The early morning phone call that Ben Permel received from his life-long pal, Steve Dimilio, was short and to the point; "Hey buddy! The Spots are hitting big time! Let's go."
An hour later, the north side of the pier at Sandbridge was packed almost elbow-to-elbow with over thirty anglers, all pulling fish up and onto the deck at the rate of two or three per man, every ten minutes. Ben and Steve found their friends at their regular station, half way down the pier next to the cleaning sink.
When schools of spots hit, they create a kind of semi-controlled frenzy with pier veterans in which every man works madly, yet wordlessly; he will bait, cast, fish-on, reel-in, un-hook, re-bait and cast again. And again. And again. When I asked smiling Rueben about the craziness, he said, "Hey, the spots are here now, but who knows how long they will stay?"
The Spot, a member of the Drum family, seemed a rather prosaic fish to me. Not much larger than a big man's open hand, most weigh just over a pound. Silvery-white with a trace of yellow on the belly, they are readily identified (and named) by the dime-sized gray spot just behind their head.
Spots are prized up and down the Atlantic coast for their delicate, white meat taste. Easy to clean and prepare, most prefer them pan-fried, grilled or baked - even broiled or poached. Well prepared and cooked, the meat easily flakes away from the bones with a gentle fork. And the sauce possibilities are infinite.
When the run is over at noon, the total count for Ben's five man group comes to 273. Some choose to pack them whole in ice coolers. Others take turns at the sink, cleaning and spreading them, a technique that Alphonso's wife Elong calls "butterflying".
Ben and his friends have much more in common than pier fishing; all five are former U.S. Navy men. All were born in the Philippines – they enlisted, served and retired in the Hampton Roads area. They've been pals for half a century, going back to Cavite City and Sangley Point, just south of Manilla.
Each will go home with over fifty fish; his share of the best day for spots in all of October. As they pack-up to leave, Demy Paloma reminds me, "Hey John! With nice, cold water, lots of stripped bass for Christmas."
Multi-Tasking
In today's corporate world, I guess Kathy Lambertson would be identified as a multi-tasker; someone who can successfully handle lots of different responsibilities at the same time.
When I found her on a sunny November afternoon at the pier, I noticed that she was definitely fishing. But she was also reading and listening to music and sunbathing. Later, she would also do her nails and fix something to eat.
That means that Kathy had to wheel a lot of gear, including a deck chair and an umbrella, up the ramp and onto the pier. "So I make two trips. That's nothing," said the plucky grandmother of six. Not being particularly fond of boats, and having an aversion to surf casting and the sand, she finds pier fishing to be a safe, clean, relaxing alternative. And, in between chapters of her book, Kathy catches her share of fish.
He Saunters
I watch him as he saunters up and down the fishing pier. Norwood Land neither walks nor strides; he is a practiced saunterer. When I got to know him, I asked him why he walks the pier so often. "Well, I reckon that if Sandbridge had a Town Square, I'd be there instead of here. But it would never be as much fun."
When he was a boy, school and the family farm near Back Bay left little time for fishing. Then came the shipyards which precluded just about everything but raising his family and keeping the farm. Today, however, Mister Land has found some time for himself and the pier and the ocean.
"This is my therapy," he says, pointing to the sky and some rolling swells moving in. "The waves of life," he calls them.
At the far end of the pier, two tall, young fishermen are beginning to cast deep for Red Drum. Mister Land breaks his silence.
"C'mon! Let's watch these boys. One of 'em can cast 500 feet. He's really somethin' to see."
We saunter on down.
