Nantucket Fishin'

Sunday was beautiful here on Nantucket, and I was out fishing at an early hour.  Actually, foraging would be a better word, for I was out at seven in the morning looking for food at the local markets.  On Nantucket this is always a challenge for someone spoiled by the organic food and fresh produce that is taken for granted in Northern California.  On Sunday it was even more of a challenge because we have arrived at the busiest time of the summer here, and the island's actual population of just over 11,000 has probably doubled or tripled with August visitors, who were all out shopping with me.

My first stop was the local Stop and Shop supermarket, open 24 hours, where many other people had gotten up early to beat the rush. Saturday is the change over day for many renters on island, and it was apparent that all of them had gotten up early on Sunday to go marketing. The place was packed, and  I cast about in dangerous shoals, trying to make my way down narrow, crowded aisles while dodging around the many shopping carts, particularly those with a red plastic truck cab attached to the front to accommodate younger children, who are packed inside and pushed around the market while their parents shop and dump their catches in the wire cart baskets above their offspring.

It is quite painful to be hit in the shins or ankle by one of these red cabs, and they are difficult to avoid. Still, undaunted, I waded into the fray, circumnavigating treacherous waters with my market list in hand. Unfortunately, everything on my list always seems to sell out quite quickly here, particularly in August.  On Sunday half the items I wanted already were gone, and I left the market to forage elsewhere, having more luck at a place called Moor's End Farm and at a butcher shop know as "Cowboys."

Of course, Cowboys did not have the chicken thighs I wanted.  I settled for breasts and swapped some real fishing stories with the butcher, who was eager to tell me about his recent efforts at surfcasting and the Striped Bass he had caught several evenings earlier, his first keeper of the season.

"Yeah, the bass are still around,” he said.  "I was down on the South Shore. By the golf course.  You know, Miacomet, and eighteen pounds it was.  Eighteen pounds.  Caught it on a Pearl Bomber, with a teaser around eight o'clock.  Yeah, no Slug-gos for me, always a good, old Bomber with a teaser."

He added that he can't fish in the middle of the night anymore, just until after sunset, until eight or nine in the evening.  I can't seem to fish late any more, either, I told him.  But I did get up the next day at five to fish the rising tide, not at the Stop and Shop, but at the Bonito Bar, off Madaket.  I had no luck with the Bonito; however, I did catch some Bluefish on the fly further out with my dear wife, good sport that she is, who had agreed to come with me.  (I always catch fish when my wife fishes, too.)  Maybe, when the tide is right, I'll head down to the South Shore, by the golf course, at dusk, and try a Pearl Bomber.  If I'm lucky, I might get my wife to join me.