May 29, 1997 - A Troll on the Bay of TranquilityMay 29; 1997 • The Suffolk Times • 7A
A Troll on the Bay of Tranquillity
I've been meaning to get out on the bay
to try some of the good fishing people
have been talking about. Stripers and
weakfish were in, they said. That was a
new twist for me. We were all brought up
on weakfish in the bay but not stripers.
This was something new and
I had to check it out. Flo
little outboard was
already in the water and tied
up to the dock. All I had to do
was to collect my fishing gear Na
and I'd be off. It was late in the
afternoon and luck was with by
me in that the tide was up. Steil t
Otherwise, on a low tide there
wouldn't be enough water to get the boat
out, but then that's the way we lived years
ago on the creeks. Most of our creeks have
been dredged and it has taken the heart out
of them. Now boats can get out no matter
what the tide, but I often wonder what
price we paid for that luxury.
At the touch of a button the motor rum-
bled as the blue smoke bubbled out of the
water behind the boat. Once warmed up,
this would clear and the motor would puff
like a kitten. The salt marsh is slow to
renew itself and still has its winter coat of
dead and fallen grass on its flat meadow
surface. Few realize the importance of
these fallen blades of grass. They are the
future nutrient builders that will soon add
to the compost of the marsh. Laden with
years of accumulation of filtered material
from the daily tides that wash over them,
their now - decaying mass will provide the
nutrients for the plankton and zooplank-
ton that abound
`in a more in our creek.
These feed the
perfect world multitude of
the creek tiny organisms
that start the
marsh and bay food chain we
at the top will
would all be enjoy as food;
working in striped bass
and weakfish,
harmony clams and scal-
lops, and a host
together.
of others.
I had picked
out one of the quiet evenings for my trip
out onto the bay. That chilly ever - present
wind had finally given up as I moved
along at a slow speed through the twists
and turns that came almost automatic to
my touch. I've known these waters since
I was a kid and I'm sure I could have got-
ten out blindfolded if I had to. As I passed
the sandy point at the mouth there were
three fishermen working off the beach,
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one casting the usual way with a spinning
rod, the other two working the water with
fly rods. That's a relatively recent
approach to saltwater fishing here. It's a
good sign, for it shows that those working
their fly rods are truly out for the sport of
fishing. They are a new breed.
It looked interesting and chal-
cus lenging and I made a mental
On note to look into it.
The marker buoys, new in
tore their shiny coats of red and
green, had just been put in
Pahl and bobbed in the wake of my
eetnlrgh boat as I passed them by. I'd
try over at the black docks,
where years ago we used to troll for
weakfish. The osprey platform that has
been repositioned many times had a
whitish head looking over the edge at me
as I passed by. Evidently Mrs. Osprey
was sitting tight on her two or three
brown mottled eggs. For over 15 years
she's been coming to this platform to
raise her young and fishing with far better
luck than most of us in these local waters.
Protecting the Plover
I could see signs along the beach warn-
ing people to stay clear of the piping
plover and tern nesting areas. These
endangered species nest right on the
sandy beach among the stones and shells.
Both these birds deserve our help and
protection. Many volunteer workers are
doing their part in posting and monitoring
these sites in hopes of improving the
birds' nesting success.
I put my line over and cut the engine
back to a slow trolling speed. I was over
the area where years ago I'd had some of
the greatest fishing I'd ever experienced.
Weakfish were plentiful then. Back and
forth I went, with little success. Why
would one time be productive and years
later not even a strike? Had the bottom
changed? Could it be there are no bait fish
around? I'll probably never know. Yet
reports were that fish were around so I
tried another spot.
By now the sun was almost set and the
sky was aflame with color. It was the right
time to be out on the bay. Houses along
the water's edge brought back memories
of the kids I once played with. As time
moved on, wars came and went and we
all drifted apart. Life is made up of con-
tinuous changes — new owners buy
waterfront houses and rebuild, put on
additions and manicure their lawns. Yet
from offshore, there doesn't seem to be
much change.
I'd try fishing back at the mouth of the
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creek that used to
be productive years
ago. Back and forth
I trolled in the mag-
ical world of sky
and water. Any
other time of the
day it wouldn't
have had such a
hold on me but that
evening I drifted off
into a mood of con-
tentment, caring lit-
tle if I caught a fish
or not.
On one of the
trolls my luck
changed and I got a
strike. Nothing big
but something was
there. I shut off the
engine and slowly
brought in my
catch. It swam deep
so I couldn't tell
what it was until I
finally pulled it up
alongside the boat,
a small 14 -inch
striped bass. It lay
on its side; the fight
had gone out of it. I
reached down into
the dark water and
grabbed the fish
that seemed to
come to life for a WEAKFISH —
moment. The hook commorl in earl
was soon out and I disappeared. L
slowly opened my being caught.
hand; the fish lazily dance that is s
moved away, then
realizing it was free darted out of sight.
So stripers were in the bay and, as report-
ed, most were undersize but then that's a
good sign, for it shows that the fish are
reproducing and moving up the ladder to
where the big ones some day will be. I
made two more trolls and then headed
back home.
Suffolk Times photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
Years ago these silvery beauties were
I May. Then for some years they all but
ately there have been reports of some
Could this be the pendulum of abun-
winging back?
Home Again, Home Again
By the time I reached the mouth of the
creek the fishermen had all gone home
and in their place was a great blue heron
that took up their fishing spot. Inside the
creek the great white egret stalked in its
deliberate hunting fashion along the edge
of the marsh. Here was the world of
predator and prey that has gone on since
the beginning of time. The heron might
be taken by the sly and cunning fox that
patrols the marsh edge, the killifish the
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heron hunts eats the plankton and zoo -
plankton and I, the predator, at the top of
the food chain might have eaten the
striper had it been big enough. The cycle
goes on and on.
By the time I got back lights were twin-
kling in the houses around the creek edge.
A late call of a robin still could be heard to
the north. In a more perfect world the
creek, the marsh and the bay would all be
working in harmony together, but it is
having a difficult time working that way
today. Man is constantly changing,
degrading and altering his world even
though in his eyes everything seems to be
working out fine. Yet there are small flaws
here and there. Whether we can limit these
flaws now and in the future will depend on
just how well we understand and manage
these precious resources that make our
East End so attractive to all of us.
on., D halley
F A..
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