I guess one could say that the mark, or goal, traditionally for a surfcaster would be catching a 50-pound striped bass. This is a number many anglers try to achieve throughout their surf fishing careers, and after more than a decade of fishing the surf, I was fortunate enough to hit that personal goal of mine early last year. Here’s the story of how it all went down.
If you’ve been following along with the magazine over the past few years, you’ve probably picked up on the fact that I’ve been dabbling in different kinds of fishing aside from just the surf, and I’ve personally been loving it all. This past season, though, I decided to get back to my roots a bit and dedicate more time to the shorelines around Long Island. As it turns out, I picked the right time to put that extra effort in, because one night everything came together.
While patterns change, they often remain largely the same in certain places, and with some solid log-keeping, that’s what prompted me to focus on a spot I fish during a key moon phase on a particular night.
Pulling up to my chosen spot that night could have ended the trip before I even got out of the truck. I immediately counted about 20 vehicles, and on most nights I probably would have turned around and headed home. But for no real reason other than not wanting to turn back after the drive, I decided to gear up and check it out.
It was a dark night, so I couldn’t see very far or tell right away if anyone was fishing where I planned to set up. As I made my way to the spot, I noticed that just about nobody—except for one angler—was fishing anywhere near where I wanted to be. The only explanation I could come up with was that a pick of stripers was happening far enough away that no one bothered to come close to my area.
I had already committed, and with nobody around, I figured I might as well put some time in and see what happened. It didn’t take long. On the very first cast, I got that textbook hit. After some drag-peeling runs and a bit of back and forth, I landed a 43-pounder! Right then and there, my night was already made. I could have gone home extremely content, but it would have been madness to leave after landing a fish like that—especially with a friend on the way to share the tide with me.
With the subtle commotion of landing that fish, another caster I knew walked over to congratulate me. I suggested he fish next to me, and after a little time he landed a respectable 25-pounder of his own.
A short while later, my friend showed up, and I filled him in on the earlier excitement. Needless to say, we were both locked in after that. Some time passed, and the angler who caught the 25-pound fish decided to call it a night since it was getting late. Jokingly, I said to him, “I’m taking your spot to catch a 50-pounder.” He walked off, I slid into his position, and on the very first cast after he left, I hooked into another serious fish. I immediately looked over my shoulder—and he was nowhere to be seen.
It’s often hard to gauge the true size of a fish while fighting it, but I knew this one was substantial. After another solid battle, I worked a very large striper to my feet. At first glance, I didn’t think it was the fish I was looking for—maybe I was just sleep-deprived—but that changed once I got my hands on her. As they say, “the scale doesn’t lie”. I hoisted her up and my friend read the number: “Fifty-three pounds.” I took a quick look myself to confirm it before slipping her back into the surf.
What started as a night where I nearly turned around without making a cast became the most memorable fish of my surf fishing career. These are the nights that make it all worth it. The entire drive home, I thought about the times I’d call the late Fred Golofaro to fill him in on how I did in the surf the night before, and how much I wish I could have shared that one with him. In the end, though, I’m sure he had a little something to do with how it all unfolded—and with why I never turned around before I began.
