A net appropriate for what you are catching.Not long ago, I was asked by a friend why she should ever want to go fishing. I was taken aback at the question. It had never occurred to me that someone had never been fishing or, if not, why she wouldn’t want to. It’s a naïve notion, I know, but fishing, clamming, and crabbing are as much a part of me as are my arms or eyes. I’ve fished, gathered clams, and collected crabs since I could walk, and even before that was carried by my mother and sisters along shorelines and in the cabins of boats as they caught fish or dug for the delicacies of the beach.
My friend’s question made me sit down and think about what it is that drives me to the sea, the rivers, lakes, and ponds in search of fish. For me, it starts with the sea. The sea is a place of calm for me, an endless expanse where I can fully appreciate how small I really am in this world. At sea, any hubris or airs I’ve accumulated on land are stripped away by the majesty of an ocean more powerful than us all. The sea is one of God’s great cathedrals, and it is the one that most stirs me within.
Most of us are drawn to water. The smell of the salt air, the burble of a wooded stream, the sullen murmur of a great river—or the crushing silence of a lake robed in fog—all of these awaken something within us. We want to be in that setting, often for reasons we don’t fully understand.
Mystery grips the water. What lies beneath the waves? Fishing taps that feeling to the utmost. Hunters and foragers can see the habitat where their quarry lives, but casting a line into the water is an act of faith. Yes, experienced anglers know where fish ought to be, but, for the most part, you cannot see them. Fishing is a blind man’s pursuit. When I am fishing, really fishing, my eyes lose their focus and all my energy runs through that rod, down through the fishing line and onto the sinker and the hook. I fish by feel. Tap, tap, tap goes the sinker on the bottom. Is that mud, rock, or the deck of a sunken ship? A twitch on the line! A fish? Or just the hook brushing against an unseen object? Fishing awakens my senses the way no other pursuit does.
And when a fish finally strikes my line, the jolt of adrenaline rippling through me never gets old. Fish on! I find myself grinning as I set the hook and the battle begins. The fish, still unseen, darting, shaking, pulling, pulling, pulling. Big fish can wrench you so hard you sometimes wonder who is the hunter and who is the prey. Many fish will play dead on the way up to the surface, making it feel as if you’ve lost them. That feels like a punch to the gut. Oh no! Did I lose it? It’s a little boy’s loss—for a split second, you feel like you will never be happy again. And then the fish runs, ripping a hundred yards of line off your reel. Adrenaline rushes through you, and you crank the reel some more.
In a flash of metallic wonder, you snatch your first glimpse of the fish: It is the most beautiful thing in the world, and you feel yourself wanting it more than diamonds, power, or money. You are not a rational person at this moment. The fish breaks the surface of the water with a thrash. A large fish will douse you with its fury. “Net! Net!” You hear yourself shouting for your friends to help bring this gift from an alien world into your possession—for this is now your fish.
And there it is, a silvery, brightly colored, dazzling thing. It is gasping for air. With a shock, you awaken from your trance and feel a wash of sadness seeping through you. This fish, staring up at you and gasping, wants to live as much as you do. Sometimes the feeling overcomes you, and you return the fish to the water. Sometimes your sadness is overtaken by thoughts that come from another place within you, thoughts of fried fish and seviche and sushi. And that’s when you toss the fish into a cooler or a bucket.
This is fishing, a primal soup of emotions that may or may not end in a wonderful meal, but will most certainly end with a powerful memory. For an angler, the act of fishing is as affirming as a blessing, as calming as longtime love, and as addictive as any drug.
Most people know what a rod and reel are, what a net is, and that you need some sort of bait to catch a fish. But beyond that, the world of fishing can be confusing to an outsider. River fishing requires different equipment and skills than does pond fishing. Ocean fishing is a world away from casting a line for trout in a mountain stream, but fishing the Great Lakes is a close approximation. Then there is the chasm between the freshwater anglers and the saltwater anglers. I fished nothing but saltwater until I was in my late twenties. Some fishing is finesse; some fishing requires brute strength and the stamina of a prizefighter. Most kinds of fishing are somewhere in between.
What follows is a very short, very incomplete primer on what you need to know when you try to catch the critters in this section. You’ll find more details in each chapter.
If you’ve never done any fishing before, here are the very basics. First, to fish you generally need a rod and reel. On the reel will be fishing line. At the end of the line will be what’s called terminal tackle, which includes a length of stouter line called the leader, some sort of weight (typically a lead sinker), the hook, and some kind of bait.
To get the bait in front of a fish, you either cast the line out into the water or just drop it straight to the bottom. This brings me to reels. There are all sorts of types, but the most basic you need to know about are the spinning reel, the boat reel, and the fly reel. I recommend anyone serious about becoming an angler buy a spinning reel and a boat reel, each with different rods.
Spinning reels and fly reels allow you to cast to a spot in the water. Highly useful from shore, in rivers or in ponds, they can also be used from a boat to work your bait along the bottom to cover more area or to cast and retrieve lures. A disadvantage to a spinning reel is that it generally cannot handle a lot of weight, so it is ineffective for deepwater fishing or if you need to fish the bottom where the currents are very strong. Casting also takes practice to perfect.
Boat reels can be cast a short distance by experts, but normally you just open the bail (the lever that keeps the line from tumbling out of the reel) and let the line unwind from the reel, all the way to the bottom. This is what you normally do in the ocean and in large lakes. Boat reels are easy to use and are the rig of choice in deep water, especially the ocean.
A word on bait. Bait can be anything from worms to live fish to dead fish to artificial lures. These artificial lures come in a bewildering array of shapes and sizes. My advice is to go to an independent sporting goods store, or one with an expert angler who fishes the area, and ask what you should buy for the fish you are seeking. The same species of fish will not eat the same thing in different places. Crickets and curly-tail jig heads work great for panfish in some ponds but are useless in others. It pays to ask.
If you plan to fish on your own, get yourself set up in a sporting goods store with a basic rod and reel combo, which means the two come packaged together. Get your reel spooled with the proper line. Line is measured in “test,” meaning you should reasonably be able to catch a fish of “x” weight on “x” test—i.e., you ought to be able to catch a 10-pound fish on 10-pound test line. Other things you need for on-your-own fishing:
A net appropriate for what you are catching.
An inexpensive tackle box to carry your hooks, lures, weights, and extra line.
A variety of weights, sinkers, as well as split shot, which looks like a lead Pac-Man.
Hooks of various sizes—buy ones with leaders already attached.
A pair of nail clippers to clip the ends of the line after you tie knots.
Artificial lures. I recommend several sizes of a lure called a Kastmaster, a supply of lead jig heads, and different colors of curly tails. The tails go on the jig heads, and you fish them by gently twitching the line to “jig” the lure (as in dancing a jig). Also get several Rapala lures, which look like fake fish and have various sizes of plastic lips where the fish’s mouth should be. A Rapala lure is a casting or trolling bait.
Barrel swivels. These are invaluable when you are attaching your leader to the main fishing line. They prevent the line from twisting too much.
Ocean fishing is one of the few areas where being a do-it-yourselfer isn’t always the best idea. Unless you want to learn navigation and boater safety—and have lots of money to flush into the briny deep—don’t bother buying a boat if you don’t live within sight of the water. And even if you do live in sight of the water, think hard before plunking down dollars for your own vessel. It is far cheaper and far easier to do your ocean fishing from someone else’s boat or from shore. That means either tagging along with friends or chartering a boat.
Chartering generally comes in three categories.
Another rule: The larger the fish you are after, the smaller the boat you want to be on. Think about it. Do you really want to fight a 150-pound tuna on a boat with forty other guys lined up on the rail? In case you cannot picture this mayhem in your head, trust me, you don’t. It’s a nightmare, unless everyone on the boat is an experienced angler. I once had a 60-plus-pound grouper on the line that was taking me for a ride when a newbie angler next to me freaked out when she caught a tiny sea bass. Instead of simply lifting her microfish over the rail, she let it swim around at the surface. The fish circled my line—despite me screaming at her to hoist up her fish—and when it completed the circle, the added tension snapped my line and off swam my grouper. I am pretty sure I’ve never come closer to committing a felony than on that day.
Party boats are great where no one fish will make or break your trip. Stick to smaller, more intimate settings when you are seeking larger fish such as striped bass, tuna, sturgeon, halibut, and the like.
If you are still lost, I’ve included several book-length primers on how to fish in the Resources section at the end of the book.
