TR: Cape Cod

[Warning: at the end of this TR I have an OT bit about a War of the
Worlds that might be considered a spoiler for those who don't know
the story by now.]

This past weekend was the first tide in 3 weeks conducive to sight
fishing the flats on South Beach. Any high tide from 10am to 3pm is
ideal, in my opinion. Having, by way of timing, avoided traffic to
the Cape Friday night, I arose early Sat morning to a cool, dull and
foggy day. I arrived at Chatham and got on the Rip Ryder ferry.
Visibility was just a few hundred yards and though there was no way
sight fishing was going to be on in those circumstances, I have had
good luck wandering the flats and looking for silver sides of fish.
The odds are already stacked against you out there, so adding fog in
simply puts the chance of any success almost out of reach. Which is
(sort of) the way I like it: very difficult, not impossible.

I only had a few hours on Saturday, so I stayed close to the ferry
drop off and waded a flat a bit north of there. It was eerie to say
the least to see, hear and smell the boats passing by 50 yds from
where you stood, yet see nothing. I was betting on the fog burning
off, but it only teased me every so often with a perceptible
brightening, only to darken down again. And the fishing was not so
good as I was forced into blind casting which I hate when out there.
I did get a couple of flashes at my deceiver, but that was it. I
walked over to the Ocean side, but the surf was huge and a cast into
water absurdly would end up with the fly sitting on sand as the huge
waves receded. I have caught fish like this believe it or not (not on
sand, but in the breakers), but today I could not be bothered with
the 2 pounds of sand that would be injected into each boot by the
time I was done. So I admitted defeat and called it day. Ironically
the fog burned off as the ferry arrived.

Next day a building high-pressure system over Ohio brought a stiff
North wind, dry air and clear skies. I knew this had to be the day,
so I was gone by 6:30 and after a Dunkin Donuts breakfast I was on
the beach at a little before 8am. Tide was 3 hours from high and I
did my 2-mile hike over the flats I would be fishing later.

South Beach changed a lot this year. The historically stormy winter
left its mark on this already dynamic environment. A trench of deeper
water that came up to almost the high tide mark and was a favorite
spot for me to blind cast when the fishing was slow, or unfavorable
to sight casting, is gone, completely. Replaced by a disconcertingly
soft sand and green seaweed. The exit from South (Nauset) Beach and
North Mononmoy is closing and most craft will not dare cross it, as
the window to get back is small even at high tide. The shallow water
to the south of Morris Island and North Monomoy (called "Chatham
Roads" on charts) is filling in and can only be crossed at high tide
with boats with a shallow draft. The seals that come in droves to the
beach are only seen during high tide now. Boats in Outermost Harbor
and Stage Harbor have decreasing options and at the end of my fishing
trip there were at least sixty boats anchored on South Beach, with
hundreds of people sunbathing. Last year you might have seen half a
dozen boats at most. I signed a petition to have the town dredge the
channels as they do as Bass River in Yarmouth/Dennis, but I guess
they have no money even if they wanted to. In any case, some day soon
I might be able to walk to North Monomoy, as I believe you could 50
years ago.

Once my long trek down the beach was over I walked some deeper water
looking for cruising fish. I had my local pattern, self tied, small
shrimp (#6). After a few mins something caught my eye and I cast to
it quickly locking into a nice fish in the 20s. I got another like
that. On reflection I cannot remember catching fish based on a hunch
or some sub-conscious signal that told me where the mark was, yet not
reveal the fish. The water was about 3 feet deep and bottom covered
in grass and weeds. So seeing fish was hard. Many times you perceive
movement only by comparing what is stationery. This can lead to such
odd things when the brain thinks what is moving is still and what is
still is moving, so you end up casting to a piece of grass as the
fish sail by. Doh.

I picked up 2 more this time by seeing the actual fish and one lucky
one, by seeing an actual fish and picking up another one I did not
see.

That area slowed down, so I made my way out to the flats quite a long
way from shore. I picked a fish a bit over 30 with a 20 yard cast
that surprised me when he took. Strong fighting fish. I picked up
another shortly after, probably around 28". He was deep hooked as he
took my fly on the drop, so I judged it only fair to snip off the
fly. This broke my heart as it was my last one and I had to resort to
more common patterns that just will not work out there, especially
late season. I had hundreds of targets and I could elicit follows,
but the ending was the same.

After six hours of fishing with a half dozen fish, which is certainly
respectable by my own standards, I called it a day. Definitely one of
my better days out there.

So this is the spoiler bit. Since becoming parents my wife and I have
not been out too much -- not yet to the movies. However, having grown
up (scared ****less) listening to Jeff Wayne's 70s double LP concept
album of War of the Worlds, I just had to see the movie. Have not yet
met an American who has heard of that LP, so it must have been a
British thing. After a good day's fishing there is nothing like
dinner and movie with the better half.

Anyway, I just wanted to share probably one of the most superb bits
of acting I have seen in recent movies. Tom Cruise, who plays this
delinquent dad, had just got his pre-teen daughter through a day of
dreadful, horrific events no child should ever see. She is in a
basement trying to sleep and she asks him to sing a lullaby of a name
I forget. He says he doesn't know that one. She names and another and
the reply is the same. The close-up stays on Cruise for a long time
as you see the struggle in his eyes to try to do something, other
than be the failed father. He eventually sings her the first verse of
Little Deuce Coupe. Damn classic moment. Damn good movie.

Regards,

Gary