Since the big trip to Harker’s Island, I had only made it out fishing once. I’ve started to set my sites on the striped bass, and with that in mind, I’ve been searching for potential habitat. Here in Norfolk, the tasty water tends to be out of reach when wading. I’ve been told I’ll be settling for smaller fish if I insist on wade fishing with the fly rod. I have to say, so far, I’m fine with that.
Here are some photos from a recent walk (no fish caught) along with some other shots. It was a gorgeous night exploring Willoughby Spit near the base of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel.
My buddy Kevin and I went down to Harker’s again on Monday. It was a last minute decision. No big fish, but it was a wonderful day. So very relaxing.
Next up, I think I’m looking at some night fishing. Apparently the stripers like water with lights. They ambush schools of bait fish drawn to the lights.
|Kevin with a world record flounder on a fly rod. Wow.
|Zeeba. Our big dude with a fluffy belly.
He’s not watching anything in particular, just spacing out mid bath.
My alarm went off at 2:30 AM. We wanted to be on the road by 3 to catch the 8 o’clock ferry to the island. It was a gamble to hope for both good weather and fish, but, as I now know, the prospect of catching false albacore will make you do silly things.
We made small talk most of the way there, avoiding all topics regarding weather hoping not to jinx the day ahead. It is funny what we will do to feel like we are in control. The night before I left, Sara came home with a pack of Swedish Fish for good luck. I popped one or two in my mouth every half hour that day convinced it would do the trick.
Arriving at 7:30 gave us just enough time to gear up and pay the ferryman. Shortly thereafter, his Carolina skiff was cruising across the water taking us to our destination. The cool morning air felt as good as a shower. I was refreshed and awake, excited for what was to come.
As the boat glided into the shore, we began sizing up our territory. Walking to our first destination, I noticed the sand on the island was made of broken down seashells. They clinked like wine glasses or wind chimes with each step.
After picking our first spot, we began to fish…..
The talk and mood during the ride home was lighthearted. We gambled and won. The Swedish Fish did the trick.
Exhausted. Burnt. Sore. Satisfied.
The best homemade biscuits around. Conveniently located at Citgo gas station.
It occurred to me that I grew up next to some very musically talented people. So, for this edition of Rest Easy, Friday Night, I thought I would share some music from my “neighbors.” I’m using neighbors loosely. I went to high school with each of these people and we lived less than 5-10 miles apart.
Bret and I go back to little league baseball. He is a wonderful writer and has a sense of humor to rival Andy Samberg. I used to grab a mid-run glass of water from his house on those humid Minnesota summer days.
Second: Enter Jeramiah Nelson
, also here
, and here
. A prolific troubadour who plays with many midwestern musicians including Brad Hoshaw (RE,FN: Vol 3)
. A year ahead of me in school, we took the bus home together in 5/6th grade. He was a bit of a rebel even then.