Hank’s Big Bass

It’s high season for the striped bass (I like how the old timers pronounce it “stripe-ed”) on Cape Cod, so at a Friday night family cookout the cellphone call came from a buddy fishing at a UDL (undisclosed location) with the news that he had just landed a large fish and there were more where that one came from. After making social with the wives and kids, the men-folk went into stealth preparation mode, everyone running to garages to dust off fishing rods and dig out rusty lures.

My brother Henry, besieged father of a 10-month old who has the bewildered look of a man who wonders if diaper pails last forever, wanted to go, but needed to check for permission first. I swung into big brother duty and asked for him, secured the yard pass, and off we went, bouncing down a dirt road in a truck loaded with rods, beer and eels.

Henry was under-equipped, had ancient line on his reel, but made his way out into the darkness and out onto the end a stone jetty. The rest of us hung back at the truck, drinking beer and rigging up, telling fish stories and admiring our buddy’s first fish, the one which drew us there in the first place. It was a perfect night, lights winking on the horizon of Nantucket Sound, just enough wind to keep the no-see’ums away.

“Yee-haw!”

We stopped talking and looked out towards Henry. Another “yee-haw”. Then another.

I walked down to the waterside with my youngest son.

“Look at the size of this fish. I think it’s the biggest I’ve ever caught.”

Henry was bent over the fish on the beach beside the jetty. He had indeed caught himself a nice bass.

There was much posing for the camera and fish for the family dinner.

Author: David Churbuck

Cape Codder with an itch to write

0 thoughts on “Hank’s Big Bass”

  1. yee haw, that looks like a 38-inch fish. And you guys got two of them at night? Way to go. how far were these fish away from the shore, 100 yards, David?
    No stripers down here. the nearest ones are out on the Colorado River.

    Be well

    Jim

  2. The fish were at our feet, feeding on little green crabs tossed around by the surf. Close guess on the fish — 40″ I believe.

    I don’t keep stripers. Too pretty and as the man said, “They fight like the Sunday Times and taste like ’em too.”

  3. Nah. No fly for Henry. Though he is a mean flycaster. We were lazy and went with spinning rods and bucktails. The bass were dining on green crabs.

  4. beautiful fish..
    the fishing gods are merciful towards new fathers, it seems. I catch more in the stolen half-hours I get now, than I did fishing all day long in the halcyon days of independence..

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  6. We finally found Hank, but on a picture.
    Old friends from Barcelona, Oriol and Karma, need to contact him as soon as possible.
    Is he really a father? 🙂
    Hank, we miss you! we want to know about you!
    Write us!

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