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Since the fishing is rather slow right now, lets hear you most memorable fishing trips...good, bad or indifferent.

Mine was 2 years ago since Mike posted his link the other day, just me and my 2 kids stayed at Taylors for the weekend and although the fishing was not off the hook we did have a great time catching spanish macs.

Another memorable trip was a catching fiasco while striper fishing off of Cape Henry. We had many multiple hookups. My dad (who doesn't fish much anymore) and my son were along for the trip. My dad had 3 on at one time on a daisy chain and thought he had bubba but instead had 3 mid to upper 20lb fish.
 

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we were fishing in the York, and it was a slow day...real slow. so we get ready to pack up, and i start reeling in on a pole. well this pole is damn near doubled over but im still bringing in line, so i know im not snagged. well a few minutes later i have everyone at the edge of the boat looking into the water to try to get a glimse of what i have hooked. well out of the murky water comes this white object. turns out that i had hooked a 3'x5' towel that MY SISTER lost earlier in the day about 100 yards away!!:eek: :wacko:

another good one. we were fishing at the 4th island during rock season. we have a newbie on the boat. we were just about to head in so im at the helm getting everything ready when i hear from the back of the boat, 'oh sh!t' and one of my buddies is rolling on the deck laughing. i turn around to find that the newbie has managed to let go of the pole while casting. (to this day i dont know how). this was one of my better poles too. so now my pole is somewhere on the bottom of the bay. well me being a total cheap skate, i start to get a torn up storm lure ready to drag across the bottom to try to hook my pole. (No Fishing Equipment Left Behind!!:nono: ) well after about 3 casts i was finally able to hook and bring it back to the boat:clap: :clap:

ive decided that i need to a) stop losing stuff, and b) try to catch other peoples equipment that they lose...

i dont have many great fishing stories that involve fish....:confused:

Mark.
 

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Ted and I were flounder fishing, had few decent fish in the box when I set the hook on a DOORMAT.There was a bit of current, but this fish was heavy, guessing a teenenager with the weight and pull.A 5-10 minute fight and tell Ted to get the net, he's close.We get some color, the net goes over...perrfect net job on a citation pair of plaid boxer shorts:D :D :D
 

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One of my best trips was last May with Darren and Greg Allen. We left at 5:30 am and got back to the dock around midnight. We went north to find a wreck but it was to windy and seas were making up. We then decided to drum fish. Ran back to the bay at set up near 13. Caught 6 blacks there. As the sun started fading into the sky we moved to the nine foot shoal and set up for reds. We caught 6 reds that looked as they came out of a cookie cutter. All of them 44 inches on the button. The only difference between these fish were the spots. We also caught 9 more black drum at that spot. Total for the day 15 blacks and 6 reds. That was some great fishing. Nothing quite like a near 20 hour fishing experience.
 

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My most memorable was last year fishing for flounder. I was by myself at one of my favorite spots when I hooked something big. I knew it was a red by the way it ran. Got it to the boat and measured it at 46". I took some pics and released it. It was utterly exhausted and took me a good 20 minutes to get it revived to the point where it could swim to the bottom.

Went back to fishing and immediately hooked into another one! 48" this time. For the next 2.5 hours, it was nearly nonstop. Ended up with six drum - 5 citations and 1 @ 45"..

My arms started aching so I decided to catch some spot for dinner since my flounder trip didn't work out right. My bicep spasmed on me and locked up tight while reeling in a 14 oz spot! Took a few minutes to work the spasm out and then I called it a day. Very good memories of that trip...
 

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My Blue marlin, my oldest son's 450lb. goliath grouper,myyoungest son's 52" red drum release were all awesome but my wife fished the norfolk angler's club flounder tournament 3 years ago and single handily whipped everyone's butt. W e had a 18 fish limit of which she caught 13 and we weighed HER 3 biggest including her first citation 7lb. 13ozs.. She won big fish and the boat took first all caught on her PINK J.B. rod. The best part was watching the two individuals who told everyone at the captains meeting the night before we were wasting our time and money as one of them would win stand there and know aLADY WITH A PINK ROD WORE THEM OUT.
 

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My most rememberable would have to be the day my father n law and I decided to go chumming for rock at the northern neck reef. It was a beautiful day and the fish were jumping in the boat one after another. There was not another boat in sight, unusual for this location. When we got home and talked about the day we later realized we were a day early on the open season.:eek:

Still laugh about that day.

Pepsi
 

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My best story to date was when my buddy and I were toggin' our favorite wreck when I hooked into something ENORMOUS. It was give and take heave-ho for thirty minutes until a dive boat showed up- which normally sends me through the roof, but this time I was in need of assistance. I asked the first guy over to go down and take a look as I thought the fish had taken me into the wreck. He said sure and down he went. A minute or two passed before he surfaced- without my monster tog. I asked what the deal was and he told me that the fish was inside a junked car on the bottom next to the wreck, and everytime he got close, that beast would just roll up the window!
 

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two or three years ago, in April, I was fishing the Maury River in Rockbridge county with my brother. We were floating the river in a canoe for trout. I hooked up with a nice one and was more interested in landing the fish than steering the canoe.. long story short, we tipped over and our gear went everywhere. I came up from under the water and saw about 20 cans of beer, tackle boxes, boat cushions, and paddles floating down the river. We were able to recover everything, including the trout, except for one rod and reel, which just happened to be my father's favorite ultralight rod i was borrowing. He was pissed to say the least.

Fast forward to June of that same year.. I'm fishing the same river with a buddy on father's day. My father was back at the cabin packing things up.. as we are floating down the river and fishing, out of the corner of my eye i see a rod on shore and paddle over.. sure enough it's my father's.. the reel was ruined but the rod was in great shape. We caught a few more fish and headed back to camp with a father's day gift.
 

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father and son float trip

Last summer we rented a house on the Shenandoah for a week in August. My brother and his children came up from Georgia to join us. I carried the lightest poles I could muster and found my 20 yr old really dusty freshwater tackle box so we could fish the river during the week. Mind you, I have never fished a river like this and certainly not for smallmouth bass. I decided to book a float trip for me and my son (not really interested in fishing) on Tues. hoping to enjoy some time with him and hoping my brother would understand that this was a trip for just me and my son even though he travelled all the way from Ga.(my brother loves to fish) All day Monday we waded up and down the river in front of the house throwing every shallow lure I could find in the box. Managed to catch two or thre 8-9 in smallies after twelve hours. The next morning Casey and I rose early to meet the guide, not knowing what to expect. Well, after a five hour float trip we had boated easily 100 smallies up to 2 1/2 lbs. It was literally like fishing in an aquarium watching the bass come out of their holes chasing our lures. Locals certainly know best.....we used white super flukes all day with fish on every few casts. Needless to say after the trip I went direcly to Walmart and bought several bags of super flukes and the entire family caght fish right at the house the rest of the week(small and largemouth up to 3 1/2 lbs).90ish fish per day. My fifteen year old became a big fan of smallmouth fishing. WHAT A WEEK OF FISHING.
 

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first time offshore I got a #120 paper bluefin (1st tuna 1st citation) boat (not me) also had a #70 yellowfin another bluefin in same class and 3-4 smoker kings not a bad 1st trip offshore! until about 26 miles off rudee one engine dies and the other threatens to overheat from added stress, end up limping in amid a growing ne wind and growing swell. I think it took an extra 2-3 hours to get in (during which time I got drunk as ****). Twas a trip I'll never forget.

Also had a memorable trip one year on Thanksgiving day w/ my dad & grandfather, we got into a good striper blitz near the 3rd island and all caught big fish casting to fish breaking on top, took fish home and had them with the thanksgiving dinner, now we a striper on the table every thanksgiving (new tradition created)

:rockon:
 

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Going South...

It was December 13th two years ago, a Friday, and fittingly so, as I remember. We met at Joe's place at "0 dark thirty", an ungodly hour to be awake. My wife had cautioned me the night before that there was a "small craft advisory". In the waning days of fall it was kind of hard to see what the skies were like except that the moon and stars were not visible, indicating a low cloud cover. Thankfully, there seemed to be no wind, but then again, we were in Hampton. The air still had the scent of lead, beer and hardy men from the recent Lead Pouring Party.

Joe ferried us to Rudee in his SUV. We were hardly awake and had some nervous, predawn chatter, interspersed with coffee. I normally don?t drink it, but I'm also not normally up at 5:30 am. The rest of his crew met us at the dock. These were all Tidal Fish boys. Known only by board names, now getting a face on the name. After exchanging greetings, we began to load the gear on the Joe's boat, an Alby with twins on the back.

One of the fellows had fished with Joe fairly regularly and knew the spreads that our captain favored and selected the lures of the day. Seems we were going for heavy metal and spoons, with an alternative of Storm Shads. These rigs were tied to perfection on 3 ways and set up on the poles, while "back ups" were hung from a rack across the stern. The BIG NET was brought up to one of the rod holders attesting to the promise of the day.

As we headed out of Rudee Inlet, where the fish were schooled up in previous day, we hoped for a short day before the front came through. There would be no dawn a breakin'. Low overcasting clouds but flat calm seas greated us. Not even the usual Rudee challenge of low breakers. The air temperature was in the low 50's, suprising for a forecasted front bringing with it rain, sleet, snow, wind and high seas on the ocean.

The fish finder told us that there was no bait, nor schools of stripers in the Rudee area so we set off to the False Cape. There we found the Therapy with it's charter trolling and pulling in a few 28's. Aquaman was also there with a charter and gave us a call, suggesting that we try further "South". Joe agreed, because he had a hunger and thirst for BIG fish, and the hopes of "paper".

So we set off south, Aquaman taking the Inshore route just off the beach, and Joe taking the "wing man" position out near the 3 mile line. This strategy let us cover the widest area visually so that he who spotted breaking fish, birds, or lit up the fishfinder could sing out and we'd drop our lines. We were cruising at about 20-24 mph. My job was to be "look out" and keep Aquaman dead in our sights. The rest of the crew made conversation talking about past exploits and their anticipations of the days "action". The skies still held.

Our search for fish was dragging us ever farther South. We passed the pier at Duck. We saw Southern Shores off the starboard. Still empty seas and skies was all we found. We started joking about not having our immigration papers in order or our passports. We wondered if Strom Thurmond would share breakfast repast with us and just how did those North Carolina boys keep the "secret" of South Carolina Striper fishing hidden all these years. Somewhere on the latitude of Manteo,......we found fish.

Now that was the good news. The bad news was that the front was now upon us. 9:30 am and the temp was plummeting. The skies grew nastier and then gave us a breakfast sampler of wind, snow flurries, and occassional mix of rain and sleet. Our calm seas grew to 4-5 rollers blowing us further south. Cape Hatteras was not an unreasonable threat to us. The only troll line that you could set up was going East to West and back again. This put you at 45 degrees to the seas and the boat would bob up an down like a cork in a malestrom.......but the fish were there!

Soon we hooked up with our first fish. A hearty HURRAH! arose from the crew. First fish aboard a 38, and they seemed to be growing. Also growing, at least within me was this primeval animal sound. It was not of a beast that was hungry and announcing its presence with a threat to its prey. It was not the low rumble of an animal declaring its territory with a threat. It was more bestial. It was more primitive. It was more threatening. It was the announcement of a force that would soon become a noise announcing the fact that you might soon see a hairy brown hole where your mouth used to be, after having your guts turned inside out to relieve the dreaded sickness. Only foul, vile behavior would follow that noise.

Attempts were made to soothe the savage beasts. Joe lent me one of his foul weather insulated suits to relieve the cold and wet that were contributing to my displeasure. It was a generous offer, but the suit made me feel like a man enveloped in a condom. The latex smell only added to my nausea. While the cold air on the face seemed to be somewhat helpful, the latex amplified that ominous rumbling.

Then it happened. The "small" 38's were giving way to 40's. Joe, at the helm, was salivating in a different manner than mine. His was the sweet taste of "paper" that was triggering his Pavlovian response. With that in mind, I told him that maybe my standing at the helm would ease my problem. Besides, I was too weak to be able to haul in one of the "monsters" coming over the side, and had proved ineffectual in managing the net in my weakened state.

Joe agreed. I get the helm and the "Barf Bucket". He gets the Penn 50 with the double clutch that just went off and was singing like a drunk in your favorite bar. Joe pulls in a 42....near paper, but not quite. What made it seem "bigger" was the 36 on the upper hook of the tandem rig. The spoons had definitely proved to be the ticket. I smiled at Joe, then I began to vomit.

Handling the boat over the next few hours, I watched the crew pulling in fish after fish. They shouted with glee at their success. They traded High Fives with relish. I maintained my post at the helm, and periodically emptied my bucket.

There is no way you can relate this kind of feeling to anyone who hasn't been there. I have tried to examine it thoroughly in the medical literature. I still am undecided as to whether it is all the inner ear or is there a "psychological" component. Is there a flawed gene in the pool? Is there a personality defect? Personally, I think it's a combination of being cold, wet, and miserable on your Busch Gardens ride without end. To me the only source of release from this condition, besides throwing yourself overboard, is to be placed on dry, stable land. There is no pill. There is no patch, that will otherwise quell this storm.

After the boys had sated themselves on the altar of the Striper, we faced another decision. Joe, being the gracious captain that he is, offered me the choice of two alternatives. One was traversing the 50 plus miles back to Port Rudee at a "reasonable" speed, involving over two hours time. The other was a somewhat speedier trip involving less that 2 hours but more of a "Head Banger's Ball". Since I was near death.......I chose the later.

Now I have read stories of what went on in the bowels of a B 24 during WWII. I had seen it on the History Channel. But I had never lived through a "Flak Attack", having been concieved after the Great War. I was now getting a first hand experience of being buffeted about by unseen forces while draped over my station reeling in pain and disgust. The boat would be airborne and then come crashing down, throwing you at first up, then down, then abruptly forward or back as the bow and stern bit into an angry sea.

Drawers would fly open and then close, on my fingers but I would still hold on to my position, unyielding in my desperation to return to port and safety. I had no further need for "le Buckette". I had spent my bowels from stem to stern and had even tied my shoes together so that they would not follow the "hairy hole" into the bucket and over the side. My knees groaned under the stress. This literally was a "break dance". In my role as a puppet I would assume positions not normally humanly possible but completely capable by a limp dishrag that was fastened to its post.

When we finally arrived at Rudee, the group began the clean up and the unloading of gear. There were also the requisite photo ops. I did not feel that I had served well during the expedition so I exited to the restaurant which offered the opportunity of a toilet which did not move. I explained my plight to the host who gratiously allowed me to use the "facilities" without ordering a meal, which he would only see again....... transformed. After recomposing myself, I rejoined the group.

We then exchanged farewells and each took our "limit". I was ashamed when I accepted mine, for I did not feel that I earned it. It was a generous offer and those two fish would have easily alleviated the famine in West Africa. This was a gift that could not be refused.

Arriving in Hampton and retrieving my own vehicle, Joe and I said farewell one last time. That?s when I told him, "Damn....that was fun! When can we go South again?". He smiled knowingly. He knew that I had no intention of suffering myself on him again.

The next four days proved bountiful for Joe. He got his "paper". All four days had "Small Craft Advisories". All four days he went with a full crew and arrived back in port with full limits. He blew out his engines on the 5th day......but Damn .......he had fun!!.....and earned the name, "Sloppy Joe", the hard way!:boat:
 

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A few years back we went off shore in not the biggest boat a 20' CC Wellcraft. This small little cloud followed us out then decided to spread and provide us with a light show. Not much fun 20 miles of shore with no protection we lower everything down and ride it out. We recover from the storm and follow it out. We hit the warmer water and are still right behind the storm and drop lines. In no time at all we are pulling on our first dolphin. Its a gaffer and as soon as its in the boat another line goes down and it anothe gaffer. This goes on for 7 big dolphin and as the storm left us behind the fish stoped. We did not have a citation but they all were within 7 pounds so we still had a great day.
 

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Lucky Lure!

Reading some of these reminded me of something that happened about 15 years ago, I was fishing the Chickahominy river for bass. I was fishing the dead trees just below Helens, using an old Rebel Wee-R that had been riding around on the dashboard of my truck for several months, long enough to fade. I was catching small bass one right after the other. After about 10 or 12 fish my partner decided to try a Wee-R so I gave him one, a brand new one that had never been in the water. I continued to catch fish after fish and he never got the first strike. About the time that I told him I was using my lucky lure I hooked about a 15 inch fish that rapped my line around a dead limb and broke my line. My partner laughed and said something like not so lucky now when about 20 yds up stream a bass started jumping trying to shake the lure. All the while I'm fighting the current trying to keep out of the snags and trying to keep an eye on the fish so I can get my lucky bait back. The fish finally shakes the Wee-R and we see it floating, just out of reach. I'm bumping off logs and stumps in the ripping tide trying like hell to get my lure back and just as I get close enough to reach it a crab pops up and grabs it! I figured it would be just a matter of minutes before he let it go but I never saw it again. We fished for about 2 more hours using every lure in the boat and never got another strike! There must have been something about the way the finish faded on the lucky lure that the fish liked that day! And crabs too!
 

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I think my best day was the day that got me HOOKED into fishing.
This is a freshwater story.
Spring break, I studied the maps, and stalked out what looked to be
an untouched stream. I parked illegally, tresspassed across a guy's yard,
and walked and walked thru the woods, knowing I'd find the stream.
Well when the land started tilting down, I knew the water was down there.
Down down down, so steep I was holding onto trees, and
finally came to the most beautiful stream, in a gorge (duh).
I cast my white rooster tail, and no kidding, the rainbow
jumped out of the water and impaled itself on my lure, 1st cast, never hit the water.
Same thing next 2 casts.
I was addicted since that wonderful experience.
Mark
 

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I went fishing in lake murry San diego california for large mouth bass back in 2000. There was a rumor that they caught 18lb largest mouth bass in the lake and the bait of choice was a 10inch rainbow trout. I started out using 8lb test with a 6 foot 4 lb leader to get some rainbows and caught about 9 or so and the last one i decided to throw in front of a log and see what happens. After about an hour or so of trying new spots i went back into a mucky part of the lake where i streanm had colored thye water and threw the trout in. Bam!! there he is. Started pulling drag and snapped the line. Well, the line was old and it broke at the reel. When the line hit the water it floated. I quickly paddled to the line , grabbed it and started pulling the fish in. It ended up being anbout a 25 inch channel catfish and didn't fight at all because he had the trout stuck in his mouth and couldn't swallow the thing.
 

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Deep Freeze Trout

In Nov 1991 the wife and I did a three week road trip to CO, N MX and AZ. It was her first trip out west and it was a sight seeing trip for her, but it was a fishing trip for me. She's great about such things. She would drop me off at a stream in the morning and go exploring, picking me up sometime later in the day.

One of the rivers I wanted to fish was the San Juan River in north N MX. We drove up to Taos and spent the day exploring the Taos Pueblo and then started the drive over to the San Juan. As we were leaving Taos it began to snow. After about 30 minutes it became dark and it was snowing so hard I couldn't see the road, so we turned around and I drove the whole way back to Taos with my head out the window trying to see where the road was. We finally made it back and got a room.

The next morning we headed out early and made it to the river. It was 17 degrees and about 6"s of snow on the ground. Needless to say I had the river to myself. My wife asked if I really wanted to fish and I told her yes, so she took off and I waded into the river. The San Juan is a bottom release fishery and the water temp was 45 so the fishing is good year round. What I didn't know was that the brown trout were spawning in the rapids and that the rainbows were in there eating the eggs. I soon learned this, however as I could see monster rainbows swimming around in 18"s of water.

I tied on an egg pattern fly and I began catching 3-6 pound rainbows on almost every cast. It was the most incredible day of trout fishing I have ever had. Ever fish would have me into the backing and I would have to chase him down stream. I can't ever begin to tell you how many trout I caught, but it was a bunch.

That night I told my wife about all the trout and she said she wanted to fish the next day. So next day off to the river we go. It turned out to be much warmer and the snow melted and in a whole days fishing we managed three fish. What a difference a day makes. There was just something about the cold and the storm that had those fish turned on.
 

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well, when i was 15 or so my mom had a place in SNUG HARBOR(near Hertford, NC)...i was more into salt from the pier but it was a had to go kinda thing(prime the pump, cut the grass, etc)...well we get down there this one time and there is a flyrod in the yeard...never tried one but loved it...that little POP when a gill hits it...so i saved my money and got my own...had a nice little lake on the property(SOLAR LAKE)kinda shaped like a 1 armed cross...now i needed a boat...found a used navy raft for $10...made my own oars...cinder block anchor...the bad thing was blowing it up...yes by mouth...dizzy for an hour...lol...went out one daywith my now "mastered"flyrod and saw a boil under some overhanging wild blackberry bushs...after losing 2 poppers i got it right...perfect cast, right on the bank, quiet...1 pop and BAM...i didn't know what it was but it was not happy...4-5 mins. later...i got him in...18" water mocision...scared me to death...caught an 5 1/2 lb bass in the same lake that pulled me all over that lake...those were the days...
 

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Chunking for tuna at anchor in the Fingers area ..... slow day, no fish, no runs, the stink of the chunked butter fish permeated the air. We had had a blackfin tuna circling the boat for several hours more interested in us as structure than a source of food. In frustration Mike "Bubba" Tomesch picked up the gaf and began feinting gaffing the fish. I had just finish telling him to stop *&^%ing with the fish when he made the perfect gaf headshot on the blackfin and bringing it aboard in a spray of blood that had us all covered! Skunk outta the boat!

On another trip Bubba was also the angler that boated a near 100-lb yellowfin on a TLD-15 loaded with 15lb test. The 30 and 50 lb class gear on board made this rig look puny. Now why did the dern fish have to go and eat the bait on that rig? Must have been the light line and leader. The fish and fight was on! The fish near spooled him, but not quite and that is all that was needed to assure we were boating the fish some 90 minutes later. What is amazing is we did not weigh anchor or move the boat in any way. He fought and beat the fish away from the boat and when he finally brought it alongside Kenny Mason was at the gaff when he dropped the gaff over the side! Now what!!?? Fortunately I had the cobia net aboard which we used to bring the fish into the box. Man!

Fishing alone in the Inner Middle Ground area on a HOT day in the middle of August. Had four rigs out chunking for cobia. Saw some finning fish swimming past down current. I am thinking cobia since afterall that is what I am fishing for in the middle of cobia season. Those are some odd looking cobia tails I told myself when suddenly one rig goes off, then another. Set the hook on one, then the other and began cranking. The one fish on the other rod came to the surface and boiled - cobia for sure I thought. NOT. I had two huge red drum on and only me to crank and net. Got this one I had on to the boat. Oh what fun it was to try to get the net under this bull red single handed but managed to do so after a few attempts. Place camera on helm in auto mode and took pic and released fish and on to the other fish. Unfortunately this 2nd fish had fouled the line on the lower unit. Fish was still on when I raised lower unit trying to dislodge the line when it broke off......

I have a few others but won't make this post too long....

Lou
 
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