No kiddin’ there I was, birds nest of line, hook, dead seagull, soda can, drift wood, miraculously dry book of matches, a pocket knife, and an empty belly. There was also a sea full of fish and bait.
No hope of rescue any time soon because no one knew my Kayak had sunk. I had not told my wife where I was going because I was PO’ed at her for and not wanting to help pay for the boat I wanted, I needed those 175 horses to push that 27 footer to bring home the bacon! SELFISH! Like a third job would be a hardship with 5 toddlers at home. I was offering her a break.
The first thing I did was to look for the best possible fishing spot. Rocks and mud or sand and some ambush points where the fish attack bait. I watch for activity and get the line untangled and check it for serviceability (nicks, scrapes, and brittleness) as I wrapped the most serviceable portion onto the can and set the rest aside.
I remembered seeing many Mexican fisherman on the shore in Iowa who used a can as a fishing reel and would played the fish with their hands. I can remember seeing them giving and taking line in a connected and skillful way that made the act of fishing and catching a sort of blue collar opera set to the sounds and sights of the Mississippi River.
They would cast upwards of 50 yards with a 1 oz weight and 12 lb test. The soda or beer can acting as their reel. Their heavy tackle was a 2 liter soda bottle and twenty pound test.
Swinging the weight and hook around like a lasso, these field hands would absolutely launch it into the current on a low trajectory that did not leave a lot of slack when it hit the water. The rig would hit and stick with the line taut and very little play in the line. They would then wait patiently until a fish took the bait. I admired their ingenuity and grit.
When the fish took, they would feed it line gingerly until it turned from them and ran. The hook set was an upward snap of the line followed by another and then again. The fish was gently steered to shore and landed with a quiet intensity that bordered on Zen.
Tying the line to the tab on top, I wind it neatly around the can. I have approximately 45 yards of what looks to be 30 pound test weakened to around 12 pound test. I then sharpen the hook on a handy piece of granite until it catches on my thumbnail and continue to observe the surf and rocks for fish activity. I soon spot an area that the baitfish are using. It is a small protected area behind a large rock and I know that my quarry is lurking nearby. The water is cloudy and once I saw the bait scatter. Whether it was a striper spooking them or not, I will never know. I do know that in about two minutes, they were right back where they had been.
Looking at the high tide mark, I recognized that it would take some looking to find the right place. I wanted some water and access. I found the right spot soon enough. It was a small niche in the rocks that held water and would hold crabs, sea worms, clams and small fish if I put them there.
Now I had to catch the bait. I also knew that I had to have a plan B for food. The seagull was the focal point of my plan. I filleted the breast and thighs and sliced these thinly and laid them out on a rock after dipping them into salt water to preserve them. No flies were apparent and I watched them for a few minutes.
I then plucked 90% of the feathers,split the seagull carcass in two, added a couple of small rocks to the carcass and tied my line to it’s neck and threw it into a small depression below a rock. I then wedged my can into the rocks and went in search of other bait.
Since it was low tide, I walked and looked for bait or more things to use. As I walked around the Island, I soon saw a small mud flat on the leeward side that looked like a perfect place to find some sea worms or clams. I took two sturdy pieces of drift wood that had closely forked ends and walked onto the mud flat. In about 10 minutes of digging, I uncovered 5 clams and two sea worms.
The tide was starting to come in and it was show time!!!!
The clams and seaworms went into a piece of bark I had happened upon and I headed back to the site I had started to establish.
I did a quick assessment:
-One hook and a weakened line.
- I would have to target schoolies and keep my bait away from bluefish.
- I did not have a weight
- A float would keep the bait off the bottom and out of snags.
- Keep the float away from the rocks.
- Do some practice casts to learn how to use the can.
-Fair supply of bait:
- Keep fresh baits in the water.
- Go back for more clams and worms.
-Dusk was coming in about two hours:
- Be fishing in less than an hour.
- I would need to re-stoke the fire and make sure that the stone was heated up.
- I would also need to gather grasses for bedding.
I turned around and spent another half an hour getting bait and managed to find 11 more clams and two more sea worms.
Joy of joys, I discovered an old plastic bag from Walmart that had washed ashore. It was tucked under a piece of driftwood and all I could see was a sliver of blue buried in the sand. Most of the clams and sea worms went into the bag and I headed back to my fishing site. Three of the clams were set out in the sun for immediate use
Finding a small stick the size of my thumb and about 8” long, I quickly used my knife to carve a float. I exposed new wood on top to make it bright and carved a fairly deep groove for my line around the bottom. The float would go through a slip-knot and I would keep my line strength and be able to adjust the depth and keep my hook out of the rocks.
The tide had come in about a foot and a half. I partially filled my bait bag with fresh water and put it into the bait hole, quickly restoked my fire with as much wood as would fit under the stone and checked on the pieces of seagull. They were perfect and I took a little taste of one. Perfectly disgusting. Note to self, add looking for fresh water to the list of things to find.
Walking up to the can in the rocks, I could see the line moving in little jerks as the resident crabs fought for control of the carcass. The crabs were doing their thing and I had to do mine. I crept up to the line and ever so slowly started pulling it in. I felt like the pied piper as I led the crabs closer and closer to the skinny water. There were about 10 of them on the carcass and it looked like a chicken covered with silver dollars. As the carcass got closer, I saw that they were peeling off 1 or two at a time. I stopped moving it and they started coming back. This was eating into my fishing time.
The crabs and seagull were in about 2’ of water. I crept in on my belly and gently and gradually grabbed two of the crabs. This went well until the piece of skin between my ring and middle finger was grabbed by a struggling claw. I stayed calm and gently withdrew. The crabs pulled back and fled. I took my crabs to shore and flung the painful one on the ground and stepped on him as he tried to get back into the water.
The second crab went into the bait hole and tucked indignantly into a crevice.
I quickly retrieved the seagull carcass, and untied it. It joined the other half on shore for further use.
Inspecting the line and hook one last time, I tied a palomar knot and secured the makeshift float about three feet up from the hook. I made two practice casts and found that the rig went where I looked. Maybe I would start fishing this way…
NOT!!!!
Using the knife, I cracked open the first clam. I threaded the half dollar sized nugget onto the hook looked at the incoming tide, picked my spot and let her fly to where I had seen the baitfish at low tide.
I was looking for a 2-3 pound schoolie to fill my belly for the night and maybe one for breakfast.
The float lay on it’s side and I waited to feed the little sucker the line until he turned.
I waited for about 20 minutes and went to retrieve a sea worm. I threw the clam in my hole, baited the hook with the worm and let fly. The bait slowly drifted in and I steadily brought in line to accommodate it. Suddenly, something big was breaking in the inbound surf. I let the bobber get within a few feet of shore and cast to the right of my baithole about 10 feet past my rock.
I knew that it was just a matter of time. The bobber twitched and it suddenly stood on end and disappeared with a “plunk,” and a plume of water.
There was no gently feeding the fish line and setting up on it as if I had in my vision of this catch, she set the hook herself. She was BIG.
I quickly felt her power and the line strreeetched to it’s limit. I knew she had me and this called for drastic action.
I quickly stuck a forked piece of smooth driftwood in the sand and let the line run over it as it came off the can. I was down to less than half my line. I held the remaining line between my fingers and watched it come off the spool.
I knew I was losing and it came to me. I threw myself into the surf and kicked after her as quickly as I could. I was no longer losing ground, I was holding my own. I knew I had to turn her head and bluff her into thinking I was her master. I eased to the left and set my heels against the bottom and shifted my arms to the left.
This turned her. I had a chance and I wound more line onto my can and held the pressure. I finally saw a boil and turned her head again.
Going hard to the left, giving and taking line I fought her nail and claw. One being in conflict with itself. Struggling to join its separated spirit into one.
Soon I hit the mud flat. She was big and she did not like the feeling of the mud against her belly. She surged and I used a gentle head turn to master her. She was beached (barely). This was my chance and I tackled her. She came to life and smacked me with her tail, bloodying my nose. I respected her effort and grabbed her tail and reached under her gill plate and she was mine. We were both exhausted and covered with muck and I gently rinsed her off.
I don’t know her weight and won't try to speculate. A mere number would not do her justice as I relaxed and applied the lessons I learned here to my life. I marked her length on a piece of driftwood and it was 42” when I was rescued. I was down to two sips in a half empty bottle of water I had found in the flotsam, three sea worms that I returned to the muck, a live and dead crab that I returned to the deep, some clam shells (I had a snack), a pocketknife with a small spot of blood from a worthy opponent, a rotted seagull and some seagull jerkey that were returned to the ocean, and a fishing rig that will hold a place of honor next to a 42” fiberglass replica of a Striper who reestablished the value of life, family, and knowing when to put on the pressure to the limit to master things by turning heads that you feel outclass you and your gear.
The “Paco’s Sunken Kayak II,” goes out every day during the season and my wife and kids await my return each night.
Fishin is more than fish.
Lenny