The Sandbridge area of Virginia Beach is sleeping soundly as a Back Bay resident slowly drives his van past the long rows of stilted houses at the edge of the Atlantic. He is John Hobbs, a pier fisherman. Turning into the lighted parking lot at Little Island City Park, he joins a cluster of SUV's and pick-ups near the old Coast Guard Rescue Station; circa 1878.
The Hobbs Ritual
Mister Hobbs carefully rolls out the two-wheeled fishing cart that he packed just eight hours earlier. It carries a full ice chest, bait, a five-drawer tackle box, his rain parka, fish towels, soft drinks, sandwiches, a roll of wax paper and his cell phone. He hefts two rigged and ready rods in his right hand and pulls the slick-moving cart with his left.
The gray stillness and a slight breeze from the west gives Hobbs pause for a moment. He looks down at his shiny Shakespeare rods and seems to see, instead, two thin, reed poles, simply strung and hooked. He's a boy again, walking along the edge of the Neuse River near Springfield, North Carolina. And his dream, once again, is to catch a good fish. All by himself.
Looking toward a brightening sky over the ocean, he waves Hello to the park clean-up crew as he begins his trek across the freshly-swept, timbered walkway to the pier. As he ascends the steep ramp, he notices the shapes and forms of 20 fishermen lined-up along the northern railing. There's action already.
After accepting the requisite ribbing for being late, Hobbs quickly gets down to the business of fishing. In less that two minutes, after a soft 90 ft. cast with one of the "Ugly Sticks", he's in the game. The operative word this day is grays, meaning gray trout, a tricky and highly rewarding fish to catch. Fifteen have already been brought up onto the brawny, wooden pier, but only two were keepers at over 12 inches.
Most pier regulars know that you work an ocean trout (gray or speckled) by presenting an alluring and moving bait that pauses briefly between slow pulls, and then moves on. Mr. Hobbs' chosen lure is a skirted, green "Bucktail", also called a "Butter Bean". It has become one of his lucky favorites, yet he may change lures a dozen times during the morning.
His battered, five-drawer tackle box has him prepared for virtually any game fishing opportunity throughout the year; trout or puppy drum, flounder or Spanish mackerel, stripped bass or blue fish. That's why his top drawer begins with lead "Red Heads", with and without twisters. They are followed by "Mirro-Lures", yellow and red, white and gray. Then "Butter Beans", some with both a skirt and a toddler; and assorted "Gotchas" in day-glo pink and chartreuse and orange. Then, a half-dozen flounder rigs that float the bait and a variety of "Rattletraps", irresistible noisemakers that call-out to stripped bass.
Hobbs makes a strong case for colorful lures with a flashy motion or vibration. When I chide him about being called "Mister Trout Man", he smiles, shrugs his shoulders and gently pats his five-drawer tackle box. "It's all in the presentation," he says quietly.
Regal Thieves The ubiquitous sea gulls know all about the food that's available around the pier and they make frequent visitations. It's the black grackles, however, that are the most consistent interlopers. Whenever there's fishing action top-side, these glistening scavengers become brazen opportunists.
I've watched them inch their way down the railing, stand on a plastic bag, open it with their beak and steal shrimp bait while the fisherman was changing hooks just two feet away. Anything unattended is of interest to the common grackle, from fish heads to blood worms, from potato chips to chewing tobacco.
As they strut around in bright sunlight, vain as a procession of bishops, flashes of luminescent blue and green and purple sparkle through their blackness. I find them to be regal thieves.
