On An Unsunny Day In June

Answer: Surreal.

Question: What was your first fishing tournament like?

Four of us climbed aboard the Little Grey Gull early Saturday morning. A light drizzle dampened our bags and our clothes. My father, the captain, took us out of the harbor in Westbrook, CT. As we headed out toward the Long Island Sound, the fog was all we could see.

As the FLW check boat called us, we checked in, then went out to our first fishing spot.

I want to talk about my team here for a minute. My father, as stated, was team and boat captain. He has been fishing since he was a little boy. He is as passionate about fishing as anyone I've ever met. He's also a phenomenal student, listening to other great fishermen for advice and tips. And there were plenty.

A second teammate was Frank. He had been fishing the waters off the Connecticut coast for the last thirty-plus years. He knows the spots, how to fish them, even the angles the boats should be directed for maximum performance. Many fisherman use electronics as guides. Frank uses wisdom.

Al was our third teammate. My father and I have been fishing with Al for twenty-five years. He may be the best fisherman I have ever known. He has the persistence and determination of a marathon runner, another passion of his -- he's run the last seven New York marathons and even competed in four Bostons.

I was the fourth teammate. I caught my first fish around the time I learned to walk. And while I am nowhere near the quality of fishermen I had around me Saturday, fishing is something that is part of me.

We weren't on the waters long before we caught our first striper. Frank hauled it in. It was an enormous bass, at least thirty-five pounds. Here's where it gets surreal. The fish was too big, we had to throw it back.

My father caught the next one. We were excited as he brought it in, and all four of us deflated as he laid it on the ruler, realizing that this fish was also too big.

Two fish. Seventy-plus pounds. And nothing to enter for the tournament.

The tournament rules were that the fish had to be alive and between 28 - 34 inches. Each boat could enter two fish.

Frank caught another fish. Too small. We were all getting a little nervous. Well, at least I was.

I caught the next fish. As it came in, we all thought it was going to be too small. In fact, as we laid it on the ruler, it only measured 27 1/2 inches. But, with small stripers, you could pinch the tails. We did. It made it. We were in.

Al and my father then brought in fish simultaneously. Al's fish was 31 inches. Perfect. We now had two fish. My father's was again too big.

We had to throw back three fish weighing a total of approximately 105 lbs. Each fish weighed more than the combined weight of the two we kept. Surreal.

The rest of the day was a battle with the weather. The fog was as thick as pea soup. It rained. Then it stopped. Then it rained. With each change, we had to either put on or take off our rain gear. None of us were ever able to get comfortable.

Frank caught the only other fish for the rest of the day. He caught a beautiful bluefish that we couldn't keep, as it was a striper catch and release tournament. Then he caught a fluke that brazenly bit into a jig that was bigger than it was.

Surreal.

At the end of the day, we had caught two legitimate fish. We were in the game but we didn't think we fared all that well. Both fish were at the small end of the range. In addition, there were forty-nine boats entered. We didn't expect much.

When we pulled just outside Westbrook Harbor we caught sight of the FLW boat. We reported in and told them we had fish to enter. He asked us to wait.

Then a funny thing happened. Every other boat that followed us in had caught no fish. Could it be that we actually fared well? I started to get excited again.

My hopes were dashed when we clocked our fish in at 19 lbs, 14 oz. Two fish totalling that amount. Still, we were happy that we participated.

After we docked, we went to the stage where FLW began calling places. Of 49 boats, only 18 caught fish. And of those, only half caught two fish. Suddenly our chances looked better.

We placed eighth of forty-nine. In our first ever fishing tournament we got a top ten, earned a little money and qualified for the championship tournament in Virginia in December. We fared better than many serious tournament fishermen, some who came back with no fish.

On an unsunny day in June, we shined.