Last week, I took an extended lunch and went down to the nearest albie hotspot to see if they had finally made a local landfall. As I walked down the jetty, I had that rare opportunity to go into a fishing trip with zero expectations…this was purely a ‘see what happens’ trip. Knowing that there were tons of bonito around, I tried to bring a diverse selection of lures, some tins like Hogy Heavies, some epoxy-style options like Exo Jigs, soft plastics like RonZ’s and Albie Snax and some hard baits for the bones like the 90-size Stick Shadd and the smaller SP Minnow.
There weren’t too many guys fishing, but the hot zone at the tip was pretty-well packed. There were enough telltale blood trails on the rocks to give away the fact that there was, at least, some action to be had. This jetty is a microcosm of America, there are people from all over the world and people who grew up less than a mile from where we were standing. You may remember that I wrote a story a few years ago about a man named Nen; he’s from Vietnam and emigrated here in his late-teens. He’s also one of the best albie fishermen I have ever seen and he’s a heck of a nice guy with a really healthy outlook on life. I know some of his backstory and it really helps put life in perspective; when you’ve been through some of the things he has been through, it makes ‘the small stuff’ seem minuscule.
Nen spotted me from 150 feet away and started calling my name, offering me a spot right next to him. As I made my way along the rocky spit, I saw a few buckets with sickle tails sticking out of them. “Are they here?” I asked my friend.
“Nope, not yet,” Nen said through his thick Vietnamese accent, “we’re catching mostly bonito, and some Spanish mackerel.”
He went on to tell me that the bite had been slow for the last hour or so, but assured me that fish were in the area and it was worth the time. As dumb luck would have it, I hooked a feisty bonito on my second cast with a small Shimano Flash Boost jerkbait. And then another, maybe 15 casts after that. It was around that time that Nen, loudly announced, that his X-Rap was ‘seasick’ and needed to be changed. He took off the pink one and switched it out for a white one. This is not an integral part of the story, but it was just such a funny way to justify changing lures when things aren’t going your way.
As we stood there casting, the tide slacked and the bite went cold. Soon, we were doing more talking than fishing. Make no mistake about it, Nen is there to catch fish for his family to eat; he keeps his limit of whatever he catches and enjoys every minute of it. You would think he’d be happy that bonito were vastly outnumbering the albies, but that just wasn’t the case. As we talked, we discussed all the things that might turn the albie season around; a wind change, an extended period of stable weather, maybe some hard southwest wind…
I could see it in his eyes, that flame of obsession, that missing shot of adrenalin that no other inshore fish can provide. Nen eats albies just as happily as a sushi-grade bonito, he swears that, when treated properly, albies are delicious. But for every calorie that nourishes Nen and his family, there is a reciprocating number of joules that Nen must derive from albie-induced adrenalin…and up to that point he wasn’t getting it. We may have lived very different lives, but we’re connected by that thirst for adrenalin along with a love for fishing and that kindness in conversation, that turns an acquaintance into a friend for life. Hopefully, by the time you’re reading this, Nen will have gotten his albie fix. And I will selfishly hope that I have also gotten mine, as well. (Thanks in advance for your thoughts and prayers!)
