“What are you thinking about?”, my dad said. “Nothing”, I answered. I was too tired to talk because I was up all night thinking about the Cod. “Well, I hope we get a few”, he said. I just nodded and nuzzled my chin back down into the old bomber jacket I was wearing. The collar smelled musty and like smoke. Some of the brittle sheep skin lining was coming off inside. It was too big but it was warm and we dubbed it the “Cod coat”.
We pulled into the Belmar marina parking lot. It was cold and the wind bit at my face and spilled down my neck. I smelled the diesel from the boats and liked it. Years later I saw Apocalypse Now and remembered the line, “I love the smell of napalm in the morning”. To this day when I arrive at the boats with my son, I think to myself, I love the smell of diesel in the morning.
We were greeted by smiling captains and mates waving us over like they knew us. “What are you fishing for today fellas??” There were ½ day Mackerel, All day Whiting and Cod boats.
“Cod”, we said and made a bee line for the one with the big COD sign. We climbed on board with our rods and a bucket filled with sinkers, snelled black cod hooks and lunch. I tried to open the heavy metal door and budged it a quarter way as it lifted up and got stuck on the track. My dad completed the task and we got a seat and table by the door. The cabin was dimly lit .The smell of cigars, cigarettes and coffee filled the air.
The fluorescent light flickered and dimmed further as the engine rattled the boat. We were off.
“It won’t be long now”, my dad said as we headed out of the inlet. My dad had told me stories of the Cod and I saw them when he brought them home, but I never caught one. In fact I had only caught Sunfish and Carp. I was only seven years old. There were no other kids on the boat, just old guys, me and my dad.
Before long we reached our destination. Back then you didn’t have to travel out too far. We left the dock at 7:30am and within an hour or so we were fishing. The mates cracked whole clams and we baited our hooks with whole clams. “Isn’t this too much bait” I asked.” They have big mouths and big bait catches big fish” was the reply. “Just keep it on the bottom”. I think he asked me if I was on the bottom a thousand times that day.
It wasn’t long before my dad had a fish on. The 7 foot 4 inch rod with one grooved guide bent the rod into a bow. The rod from what I was told was one of the first fiberglass rods made. He got two of them, one for him and one for his friend. There was no reel seat. Just a type of Chinese hand cuff , twine wrapped area to which the Penn 68 was clamped on with two hose clamps. This “rod and reel combo” always turned heads and raised questions. My dad was one who used things until it didn’t work any more. The rod and reel still worked but it had seen better days.
The fish was at least twenty pounds. It came to the surface, fat white belly and magnificent spotted sides. Fins raised, gills flared and prominent barbel. In one fell swoop the gaff was planted and the fish was on the deck. Instinctively I quickly grabbed the fish under the gills. The twisting fish cut my small hands on the knuckles and fore finger as the sharp gills raked across the skin. The mate unhooked it while I held it in pain. I dropped it in the burlap bag tied to the rail.
No cameras, no coolers, and no internet report. Just a memory burned in my mind with smoldering white hot precision.
Soon it was my turn. I was using a Penn 155 with the same type of rod.
Fingers and toes frozen, nose running, I added more flavor to the sheep skin collar as I reeled and reeled. “Take your time” my dad said. “Don’t jerk him off the hook!” Heart pumping, all of a sudden I became warm. I remember my eyes peering over the rail, neck and arms straining, I wondered if I would get the Cod in. I did. My fish was smaller but no less regal. Ten pounds or so of bristling beauty. It’s gold and black eyes lowered and stared at me as I attempted to unhook it with my numb fingers. I saw its muscles tense under its leathery olive spotted covering and stared in awe as it succumbed on the icy deck.
My dad won the pool that day. He bought everyone beers and tipped the mates well. I don’t think he kept any money that day and gave me twenty dollars. “We always split the pool”, he said. To this day I still do with whom ever I fish with.
Leif
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