Fishing - TR: The Other Penns

Okay, we all heard about the flooding at Penns. The river fishes well
at 450cfs and was running, at times, over 6000. Hmm, kinda tough for
a delicate presentation with a 5X tippet. 'Sides, Penns is so last
year.
So, what shall we do? Well, I get a wonderful invite from
Clavemeister Tom. "Come stay with me in on the Eastern shore of
Virginia." Hmmm, thinks I, could be worse. I could be fighting off
bears in a flood. Been there, done that. So, head East and hang a
right at the PA border. Stop at the Baja Fresh in Maryland (where I
was promptly hit on by the manager. I let him down gently.) and head
South down the Delmarva peninsula. By the way, that is one long
haul. Its like driving past a hundred mile long strip mall.
Oh, by the way, if you're in Ohio, don't get the cheap room in the
motel. Yeah, paper walls and screamers make for a long night.
Okay, I get to beautiful, downtown Parksley, VA at about 8 pm on
Saturday night. Meet up with Tom (after some vectoring in via cell),
and sit on the front porch of his grandmothers house and catch up.
There is something about old friends, you can catch up so quickly
because its like you were never separated.
Plans, okay. Tuck the fly rod away and lets hit Captain Steve's on
Chincoteague Island in the a.m., buy a surf rod for me, some bait and
hit the beach. We get the rod Sunday a.m., some bunkers (menhaden)
that were the size of some VERY nice Penns browns, and some peeler
crabs. Off to the beach. Set up the rods, sit back in the beach
chairs and wait. Okay, its the weekend. Young gentlemen playing
football under our lines. Oh, the coeds are there too. Lots of
them.
I'm covering my Nebraska white body with long pants, long-sleeved
shirt, buff, and a hat. At my age, I care more about further skin
cancer than uselessly trying to impress some 20-something babe in a
bikini. 'Sides, they are younger than my daughters and looking at
then just feels wrong.
No catching, and just a few hits. Doesn't matter, its a gorgeous
sunny day. I'm kicking back on the beach.
Did I say I was covered head to toe? How 'bout head to ankle. That
evening, my feet feel "a bit off." Slightly pink. Actually kinda
hurt.
Wake up in the morning with a blister the size of Cleveland on top of
my right foot. Hmm, time to go back and fish.
Wx has changed. Monday at the island is now a 30 knot wind out of the
south. We have the beach to ourselves (us and about 709 other
fishermen). More bait and more fishing. Hmm, whats that? A hit?
No, nothing. Sit there the whole day in waders. It the only way to
ward off sandblasting. Definitely no one to impress on this day.
Strip off the waders at the end of the day and find another, Tuscon-
size blister on the left foot. Oh joy.
Off for dinner. By the way, note on the food. Everything I ate that
week was deep fried. However, that's not entirely a bad thing. The
Royal Farms (a corner gas station) has some of the best fried chicken
I've ever eaten. The local fish store makes me a fish sandwich with
tarter sauce. Flounder caught that morning, quickly deep fried in a
light batter with tarter sauce made from mayonnaise they made
themselves. Incredible. And until you've had deep-fried salad, don't
knock it.
Tuesday, we rinse and repeat. Weather is much better and, joy of
joys, there's a hit on the line! Woo Woo! A 7lb shark comes to...
well, not to hand. I ain't picking that damn think up. I've got a
history and he is NOT going to be the antagonist in another Full Reid
story. I boot him back into the surf... he swims back up the beach
towards me. No, NO. NOOO! Okay, now he turns into a rugby ball and
ends up back in the breakers.
After repeated trips to find bandages for my feet, we rinse and
repeat. We did have one afternoon where we went back to the house and
sat and watched a thunderstorm. A small gray squirrel joined us on
the porch, trying to stay out of the rain.
We went to the Chesapeake side of the peninsula for a bit of bay
fishing. Watched a gentleman drive his jeep into the sand. Guess
what, the vehicle would go into 4 wheel drive. Made for some
entertainment as he finally had to call friends and family to get
out.
Long and the short of it, wonderful week, not a lot of fish. We
figured that that Saturday was the predicted Rapture. However, Jesus
was a fisherman and took all the stripers that were supposed to be
running up the coast. Oh well, maybe some other time. I do know that
I have a surf rod sitting in an old house with a big porch in
Parksley, Virginia waiting for me. Combine that with the outstanding
comradeship, and I think I'll be back sometime soon.
Frank Reid