Retirement?

Retirement? What a word used for fishing! Well, that word came up as we trudged through the 6^th hour of futile trolling yesterday at the Hudson.

Flash back to 730am yesterday when we pulled into the party. Up to 50 boats were working the area, many hitting the troll after an overnighter. We dropped in our 12 line spread and within 45 minutes we had our first nice fat albie. Remember Fat Albie? Anyway that got us juiced up for an anticipated good day. We worked the 100sq area in building 3-5 seas with nice cresting waves. Made a spectacular display of nature as the sun rose and warmed the cockpit. We worked in, around, away and back into the fleet which was spread out over a few miles. So none of that cursing and radio BS about crossing and cutting lines. Nice, wide and gentlemanly. Looking good- for a while at least.

As we passed one boat hooked up we waved encouragement feeling we were next in line. Then we see another boat 200 yards away hooked up. Not so happy. Then a while later a third hookup. Now getting depressed.

So what about retirement? Bossman was in a bad state. He talked retirement like a disgruntled employee-neglected, overwrought and ready to throw in the towel for the 2012 season after such a poor showing. He took it personally, a message from God or personal failure to make the fish strike. One stinking albie to show for 7 hours of trolling as we watched in envy as others fought fish. Got to be honest. Not a good feeling. So, as we trolled some more and watched the bars skim the water and the ballys duck and surface thinking any minute we would get a triple banger. We were sinking from a Rocky Mountain Bigeye High from 2 weeks ago after bagging 3 beautiful bigeyes to almost getting washed out today.On top of that we had a great new guy on board who was getting over his dad's recent death. So we wanted this to be special for him.

The sun had taken a turn to the West and time was running out. We planned to crank it up at 2:30 and head home. Now minutes counted and we all were wishing for a Hail Mary. Splash! Dive! Pop as the far rigger snapped off and FISH ON! In the 9^th we hit a home run. The crew quickly cleared lines as John put on the fighting belt which his son was enviously eyeing. Fish fought hard for 10 minutes, came to the top then was quickly dispatched by my gaff. The greatest sigh of relief washed over the cockpit as the 65lb class YF hit the deck. We all hi-fived, grinned and got ready for the trip home. So, it was not the repeat bigeye conquest, not a whack-em trip, but we all recovered from the depths of retirement talk to now beginning to strategize about the nice water coming form the East and next week’s trip. Hey that’s fishin for you!