On the heels of proclaiming what an amazing, understanding wife I have: no kidding. Last night, after our anniversary dinner with the kids, I went striper fishing.
I shoulda stayed home.
It’s not like I had a bad time or anything, but the fishing was — how you say? — slow. To start, someone who insists on telling everyone on the worldwide web specifically where he striper fishes, especially when he catches — the only thing missing are GPS coordinates — posted the spot I went to last night the day before. At 10pm on a school night, I would expect to be the only angler there. Imagine my surprise when I saw all manner of dark forms silhouetted against the inky waters. I joined the lineup as the sixth man. I think I’ve seen six guys there at night in over the last four years. Way to burn that spot, dude. One 16″ bass on my second cast, then nothing for an hour.
So I hoofed it to another place. Plenty of action there, if you count trout-sized stripers as action. Not the reason I was standing in the water at midnight.
The big one continues to elude me. Must keep at it. The generally persistent generally make out.
Correction: I just learned that the bulk of the anglers at last night’s first location were veterans of that spot, not the report chasers I suspected. No disrespect to them was intended, and I regret the error.