On the Run: An Angler's Journey Down the Striper Coast - Softcover

DiBenedetto, David

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0060087463 ISBN 13: 9780060087463

Verlag: Dey Street Books, 2004

Inhaltsangabe

Each autumn, one of nature's most magnificent dramas plays out when striped bass undertake a journey, from the northeastern United States to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, in search of food and warmer seas. Writer and angler David DiBenedetto followed this great migration -- the fall run -- for three months in the autumn of 2001.

On the Run offers vivid portrayals of the zany and obsessive characters DiBenedetto met on his travels -- including the country's most daring fisherman, an underwater videographer who chucked his corporate job in favor of filming striped bass, and the reclusive angler who claims that catching the world-record striper in 1982 sent his life into a tailspin. Along his route, DiBenedetto also delves into the natural history and biology of this great game fish, and depicts the colorful cultures of the seaside communities where the striped bass reigns supreme.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

David DiBenedetto is the editor in chief of Garden & Gun magazine and the former editor of Salt Water Sportsman. His writing has appeared in numerous publications and has been anthologized in The Best American Sports Writing and Take Me Fishing: 50 Great Writers on their Favorite Sport. He lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with his wife, Jenny, and their two children.

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Each autumn, one of nature's most magnificent dramas plays out when striped bass undertake a journey, from the northeastern United States to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, in search of food and warmer seas. Writer and angler David DiBenedetto followed this great migration -- the fall run -- for three months in the autumn of 2001.

On the Run offers vivid portrayals of the zany and obsessive characters DiBenedetto met on his travels -- including the country's most daring fisherman, an underwater videographer who chucked his corporate job in favor of filming striped bass, and the reclusive angler who claims that catching the world-record striper in 1982 sent his life into a tailspin. Along his route, DiBenedetto also delves into the natural history and biology of this great game fish, and depicts the colorful cultures of the seaside communities where the striped bass reigns supreme.

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Excerpt

Chapter One

Swimming With the Fishes

"I don't advise peeing in your wet suit," shouted PaulMelnyk. "You'll get a mean rash."

"I'll keep that in mind," I hollered into the wind, mywords quickly blown back into my face.

Truth was, whizzing in my neoprene bodysuit was theleast of my worries. I was standing at the edge of the roiling Atlantic in Montauk, New York. Clouds covered the sliver of a moon, the chilly October night as black as the bottom of a well. In a few minutes I would follow Melnyk into the ocean.

We planned to lie on our backs, fishing rods held underour arms, and kick our way three hundred yards offshore. Once there, we would float on the current that ran parallelto the beach, casting live eels for striped bass. After we were carried for a half mile or so, we would kick back to where we started and begin the drift again. Melnyk, a Montauk local who invented this form of angling, calls it skishing (a cross between skiing and fishing, since large stripers often towed him like a water-skier). As one guide told me before my skishing adventure, Melnyk was on "the extreme end of extreme."

The night before our trip, a surf fisherman, with bothfeet on shore, had landed a fifty-pound striper, and Melnykwanted to best that mark. He was sure the fish was an indication of a school of trophy striped bass in the area. There was no turning back. We huddled behind a large dune to zip our wet suits and run through an equipment check. Head-lamp? Check. Whistle? Check. Pliers? Check. Knife? Check.

"If a shark grabs me, I expect you to fight him off withyour knife," said Melnyk, trying to loosen up the situation. His levity was lost on me. I knew enough about the area to realize that the threat of sharks was no joke. A little more than a decade back, a Montauk charter boat had landed a monstrous great white (seventeen feet, 3,427 pounds) that had been snacking on a dead whale not far from the point, and just that summer a fourteen-foot mako had been pilfering stripers from the ends of fishermen's lines and ramming boats near Cape Cod. Up and down the East Coast, 2001 had been the summer of the shark.

There were also rip currents, some of which ran at eightknots. If we got caught in the wrong place, we would be shot out into the ocean as if on a water-park ride.

"Let's do this before I chicken out," I said.

"Okay. Remember, this is a shore break. It's dangeroussurf. These waves can pick you up and slam you on thebeach. It'll ruin your week. Once we clear them it's easysailing - make that kicking."

We waded in. The surf zone was a cauldron of white water, and beyond it the sea's lumps melded with the sky. When the water reached our knees, we dropped on our backs and pulled on our flippers. With the waves rushing to shore, it was a clumsy endeavor, and twice I rolled face first into the water before succeeding.

"Ready?" yelled Melnyk.

"Ready."

"Kick, kick, kick, kick."

When my flippers gained purchase, I zipped ahead intothe wash.

"Stay with me, Dave."

We were kicking side by side when the first breakerrushed over us. I swallowed a mouthful of seawater andbobbed to the surface. Melnyk hooted with delight. The next wave lifted me up and carried me tumbling back whereI'd started.

"Come on, Dave. Kick, kick, kick!" coaxed Melnyk. I gathered myself and pushed off again. In less than thirty seconds we were out of the surf, rising and falling on thechoppy waves of the ocean. At fifty-six degrees, the waterbreaching our wet suits was breath-stealing.

"Is this living or what?" screamed Melnyk. "We're on theedge, man."

"How much farther?"

"About a hundred kicks."

On the crest of each wave I could see the shore. TV setswere flashing muted blues and reds in the windows of thebeach motels above the dunes. I found myself envious ofthe occupants, who had little fear of disappearing into theAtlantic. Suddenly there was a surface commotion just infront of our heads, like a broom slapping the water. "Just a flock of sea ducks riding out the weather," said Melnyk. "We probably scared the shit out of them."

"Likewise."

Eventually Melnyk yelled, "We're here, man." We stoppedkicking. The thick wet suits provided enough buoyancy tokeep us chest high in the gin-clear water. I flipped myheadlamp on; it illuminated a circle in front of me, thestrobe reaching toward the bottom. I could see my purpleflippers flexing as I flutter-kicked to stabilize myself. I wondered what could see me from below, and inched closer toMelnyk.

Melnyk kept each eel in an individual sandwich-sizeZiploc bag for easy handling. He passed one to me. Itsquirmed within its plastic confines as I hooked it throughthe jaw. With the hook in place I pulled hard, ripping thebag and freeing the eel. It danced on the end of my line. If I didn't cast soon, it would tie itself and the line into a slimy knot.

I turned my light off. Melnyk already had his eel in thewater. He was floating about ten feet from me. His blackneoprene hood combined with his surf rod rising from thesurface made him look like a seagoing knight, his trustysteed a sea creature from Proteus's flock. As I went to cast, Melnyk's rod quivered, then bent deeply. He reared back on the fish, then yelled, "Oh baby, they're here."

Continues...

Excerpted from On the Runby David DiBenedetto Copyright © 2004 by David DiBenedetto. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Copyright © 2004 David DiBenedetto
All right reserved.

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Dey Street Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2004
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0060087463
• ISBN 13: 9780060087463
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 256
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: HarperCollins Publishers, Product Safety Manager; enquiries@harpercollins.ie; ; HarperCollins, Macken House, 39/40 Mayor Street Upper; Dublin 1; D01 C9W8; Irland