AND SO IT BEGINS…
Brian and Chaz had been out in Glens Falls to celebrate
New Year’s, and we were having the post-celebratory breakfast at Steve’s Place
when they made a suggestion. Brian’s
parents had a time-share out in Cape Cod , so
why don’t the three of us spend the week out there in May. It made since
to do so, as I was now solo. The last time I’d been anywhere near Cape Cod was when my age was counted in single digits, so
that sounded like a plan. And as it was five months away, that left
enough time to secure the week off from work, and save cash for the trip.
Three young men in their late-twenties exploring what the area had to
offer (and right at end of the semester for most colleges, to boot), so that
should be interesting. Over the next couple weeks the arrangements were
made, and I looked forward to the trip.
When May rolled around, we worked
out the logistics to have Brian and Chaz drive over from Syracuse to my place, and then we’d take my
car the rest of the way. All our cars were roughly the same age (where
mileage was concerned), but there was more room in my black Sunfire than
Brian’s truck or that shoebox that Chaz drives. Bete Noire would be our
transportation for the week. The trip would only take a few hours, so
between music on the CD player and conversation, the time would pass quickly.
The Northway took us to Albany , and then
Interstate 90 took us pretty much the rest of the way. Once we reached Framingham , we grabbed a south-easterly route that would
take us towards Cape Cod (because if we stayed on 90, we would’ve been dropped
into Boston ).
There’s a canal which separates the cape from the mainland, and the major
artery for that was known as the Mid-Cape
Highway . (The canal was man-made, in order
to allow shipping not to have to circumvent the cape. Because of that,
technically Cape Cod is an island.)
We pasted the city of Hyannis , which I only know from the song “Rock and Roll
Band” (by the aptly-named Boston ).
Soon we located our destination, the town of West
Yarmouth (which was near Lewis
Bay , and the Atlantic
Ocean was beyond that). The name of the resort was The Cove.
Located on a small inlet off the bay, it was a series of long two-story
buildings, complete with tennis courts. It looked it could’ve been
college dorms or decent apartment housing, but these were condos designed to be
time-share properties. It was a very nice looking area.
Once we got settled, we set out to
drive around the area in order to get our bearings. Another reason for
doing this was to make sure we had the correct route to the docks where we’d be
meeting the chartered boat tomorrow morning. Let’s figure it out while
its daylight and have the time to do so, as opposed when it’s still dark and we
don’t want the boat to leave without us. We figured out where the berth was
(over in Wellfleet
Harbor
Since we
still had time left in the day, we stopped at a mini-golf location that was all
decked out in a sailing motif. Called
Cape Escape Adventure Golf, it was decked out with actual fishing boats,
waterfalls, and a fish pond. We had a casual game, and got some
milkshakes too. As far as I’m concern, most min-golf courses are pretty
much the same. There’s a par three hole you have to sink the ball into
avoiding obstacles. While I’ve found some courses which I didn’t think
were very challenging, I’ve never found one I didn’t like.
I’ve
noted before that I try to play mini-golf where ever I can, because it’s fun no
matter what your skill level is. (I’ve tried real golf a couple times,
which was interesting, but not enough to make want to do it frequently. Drinking at the clubhouse afterwards was the
best part about real golf.) Between the time I’d put in recently at Lake
George’s “Around the World,” and the less-crowded “Hillbilly Holes” (in Fort Ann
DEEP SEA FISHING
Normally I’m getting up for work
around 6.30ish, and rolling into the office not long after that (an advantage
of living close to your job). We had to be at the boat by that time,
because we wanted to be underway just before dawn. There was no reason to
shower that early in the morning, as I figured we’d be outside all day. And
since I’d just gotten this nice short buzz-cut, I didn’t need to put on a hat
to cover-up my messed-up hair. Brian still put his hat on, but Chaz felt
he needed to shower. Chaz had the least natural topical covering on his
head, so he needed the hat more than any of us.
We made it to the dock with plenty
of time, and were introduced to the captain and the first-mate. Chaz had
previously made all the arrangements for the charter, so he knew who they were.
Unfortunately I couldn’t recall their names any longer than five minutes
after the initial introduction. For the remainder of this narrative,
they’ll be referred to respectively as Skipper and Gilligan. No
disrespect here, just my fuzzy morning memory. (If I recalled who the
captain was, and which charter company Chaz used to book this, then it would’ve
been a great recommendation.) Once we got underway, we pretty much didn’t
see Skipper until the end of the journey, as he stayed at the helm of the boat
the entire time.
The water was very calm this
morning, and there was a cloud-cover which gave it a grey over-tone. It
didn’t look like it was going to storm, so we figured we’d more comfortable
without the constant sun beating down on us later in the day. We had our
jackets on because the morning air had a little chill in it, and more so once
the boat was moving away from the coast into the open sea. We sat on the
back of the boat a bit, and then came inside the enclosed galley section to use
as a windbreak. A light breakfast of granola bars and hot chocolate
started out morning.
After about a half-hour or so, we
arrived at the appropriate location. Skipper then cut the engine down to
a minimal amount, so we could troll the area without creating too much of a
wake. Gilligan broke out the tackle, baited the hooks, and started
setting out the lines (each line had multiple hooks on it). Four
different poles were set up, one on each side of the boat, and the other two
off the back. Instead of holding the rods until some future time a fish
bites at it, the rods were secured in metal tubes. Gilligan explained
when a fish would grab at a line, the rod would bend significantly, and then he
could easily lift the pole from where it was, and place it in tube in the chair
which was center at the ass-end of the boat (in nautical terms, that would be
the aft). Gilligan also marked some lines on the tackle box, and noted
because of the time of year, this was the minimum length we’d need to catch in
order to keep it. Everything else gets thrown back.
We decided to take turns for when
the poles bent, so we shared equally in the experience as much as possible.
Brian was seated and ready to go when the first bite happened. He
turned the handle of the spool, and mentioned it was hard to do. The hooked
fish was trying to disengage himself from the hook, thus moving wildly in every
direction, and he had traction of being in his own element. It took a few
minutes, but Brian eventually reeled the fish in. It was just over a foot
long, which was under the size limit, but it still put up quite the fight.
We all had the impression he’d reeled in something much larger. Brian commented that had taken a lot out of
him, as it felt like he was trying to bring in ten pounds (when the actual
weight was less than that).
I was next in the chair, and I was
ready. Gilligan handed me the next wildly-bending pole, and I felt the
force the fish was putting up. Whatever was down there, it was fighting
for its life. As the fish was struggling to extract itself from the line,
it exerts a lot of pressure and can use the water it swims in as traction.
Brian joked that it wasn’t as easy as it looked was it. With a firm
grip on the pole, I gave it a hard yank backwards, and reeled in the line as
the momentum brought me forward again. I’d learned that trick from
watching my grandfather fish. I was straining more than Brian had been,
so I knew I had a bigger one of the line, it was just a matter of getting it
in. The yank-and-reel routine was repeated a half-dozen times, before
Gilligan reported he saw the fish come towards the surface.
Fish is a strange word, as it’s
both singular and plural. I succeeded in hooking four fish on the line.
Okay, I hadn’t hooked them (as the bait did that), but I’d brought those
bastards into the boat. Each one was about the size of what Brian had
just brought in, so I’d just battled against four times the force he did.
Even the way I did it wasn’t easy, it still was a workout. All four
of what I’d just caught were under limit, so back in the drink they went.
When Chaz was in the chair, he had
two on the line which were larger than what had been pulled up earlier, so it
was still the same amount of fight. For the next couple hours we took
turns doing that, and the vast majority of the fish we caught were the same
size. For all I knew, some may’ve been so stupid to get themselves caught
more than once. Chaz went inside the galley to lay down for a bit, either
because the wave motion or sun had gotten to him. As the day went on, and
it got warmer, we’d shed a couple layers. Because it was still over-cast,
the sun’s rays weren’t as intense, but all the UV still came through.
Chaz had probably soaked up than he wanted to.
We had a light lunch out there, and
started making our way back into shore. Brian had caught the only fish
which was over limit, and he didn’t want to keep it. There’s no reason to
keep something you don’t plan on cooking up. It was offered to me, but I
declined also (and because fish is not something I eat much of). Chaz
wanted it, so Gilligan cleaned it, and all the meat was packed in some butcher
paper and put in the cooler. There was enough for one or two
average-sized dinner steaks. That wasn’t a lot of meat for the work which
went into getting it.
Back at the dock, we thanked
Skipper and Gilligan, and made sure to tip them well. We headed back to
The Cove for some relaxation time, as we weren’t doing anything else that
afternoon. Chaz napped, while Brian and I played cards for a bit. It
was nice to feel the solidity of dry land again, because soon we’d be back out
on the open water again.
For current information on the places visited (or
mentioned):
The Cove: http://www.coveatyarmouth.com/
Hillbilly
Holes: http://www.lakegeorge.com/hillbillygolf/
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