Fishing

Above is a dimly lit shot of Milford Haven looking towards the Hole in the Wall and the ice plant. I took this from the public landing on Gwynn's Island.

(Forgive me if it's not the ice plant. Just play along. That's what I've always called it. Mathews Mark will set me straight, no doubt. Before he does, let me just say that whatever it is officially called, my father worked there as a teenager, and ice was involved somehow or another.)

Speaking of the Hole in the Wall, which reminds me of fishing nightmares trips with my father across the bay, I'd like to take a day moment to talk about fishing.

Since Mathews is surrounded by water, most people here have gone subsistence pleasure fishing at some point or another. (Commercial fishing is another topic entirely, but rest assured Chesapeake Bay Woman has some stories about that.)

Some folks are fishing fanatics. Some are unwilling captives held hostage on a boat with their parents. Some have to listen to inane CB radio chatter while breathing in fish fumes. Still others are are lying down in the cabin turning green from yet another bumpy trip across the bay.

My parents used to take the Chesapeake Bay Sisters fishing way too often quite a bit back in the day. We bottom fished. We trolled. We sometimes turned green from bouncing like a cork in the middle of the choppy bay. We sometimes swore we were never going across that bay again.

The nearby Mud Hole, at the mouth of the Piankatank River, was one of my father's favorite spots since it was so close to our creek. I remember catching so many spot there, you could almost put away your fishing gear and watch them jump in the boat. Spot and croaker are so plentiful here I grew to dread the smell of fried fish coming from the kitchen, because that meant a plate full of crust and bones. Spot are small, bony fish. Give me a nice filleted flounder any day. Please.

Anyway, he also took us way down the Piankatank River, where we did some trolling. Funny, but I don't recall ever catching one single fish while trolling. Those lures were sure fun to play with though. Except for those pesky hooks.

In adulthood I haven't done much fishing, but the few times I have gone are quite memorable.

For instance, there was the time I went surf fishing down in Nags Head on one of the windiest days of the year. It was blowing a gale, and the surf was rough.

Did I mention I had never done any fishing in the surf before? Well, that's because we don't do that around here in Mathews. We bottom fish on nice, calm creeks and rivers. Or we troll, which means you don't even have to touch the rod, the boat does all the work.

Anywho, I was with a bunch of folks who knew what they were doing with this whole surf fishing thing. Not wanting to let on that Chesapeake Bay Woman--hailing from Mathews County, the spot and croaker capital of the world--had never cast out into thundering surf, I just took a few moments to observe them.

No problem. They seemed to be doing it with the greatest of ease. Piece of cake!

Actually, it wasn't a piece of cake. It was a piece of back.

As in, Chesapeake Bay Woman waded into the thundering surf, and as she attempted to cast out towards that vast expanse of ocean, she hooked herself in the back.

The End.

Let's hear your fishing stories.