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Here's one of my latest stories that is heading for an upcoming book that I am finishing up...hope you enjoy it.

An Epic Surprise
By DJ Muller

It was 2006 and the good times had come back to the Garden State in the terms of striped bass fishing. For few years previous the adult menhaden had made a mighty return to the shallow waters of New Jersey and its beaches. The time period from May until early July gave the surfcaster a legitimate shot at hitting a bass that up to that point was only available in dreams! After all it was in the 80’s that we almost said good-bye to the striped bass completely. If it were not for the action and sacrifices made by the many involved, the striper could have well disappeared from existence. Now it was the complete opposite, there were bass all over and large were common.
Let me explain to you what the common scenario was. Huge schools of adult menhaden would swim into the shallow waters of the northern Jersey beaches. This type of action ranged basically from the bottom of Long Beach Island all the way north to Sandy Hook. The northern third of the Jersey coastline. With the bunker, as it they are commonly known, came huge bass, bass exceeding 50 and 60 pounds and probably bigger, the average between 25 and 35 pounds. At any time the bunker would come to the beach, I mean right into the trough, hot on their tails where striped bass and sometimes big bluefish. There would be times when the bass would launch all out attacks on these schools causing all hell to break loose. Any surfcasters in the vicinity, providing their equipment was adequate, would cash in with stripers that would make any surfcasters season highlights and maybe even career highlights.

It was late afternoon approaching evening when I drove down a quiet street and drove up to the beach. A beautiful summer’s afternoon offered beach-goers, joggers, tourists, bicyclists and everyone that warm summer afternoon’s brought out of the woodwork, it was that time of year. Upon getting to the boardwalk rail, I immediately noticed a huge school of bunker down in the wash 100 yards from where I stood, I knew I had to act quickly so I hustled back to my truck and geared up as fast as I could.

Waders: check! Waderbelt: check! Plugbag: check! Camera: check! Rod and reel: check! I was good to go. Off I went and to my delight the fish had held in the vicinity. Sometimes they would come into the wash, but then in the time it took you to don your gear and get back to the beach they would be long gone with no return eminent. I had a good bass on my first cast, the kind of start I like! These were all good sized bass too mind you, small bass don’t chase the huge bunker some that weighed over two and a half pounds or better. The bass were big, hungry, aggressive fish. If you give one of these fish a good presentation, fast to a good fish you would soon be.
My drag zipped as I watch my rod resemble a bent finger point towards the horizon. After some back and forth I have a bass of about 22 pounds on the beach, I quickly unhook it and released it. After my release I couldn’t help but notice the amount of bunker and the size of the bunker that were off to the right of me. Seeing the huge dark stain of a bunker school the size of an Olympic-sized swimming pool, within casting distance, is one thing but seeing the same school with huge bas blowing through it quite another mind you!

The beach had become spotted with surfcasters, ,many engaged, but it was in no way shoulder to shoulder not even close, plus the school of bait and fish spread over a three block area. I hooked and landed a couple more low-30 pound bass and I walked south towards where my eye saw some of the great surface action where bass were blowing these bunker three to four feet out of the water. I walked around this high, stubby jetty and looked further south to see a sight that would burn into my memory for the rest of my days. From where I stood, the next rock jetty sat about 250 yards away to my south, in between me and the jetty, from where the water touched the beach out to about 40 yards off the beach, the water was solid black with anxious bunker, the bass had them hemmed in, and the sight was sobering.

On this particular day I was using a Yo-Zuri Surface Bull that I had sanded down from its original colors of pink and yellow and then re-painted a dull primer white. The original color pattern had failed me miserably in a hit of big bass a few weeks earlier where I threw the lure over and over and over with no fish while the guys to my right and left had big bass on every cast. I am superstitious like that.
I cast my lure long and retrieved it. I watched it move to the back of a breaking wave and watched it as it plunged through the white water, it was sizing up to be an uncommon fishless retrieve! The lure splashed its way to me and I readied to lift it from the wash and recast when suddenly the popper exploded in a flash of white spray. It caught me totally off guard. The fish turned and dumped line from my reel, it was the best fish I had hooked this spring and I tightened my grip on the rod and the tip high. This fish was smoking my reel and my senses went to all out, I knew I had a fight coming and I was fairly certain that I hooked my first 40 of the spring, I was all jacked up as the adrenaline raged through me. The fish ran out about 75 yards and then thrashed on the surface for a seconds before diving and making another powerful run. “Holy ****!” I thought. This could be a 50!

I knew that if I was patient with this fish there was no way that it was going to beat me. I always re-tied all my knots to my braid and put a fresh 80 pound monofilament leader on every time I went out or got ready to go out. My duo-locks were big and new. I left no stone unturned as far as equipment. My Van Staal 200 and my eleven foot All-Star rod where up to the task, I just had to wait for this cow to tire. I relaxed as I knew I had this girl beat.
As my confidence continued to peek the big fish then made a move that again I didn’t figure on. She made a turn and then steamed north. North right towards the jetty that I had just passed a few minutes earlier. “Oh ****!” I thought. I never even thought about the fish turning north but she did and it was going full steam ahead. She was going to go around the jetty and break me off, damn! I tried in vain to stop her or turn her but I quickly realized that there was no way that was going to happen. What was I going to do now?!

I had to either stop this fish or I would lose her to the jetty and she was too loaded up and fresh (what I call “green”), I couldn’t stop her run towards the jetty so I did a quick assessment of the situation. I quickly admitted to myself that I may have had just one shot. How? Well where most of New Jersey’s jetties are long and relatively low to the water, my “mountain” was unusually short but higher than most. I quickly decided that I was going to try to lift my rod as high as I could and hopefully clear the jetty. It was a far fetched ideal…but maybe!

As the fish approached the tip of the rock pile I grabbed my rod at the very end of the butt and pulled what I nick-named, The Statue of Liberty Play.” I lifted it high over my head. I stood as high as I could on my tippy-toes, then I shot off a quick prayer to the big man as I stumbled my way around the jetty. I snicker now wondering who may have been watching me and wondering what the heck I was doing.
Well believe it or not, and I still don’t believe it to this day, that bass (and my line), cleared that jetty tip and the fight raged on. Now on this side of the jetty, the north side, the beach at the pocket was deep and turbid with hard pulling currents and crashing waves. Where I am usually not shy about going into the water to “wrestle” a fish, this water looked just a little bit too deep and rough for my comfort zone as the waves this night where of decent size and power. I couldn’t risk it. I had what I had now determined was a 42 pounder on the business end and I was looking to close out this epic battle that was now approaching 10 minutes in duration. The dusky evening sky was now running to black.
I leaned back extra hard and pumped the fish to me, she was still a reluctant participant, a real warrior! At long last and in no easy terms I finally saw my barrel swivel but still have yet to see this “BEAST!” I couldn’t wait so I carefully went into the water waste deep and grabbed the huge striper and dragged her up onto the sand, I breathed a sigh of relief and reached for my Boga grip on my belt, I wanted to weigh this fish!
I read my scale three times, it bounced at she swung her tail 26, 32, 27, 30…it steadied…28.5 pounds! What?! No way! That is it?! I couldn’t believe that a fish of this strength, that battled the way it did, didn’t even break 30 pounds! I have some heavy-weights under my belt and I thought for sure this one was in their class. I was in disbelief!

I finally caught my breath unhooked my trophy and quickly walker her down into the water. With the thumb of my left hand in her mouth and my right hand around her tail I steadied her in the pounding surf and gave her time to get her oxygen levels back up to where they should be and to rest for a few seconds. I stayed with her for a long while until I felt her kick. I then tightened my grip on her a little bit more, I wanted to be sure this one lived to swim another day. It had given me a memorable battle and I owed to her. After a couple more minutes and a couple waves over the noggin, she clamped down hard on my thumb and fought me. I released her tail and pushed her into the warm night-waters of early-July and watched her disappear from sight. Something deep inside me felt satisfied. I collected myself, breathed a cleansing exhale and thought about the battle, turned and headed for home. It was an epic battle that finished with a unexpected surprise.

Bravo!! What a great story, thanks for sharing it with us!

awsome storey

WOW !! Felt like I was right there with you !! Loved that "JETTY MOVE" !! When the Book comes out I'm In !!! Thanks for sharing a slice !

12 more posts and you can sell it.

those are the moments that give reason to our gentle insanity.
thankyou for sharing
ahh.. Yes..The Spring,,Bunker.. soon..

Rick..stillcasting wrote:those are the moments that give reason to our gentle insanity.
thankyou for sharing
ahh.. Yes..The Spring,,Bunker.. soon..

ST Patty day we get bunker.

Great story DJ!!! We were fortunate enough to have DJ as a guest speaker at our fishing club last year and let me tell you he is a nice guy and one hell of a surfrat!!! Looking forward to the new book!!

asbury guy wrote:

Rick..stillcasting wrote:those are the moments that give reason to our gentle insanity.
thankyou for sharing
ahh.. Yes..The Spring,,Bunker.. soon..

ST Patty day we get bunker.

and at times before that!

I love good fish that puts up a fight like they were twice their size.

Weights always throw me for a loop so I am guessing with the size of the bunker around it was an upper 30” fish? I would bet if that fish learned its lesson and is still swimming, it has become a fish that will make someone just as happy as you were the night you caught it.

Congrats and good luck with the upcoming book .
:read:

I had a couple fish up north last fall that I was sure were in the 30 pound-class...I mean guarantied...when I lit them up both were high teen fish...I couldn't believe it. The water was cooler and the fish were well fed-super high energy level...I was like

Great story Dj.... I enjoyed that!

Awesome story DJ, a fantastic read.

Awesome Read DJ. When the Book comes out I'm In !!!

You guys want another one???

Bang for a Buck
Mike DeSimone

It was October 1981 on Cape Cod. It has been stated by some as the best year ever for catching striped bass, especially big bass from the surf. There were a lot of big fish taken that year a year perhaps that will never be repeated; it was the year Tony Stetzko got a his first 60 and then shortly there after his the World Record 73 pounder. Long Islander Steve Petri had a 69, Cape local Branny Higgins had a 67, another handful of lesser known 60’s, and then countless 50’s. Tony Chiarappo had one of his 60’s along with many 50’s taken that year.
This night was another for the record books as these guys were hitting big stripers at Pochet, heading back towards the Orleans bathing beach. They hid their trucks up in the dunes out of view so as not to be seen by anyone. Stealth was very important as to not give away your spot to the throngs of people that sought the big bass in the day. On this particular night there was a group of about 8 guys working the surf and the big bass were active. A hundred trucks rode up and down the beach that night with headlights occasionally blinding the guys casting as well as shining lights on their spot, an action widely frowned upon in surf fishing.
There was a huge swell rolling in that night from the east, perhaps the remnants of an offshore storm. It was a calm night, there was no wind, flat water accompanied this huge ground swell and it was causing huge ten foot waves to crash upon the beach. This had no impact on the fishing what-so-ever.

As the guys fished away into the evening, the night’s silence and concentration was suddenly broken by an unbelievable commotion. A huge 8-point buck comes running out of the dunes and the deer is going berserk! Bucking like a bronco, running crazy all over the place, in between trucks, up and down the beach. The guys were scared to death, yelling and screaming with no place to run, they are pressed against the edge of the water wondering if they would have to jump in to save themselves from this out of control beast.
Suddenly the lunatic buck makes a turn and heads straight into the surf and smacks head-on into one of these huge cresting waves that are breaking on the beach. The wave and the buck collide and the huge deer falls lifeless into the wash as it broke it’s neck and was killed instantly. The wave then washed the deer up onto the beach.
It was the weirdest night ever for a surfcaster, now instead of guys yelling and screaming in panic, everyone stands in dead silence and disbelief in what they just witnessed.

Well after this these two guys from Orleans, one the son of a well known tackle shop owner Mac Reed, that were there fishing, immediately recognized an opportunity. As far as they were concerned they were just handed two hundred pounds of venison steaks. So although the fish were “in” and big fish were being taken, these guys opted for the venison, leaving several 50’s and 40’s that were caught by those there, on the beach that night. They loaded the deer into the back of their truck and off they went to dress out the deer. Everyone else went back to the good fishing that the night offered, like nothing had happened.

SURF & TURF
GREAT STORY

Now that is killer surf

DJ
Thanks for this what a great way to spend a Friday morning at work while it's freezing outside. I wish there were more! Cant wait until the mud warms up.

I could tell some great drinking stories after fishing but its no fun unless everybody has a beer withe me while I tell them.

could you imagine,, having that night with those unbelieveable huge fish! What does surprise me is there are no bucktail final endings.
Thanx for the readin and imagining

Here is another from "Striper Tales" for your cold month reading pleasure:
Please enjoy!


Lights in the Night
By Mike D.

It was September 1982 on Coast Guard Beach in the town of Eastham, Massachusetts on Cape Cod. Art Cestaro was working a stretch of beach on this particular night he was doing quite well for himself. The beach was closed to vehicles so he walked surfside throwing eels. He was by himself and he was hitting some really good fish, fish up into the 40 pound-class. He had 6 or seven fish on the beach and was slowly following the fish south, as they moved he moved with them. (This was in the day of selling the fish you caught. It was common to throw your fish up onto the beach as you caught them and then you would gather them up on the walk back to your parking spot).
While battling one fish something to his left caught his eye. He noticed all these white spots floating around, it was like he was seeing stars, he could not believe it, he racked his brain and shook his head but for the life of him could not figure out what it was that he was looking at. He thought that perhaps he was having a stroke or maybe aliens had invaded the planet and being that he was alone he was starting to get a little scared. He got the fish he was fighting up, threw it up on the beach and walked further south and cast again. Again he was into a fish immediately and again he noticed these lights, they were all over the place moving all around, he was just couldn’t figure out what the heck was going on.
Suddenly a small black boy appeared out of the darkness and he was carrying a very small penlight, he was waving it and shining it all around. Art recognized instantly that he was not in fact going nuts and what he had seen was just a group of kids on the beach all carrying small lights. The kids where part of a project where they brought city kids down to the shore to learn and experience life on the Cape.
Going from seriously not knowing what the heck was going on (questioning his own sanity or health) to realizing that it was a bunch of city kids just running a muck on the beach made him feel a lot better.
While fight his next fish one of the kids says, “Hey mister you got one?” The kids were all ecstatic running in front of him trying to get a glimpse at the fish. Art says “Yeah I got one now stay back I have a fish coming in!” The kids all go crazy and rally around him anxious to see the fish. Art was feeling pretty big by now, showing off his “superior ability” to the kids.
Just then one of the little kids says, “Hey mister were those all your fish back there [on the beach]?” Art says proudly, “Yeah they are mine!” Then the kid simply says, “Oh too bad!” And he turns and walks away. So Art fires, “Hey kid, what do you mean?” Another kid standing nearby offers, “We thought they were dying so we put ‘em all back into the water.” (Remember this was in the day of commercial fishing, where a 30 pound bass was worth $40-50.00).

Art went frantic, “What are you talking about?!” In desperation he quickly round up the kids in his panic state and told them to shine their lights into the water! He wanted the “Good Samaritans” to help him find all of his fish that they had released in the name of good deeds. They scrambled quickly back along the beach searching for his fish. Art was only able to retrieve three or four of the eight he had caught the rest must have had enough life left in them to swim away.
Poor Art, in a short period of time he ran the emotional gauntlet; from hitting good fish to being scared of the lights and wondering what the heck was going on, to the realization that it was only a bunch of inner city kids on a exploratory mission, to the shock of realizing that all of his work had just released back into the sea from which it came. A truly tough night for a guy just trying to earn a couple of bucks.

More please

more-more-more-

great story man!!!