One of the big draws for me in fishing the surf is the way in which it puts me out in nature. Sure this is a factor like many other fishing styles like fishing small streams for trout, but with my love of the ocean the surf is just about perfect. While this means we as surfcasters get to experience so many events that normal people only see from time to time like sunsets, sunrises, shooting stars, northern lights, etc., it also puts us in situations that are not quite as romantic. Take for example the night I was fishing alongside John Hanecak and a very large shark buzzed us as he was releasing a 20-pound-class striper. We stood several feet from each other, and while he was concentrating on unhooking his fish, something caught my eye in the fringe of his headlamp. I turned my head in its direction and my headlamp lit up a long, grey body spanning at least 6 to 8 feet based on the fact that its tail was past the fish while its head almost grazed my legs. John never saw the shark but once I told him what I had seen we were both a little spooked. In all reality the shark posed us little harm, but it’s difficult to shake such thoughts from a sleep-deprived mind!
Perhaps a more realistic danger, I have had several run-ins with coyotes over the years, and after a conversation this morning with Jerry Audet about an experience he just had with a coyote up on the Cape, it reminded me of several stories of my own. The first one that came to mind took place on Cuttyhunk Island sometime around 2006. Rich Morris and I were on the island for several days along with the Connecticut Surfcasters for our annual club trip. It was our 2nd or 3rd night on the island and we had fish on the Buzzards Bay side the night before on the incoming tide. We started off down at the southwest corner and got into a few fish for the drop, but we quickly lost the bite with the tide change and decided to head up the western shore to see if the school had moved in that direction. We quickly fished our way to the Westend Pond opening and waded across. As we had never done much between the opening and the bass stand rock about 1/2 mile up the beach, we just started walking along the water’s edge. In short order we heard rustling in the briars followed by the unmistakable yipping of a coyote. One of us flashed our light into the darkness and we saw a set of eyes looking back. This prompted a bit of hop to our step as we stumbled along the beach, now walking as far out into the water as we could easily manage while still making good headway. We figured the buffer of the beach and water would protect us, but in hindsight it might not have done much aside from delay the inevitable if one of the coyotes decided to make a move.
We fished our way along the rocky shore from the bass stand to Church’s, picking fish here and there, never really getting out of the water. For most of the time as we fished that stretch we could either hear, see or sense the watchful eyes over our shoulder. They eventually lost interest in the two of us, and we talk about that night to this day.
Another coyote night occurred very late in the season, about a week or two before Christmas. Several of us had a somewhat steady bite of bass from schoolies to 30 inches each night, and with snow flurries in the forecast I made it a point to fish, albeit alone, as my partners of the previous few nights thought better of fishing in the snow for mere schoolies. The spot was a good half-mile walk down the beach to where the fish were showing on the incoming, and it was just barely starting to flurry as I entered the water and began casting. As expected the bite was way off this night, perhaps a combination of the snow and building wind, but for the hour-plus that I cast away I had an ever-present feeling of being watched. This spot always gave me the creeps, but tonight was worse. Eventually the slow fishing and cold got the best of me and I decide to head for my truck.
Arriving back at the beach after wading the 100 feet or so I had worked out onto the bar, I immediately noticed tracks in the fresh snow above the water line. Shining my bright light up and down the beach, I could see what looked to be the tracks of at least several coyotes that appeared to have been moving back and forth along perhaps 100 yards of shoreline. It was as if they were going up and down, looking out to the sea, trying to figure out what kind of maniac was standing alone in the ocean on a snowy night, and whether he was edible—at least that’s how the scene plays out in my head to this day.
