This was supposed to be my day, the day. It's Thanksgiving week. The winds swung around from the west. It's the fall run in full effect. Clash, bang boom. I was out the door by 430 am taking the ride to somewhere to no doubt get in on some of the action, somewhere. I'd be doing the day solo but knew the two Leif's would be out sometime in the morning. At least I'd have another set of eyes somewhere in Monmouth County.
I beelined it to Long Branch for no other reason then that's where I chose. The day before I filled up the truck with oil, boosted a rear tire's air from 23 to 38 pounds, and topped off the fuel tank. I was ready. My thought was to hit Long Branch, then go north, and then hit points south not knowing where I'd end up. For me it's usually a north or south thing with the Manasquan Inlet kind of the Mason Dixon line. I hate swinging around Wreck Pond to hit Sea Girt and then having to do that big swing down into Point Pleasant. While it's only a few miles mentally it's just a commitment to either continue a torturous day or head into blitzing bass bliss.
This past weekend the Atlantic Saltwater Flrodders held their annual Fall Classic. I usually go every year but rolled the dice and held strong to my commitment to get things done around the house. While the venue had changed due to the demolition of the Island Beach Motor Lodge the new location and change in the dates had the boys comfy and on the bass, which is something
new because in year's past it's been more about the hang then the fishing. Well they did good this year not only getting some fish, but good ones as well. So coming off that news I knew there were fish around, even thought I chose points north to play.
Long Branch just before first light was dead so I moved up to Little Monmouth. There were a few guys on the beach and bait in the wash. It was bunker within range and white bait or sand eels in
the wash. There were dimples and swirls along the scarp and I hoped it was bass but for me it turned out to be nothing but hickory shad. The pod of bunker, or bait, moved quickly down the beach and just before I drug up to head north I saw a familiar face. Andrew Hamilton was off from
packing up the soon-to-be closed Orvis Princeton store and was looking for his first bass of this fall run. We decided to walk towards the tight bait cloud that seemed to be moving towards the beach. In it we could see good feeds as larger bass were blowing up from time to time. But it became a what-to-do? Continue to walk down to Pier Village or make a hard stop and walk back and play leap frog?
We made our way back to the viewing stand and met up with Bayshore Flyrodder's John Gillis who had started his morning up in Sandy Hook. He findings really threw a monkey wrench in my plans as he found nothing promising up north. We decided to jump in the trucks and head up to
the old Coast Guard Station for a look. It was more of the same. A flat ocean with barren beaches and nothing building in the water. So we went south to see if we could cut that pod of bait and bass off down in Long Branch. We wound up getting separated and my old iPhone 5 crapped out so we lost contact. I don't think it mattered because Long Branch looked like the rest of the water we scouted.
It was around 9 o'clock and I had already been at it since 530. I was hungry and losing hope so I made a stop at the Bagel Guys Deli in West End for a quick bite. It's a place I was
familiar with because it was our go-to when I worked in the psych unit at Monmouth Medical about 10 years ago. I ordered an everything bagel, scooped out and toasted, with scallion cream cheese and a large coffee. I was shocked when it came in at just below 11 dollars. 11 dollars? I asked the lady how was it so expensive and the twenty-something girl behind the counter looked at me cross-eyed. Everyone else who ordered just took it on the chin and held their phone up to pay. I was using cold hard cash and thought it was just to much. I knew she was thinking "Old-man where have you been?". The large coffee was $4.50. That's is too much, especially for an average cup of Joe. Although the bagel was spot on. It all just added to the start of a disappointing day.
I drove south and headed to the start of Deal thinking I'd just find my own fish. Maybe I should fish some structure and might find a cruiser or two sniffing around for some bait in the trough. It was just before the flip from high to outgoing and there was plenty of water from the nicely cut up beaches from the recent storms we had a few weeks back.
It took me about twenty minutes to get out on the rocks because memory told me the last time I was here I face planted when my near flush studs took me for a ride off the top of a large flat rock. I found a good perch and fished, well made a 100 casts before landing another hickory shad. That just added to the bad taste from the overpriced breakfast. I was feeling the day was done.
I had committed to the day. This was going to be my fishing day. If you live close then these kind of outings are hit and miss and don't mean much in the end . Hit them to not there's always tomorrow. But when you live far away and make plans for "this day" then the hopes are high. I thought about just heading home and catching a 1 o'clock staff meeting, but that wasn't my original plan, and I was sticking to it. But while crossing the Mansaquan Inlet makes me feel like Washington Crossing the Delaware what almost drove me west was the thought of having to sit in all those lights down Main Street in Asbury Park. In the back of my head I was just looking for a reason to bail out.
As I made my way around Fletcher Lake I saw a few birds high in the sky so I parked and looked. There was some bird action north into Ocean Grove just on the other side of the off-limits pier. A few guys were fishing off the ends of the short groins heading up towards Asbury Park. Between the piers I could see a head boat approaching, it was Captain Ron's The Fishermen, and I thought, "If he's this south then this day sucks". And it was, and it did.
A guy waking past stopped and we talked. He said he had fish the evening before on the lower tide. It seems late afternoons have been the ticket. But it wasn't noon yet and I had no intention of making this a twelve hour day. I was done.
I could have made a right before the Shark River Inlet and headed home but I thought at least a drive down into Sea Girt might be worth it. That drive through Belmar gives you a good view of a good portion of those beaches. There were a few boats and a few guys out on the groins. In the
distance I could see a bunch of boats in tight. I stopped near the old Essex-Sussex House. When I looked over I was at Mercer Street, my new adopted county, and I thought it might be a hidden good luck charm. I brought out my real camera in case there was something happening on the beach. As I stopped at the stairs I met up with Bill Hoblitzell who was just getting out. We talked and he too confirmed that it has been a late afternoon thing with some mid-day action in lower Monmouth to down in Ocean County. He made me feel a tad better when he said this has been a tough fall.
We watched as the boats shuffled around each other working the large bunker pod. In was more of a line of bunker extending from Long Branch down to Spring Lake. In all my stops, and watching the boats, I saw more snag and drop fishing then anything else. I didn't see snag, reel in, rehook, and drop, so I guess most are using those "legal" circle hook contraptions I talked about the other day.
Now what to do? I missed the opportunity to swipe in at work to put a few dollars in the kitty. I wasn't waiting for the drop later in the day. But I wasn't done. I still had hope.
I drove north from Spring Lake into Belmar and over the bridge. I like Bradley so I parked and figured this would be it. In recent years I've been lucky to have made stops around there and have been one of the first ins to a solid blitz. Maybe history would repeat itself. I watched as boats stayed close to the inlet on the dropping tide. Maybe the bait was being flushed out on the drop and bass were patrolling the outgoing water. But the boats were annoying to watch. As soon as the birds would gather up they would motor in, and through. If you look above you can see what I saw, birds just off East End Avenue.
I walked up and out nearly doing another Triple Lindy making my way from a deep trough in front of the beach end of the groin and up onto the rocks. I made my way to the tip and of course birds always look closer then they really are. But there was life in the area and for the first time I felt optimistic. I was feeling good until that stupid US Army Corp of Engineers survey boat came and made it rounds up and down both sides of every groin and as tight to the beach as it could. It couldn't have been a good thing churning up every inch of the gin-clear water that may have held fish.
After the survey boat moved out the birds started to bunch up again. I was in position and ready. Then here comes the boats. You can see above what I'm talking about. And just like that it fizzled out. The boats motor in and then turn and motor around to the next flock or bunker slick. I stuck around for a bit walking the beach like a loser before calling it quits.
Back at the truck I took off all my stuff and broke the rod down and actually put it in the rod tube. Usually it sits in four pieces in the back sliding out from time to time when I open the door in the parking lot of Home Depot. Not only was I done for the day, but might be for the 2025 fall run.
But before I drove around the Shark River and to get on 195 I went back into Belmar. There were birds doing what birds do. It would have taken bluefin breaching to get me to get my stuff all together and back on again. And as I watched I could hear the roar of the motors as the boats moved in and sat birds down.
And just as I watched the action through the long lens I could hear the sound of another motor entering my ear canal. I looked up and there was that G-dam survey bait running down the beach.
It was the nail that sealed an already sealed coffin. I thought back to any potential action I might have had on the end of the groin in Avon. I thought of Frank Pallone and another round of beach replenishment. I thought that today sucked. It was torture. If I had a bazooka I would have gave aim, just to make me feel better.
When I got home I looked down on the speedometer, 147 miles traveled for todays outing. I don't think I'm doing it again. This is Quit #1. While I may be tempted to venture out in 24 degree morning weather in early December for "An epic sand eel bite" I think I'm done this year.