The Spark
Capt. Chris and his brother Nick posing with the monster back in 1998. The story of this amazing fish is below.
August 23rd, 1998, is a date I will never forget. How could you forget such an inspirational moment that most likely shaped who've you become? That evening was an exceptional one for me, as I met face-to-face with the culprit responsible for my relentless obsession with the art of fishing. It was truly magical. I still vividly remember every minute detail. Even now, I can feel my senses return to the scene as I type this. The kicker of the whole thing is...it wasn't even MY fish.
My memory kicks in a little bit before the big catch. We were finishing up a long day on the family boat. My dad, his friend Steve, and I spent the early morning fishing trolling plugs in front of Plum Island for bluefish. We were in our third season with our first boat, a 1987 Welcraft 23 Coastal Walk Around "Get Reel." We didn't use the boat much that year due to engine issues, so we cherished every time we left the dock.
Around noon, we picked up my mother and younger brother, Nick, at the dock then spent a family day down on Wingaersheek Beach. Even back then, beach days weren't my thing. I remember begging to go back fishing, only met with promises that we would fish on the way back.
As the sun slowly melted toward the horizon, my internal clock was racing. It would be dark soon, plus I wanted to get home to watch the Simpson’s season premier at 8:00 PM. Around 5:00, I finally convinced the Captain to take us back to the fishing grounds for an hour!
We started our troll at Hgh Sandy on Plum Island, where we had crushed bluefish earlier that morning, but things changed. It was a dead zone. Running out of daylight, we picked up and headed back with maybe one more shot at some fish.
As we pulled into the mouth, the sun was hovering just above the horizon line, and the sky started turning to the beautiful late summer palette of vibrant reds, oranges, pinks, and blue. We started our troll just SE of the #3 can and headed upriver with the incoming tide at our backs. Our spread consisted of my sweet Penn Spinfisher 4500 combo (My pride and joy as a 10-year-old) and Nick's Silsar $25 cheapie. I was pulling my all-time favorite bluefish lure, a black-purple mackerel pattern Rapala CD14, while Nick was sporting an old, crusty lure that was in the boat when we purchased it. I believe we lost some plugs earlier in the day (Hey, we were still learning and probably only had three lures anyway!) and were forced to throw this on as lt was the only thing we had. The lure was a black and silver, broken back Rebel Deep Diver. It was undoubtedly the first time we ever fished it.
As we started to troll, my rod goes off! Victory! A nice bluefish that we released. We set lines back out after Capt. Dad resets the boat, and BOOM! We are tight again! At this point, my 6-year-old brother Nick is in the cabin, watching a movie on this little VCR/TV we had for the boat and utterly uninterested in what is happening in the cockpit. He is checked out for the day at this point—good news for me as I got to bring a second bluefish!
We then reset lines for the 3rd time and were about to hit the spot where we fooled the two bluefish. Then, as we come down the backside of a swell, I see an image in my mind that I will never forget. Standing in the middle of the boat, facing the stern, out of the corner of my left eye, I see the #3 buoy 10:00 (Straight off the stern being 12:00), and as the tip of my brother's rod in the stern corner rod holding crosses the buoy from my line of vision, it gets SMASHED. The line is ripping off as I have never seen before! I pounce for the rod to fight the fish!. I can't get it out of the rod holder by myself. It takes the help of my mom. Then, I hear my dad says, "Hey, get Nick out here for this! He has a fish!"...Oh hell no! I whipped my head around and shot my dad the 10-year-old's "No F***** Way!" eyes and immediately shot down with "Tough S***" look." After some words, Nick emerged from the cabin, rubbing his eyes as he just got up from a nap, mildly eager to grab the rod, not caring too much that there is a sea monster on the other end of the line. I acquiesced the fish over to my brother, and now our goal shifted to the teamwork needed to get this sucker in. And boy, did we have to!
With little Nicky on the rod, the beast's strength was too much to handle. Something was going over, either him or the rod! I helped out by grabbing the foregrip and lifting while he cranked on the graphite spinning reel with a 3-year-old monofilament that came with the combo. Even ten-year-old me was nervous about the situation! Meanwhile, mamma duke was right behind Nick, holding him down to the deck, so he didn't yank right out of his shoes! The mouth is rough, especially for an incoming tide. Capt. Dad had to maneuver the boat to avoid the south jetty and regain some line! Our friend Steve, not too familiar with boating or fishing, was in panic mode about the roughness of the mouth, the chaotic scene occurring on the deck, and legitimately petrified that we were battling a shark of epic proportions!
As the boat bobs in the chaos of the Merrimack, about 15 yards out, an image appears in the water. We are finally going to get a look at this monster! We are all looking anxiously and intently, but it isn't easy to make out. The sun is lower, the water is darker, and it's more challenging to see what is below the surface. A shape appears. All we can see is a BIG white circle. I thought it was a five gallon bucket until I heard "SHARK! IT'S A SHARK! JESUS CHRIST!" Steve shrieks as he runs to the bow of the boat, rapidly replaying scenes of JAWS in his brain. "John, you're not bringing that thing on the boat, are ya?!"(This is NOT an exaggeration by any means. This really happened, and we still crack up about it to this day).
But there are no teeth in this mouth. The line angle becomes more vertical, and the fish is finally close to the boat. We still haven't confirmed. I would have immediately thought it was a sturgeon if it were nowadays. My dad grabs the gaff, and the fish turns broadside, and it's a striper so big that it had to be fake! What the hell? For three years, the biggest we ever caught was a couple of 40" fish (which were HUGE to us) and a handful of mid 30" fish. Dad takes his shot and nails it. (Please be mindful that this was a different time in the fishery. To this day, I regret that we killed it). I helped him haul it over the side, and as it lay on the deck, we all just stood over her in awe. She. Was. Big. This fish must be the biggest striper ever! After a few minutes of chest bumps and screaming, we had to head back before dark and, as a cherry on top, take this bad momma down to Surfland to get on the wall!
Yes, the wall of fame on Surfland. If you have ever been to Surfland, you know exactly what I'm talking about! Lined up on the beam are old photographs from the past 40 years (60+ now!) of 50-pound fish caught on Plum Island. How cool was this? Would we make the wall? When we got back to the dock, my dad called Surfland (From his CAR PHONE. Oh man, do I feel old now!) to make sure they were open (It was 8:30). They were about to close, but the great Kay Moultan promised she would wait for us!
We got to the store, and even Kaye was impressed! We took another measurement and confirmed 51.5", but now was the scale test. Would we make the wall? Did it hit the magical 50-pound mark, you know, the one that EVERY striper angler aspires to catch? I was getting restless with everyone talking and hanging out...let's see this thing!
We get it hung on the scale, and it hits 41 pounds! Even though it wasn't the 50 pounder I was hoping for, I was damn proud of my brother for the catch! Kaye told us it was the second biggest fish brought into the shop that year.
Then, something shifted my focus. I thought about "Man, imagine what a 50 pounder looks like?" I tilted my head and gazed up at the history up on the wall. Suddenly, this massive fish hanging 6 inches from my face seemed like a mackerel. The legends up on the wall sported the TRUE trophies of Plum Island. The idea of a more massive fish out there instantly sparked my imagination. Where is it hanging out, what does it eat, and why can't anyone catch them? I can honestly say that this was the moment that sparked my passion for fishing. I didn't know it then, nor would I be able to articulate it, but I remember the feeling. It wasn't trying to beat out my brother for the biggest fish award, but the wonder of what else is lurking that fascinated me. If I keep doing this, and maybe even get good at it, what kind of things will I encounter? Entering my 10th year as a charter captain, I set out every day excited to see what my crew and I would discover. To this day, I still never actually seen that Simpson’s episode I was eager to get home to.
.