of cheap waders which needed desperately to be patched, or replaced.
“Bone SP Minnow,” was what my buddy said on the phone, so I put a Be Right Back sign on top of my table and raided the Fin-Atics booth of bone-white SP Minnows. When the show ended, I headed up the Parkway, quickly stowing our show gear into The Fisherman’s storage unit, before heading north towards the Raritan with the least amount of tackle I thought I needed.
If you know, you know, but I parked along a sand-covered street end in time to wade across the shallow creek to the point of muddy sod bank where fish had staged the previous two nights. It was overcast and rather breezy when I began casting, but it wasn’t long before I tied into a 20-pound class striper, followed by another.
I watched as a few good fish – certainly better than mine – were caught by folks wading around me, and after landing a few more bass and snaring some cellphone video for later use, the wind came up hard 20 to 30 knots just as dark had fallen. Feeling like I’d finally shaken those winter cobwebs, and content with a few of my first plugged stripers of spring, I hooked the SP to one of my guides and began the trek back through the wind and fog towards where I had parked.
What I hadn’t considered was the timing of the high tide, or the heavy winds pushing the Raritan Bay waters up the banks. When I got to the now swollen creek, I thought about my leaky old waders and decided it best to wait it out a bit. Sadly, the stripers stopped feeding, so I was basically stuck standing in the cold, dark mist. Luckily I wasn’t the only one, and a couple of guys dragged some driftwood into a pile behind a red can buoy which had blown in during the winter, starting a fire to keep warm. And so, a bunch of strangers – castaways actually – huddled around the driftwood campfire to wait out the tide and wind that made the creek impassable.
Sometime after 11 p.m. three dark figures passed quietly by our fire and out along the dark, sandy path towards the creek. One by one, each castaway stepped away from the fire with gear in hand to follow the new leaders to see if they could traverse the creek in the dark. Which they did. Following their lead, I slid my way across the narrow waterway which was about nipple height at this point. I could feel the cold water from my wader leaks seeping down into my boots, but I calmly pressed on until I was safely on the opposite bank. Minutes later, I was stowing my gear and dumping water from my boots back at my truck. I was cold, I was wet, I was tired after a long day, but I was finally happy again after the winter show season.
It took days to get the sand out of my ears, and I finally bought new waders for the season later that week. I also sorted my spring tackle bag in advance of the next hot tip. I’d like to tell you I’m better prepared to meet the spring call to arms this season, but if you see me huddled around a makeshift campfire this month on the foggy banks of the Raritan, you’ll know the answer.
