Originally Posted by
Stripercoast1
Late 60's, the Norwich Striped Bass Club is out on Nantucket.
There's 10 fishermen and 1 10 year old. The buggies are lined up on the beach, nose to tail and spread just enough to keep other rigs from getting in between them, or get an easy look at the guys standing in the surf.
Prior to this the members were spread out on the sand looking for fish, reading the surf, looking for cuts in the bars. The flash of the headlights signaled someone found them.
All the other rigs crank up and head for that spot.
It was a feed of sand eels in the wash of a narrow cut, and the feed was confined to a short section of beach. 10 guys lined up, 10 feet apart, fish on virtually every cast. What was the 10 year old doing? Every time a Bass was thrown up on the sand above the wave line, I would run over, take it by the gills and drag another 35 pound or up Bass to the buggies, and bury it in the sand, placing a stick at the head of the hole to mark it's location.
I would also keep the look out for other vehicles coming down the beach. When 1 came down, I would yell out, and when the truck got close enough to see, the guys with fish on would drop their rod tips and allow the Bass to run, until the other fisherman left.
When the bite ended, shortly after sunrise, the Bass were pulled from the sand, washed and stacked on the beach. Final tally? Over 3 cords, yeah!, CORDS, of Bass. More than a dozen in the Fifties, 90% of the rest were over 40.
Makes me want to cry now.
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