OBX

Beach, Fishing, Dunes, Fishing, History, Fishing…

By Rod Davis

If you have driven on the highways anywhere up and down the eastern seaboard, chances are good, if you are paying attention to your surroundings, that you have noticed cars, trucks and SUVs with white oval-shaped license plates or white oval shaped decals that say “ OBX”.

Also fairly common are plates and decals saying “ HI” and “OINC” as well. Respectively, these are abbreviations, for those uneducated, unenlightened folks out there, for :

OBX – Outer Banks

HI – Hatteras Island

OINC – Ocracoke Island North Carolina

Now these North Carolina coastal places are a dream location for thousands of fisherman each year, from novice anglers to hard-core surf fisherman to off-shore, big game fish hunters. The Outer Banks offers something for everyone.

Now, just to let you know that this is NOT a commercial for the Outer Banks. I get no kick-back, nor do I own a tackle store on the Banks (how cool would that be?) Secondly it must be known that until discovering the Outer Banks, I did not like the beach! Hated it. You could not pay me to go to Myrtle Beach, which is THE place to go for millions up and down the Atlantic Coast. I call Myrtle Beach, the “ Redneck Riviera”. I hated the phony commercialism that surrounds so many beach areas.

One of my very first recollections as a small child was going on a trip, at 4 years old, with my Mom, Dad, and older sister and brother to Nags Head, North Carolina. This is part of the Outer Banks and in 1959 was quite the fishing Mecca. I remember walking on Jeanette’s Pier, holding my mother’s hand and seeing fish piled up in mounds two-three feet deep. Hundreds of fish! I remember walking on top of huge mountains of sand, seeing people looking like ants down below. The vignettes I remember in the mind’s eye of a 4 year old are still there, except Jeanette’s Pier which was destroyed by Hurricane Isabelle. The mountain of sand is Jockey’s Ridge State Park, a huge set of dunes that you can actually hang-glide from.

Twenty-Five years later, I visited this place again with my first wife and her family. They were Myrtle Beach fans and did not care for Nags Head, so I never went back there again……with my first wife.

In 1994, a new wife (The Warden) was on-board and had taken the reins of my life. My two children by the previous Warden were off to the Redneck Riviera in August and I and my child-bride, and our 4 year old son, Michael were home alone. We recently had purchased our first RV. This 30’ Prowler would start a life long love affair with camping in Travel trailers.

We decided, on the spur of the moment to take our new trailer and go somewhere we had never been before. I looked around in all the books, magazines, and campground directories I had. We settled on Camp Hatteras, a world-class camping resort in Waves, N.C. on Hatteras Island. Now Hatteras Island is SOUTH of nags Head about 25 miles, but I had never been there before. I did all the research I could in that pre-internet time and found out that Hatteras is a long narrow, barrier island that many consider the true Outer Banks.

Double click on map to view a larger version

We pulled into Camp Hatteras and were shown to our site for the week. The campground was as advertised a true camping resort. It was beach front, encompassing over 50 acres. It offered two pavilions, private beach access, ponds, tennis courts, two pools, one inside, one outside and a wonderful hot tub.

The clubhouse offered cartoon nights for kids, ice cream socials and religious services on Sunday. Each site was concrete, a plus with lots of sand around, cable TV hook-ups and full sewage, water and 30 or 50 Amp electrical hookups. The pricing is on the upper end of camping fees but about the norm for a beachfront, first class campground.

I spent a week there and found this beautiful island to be my new second home. It was like going way out in the country, but with an ocean… It is incredibly laid back, quiet, peaceful, and usually uncrowded. The secret to Hatteras Island and Ocracoke Island is the fact that outside the city limits of the 5 small villages on Hattears and one village on Ocracoke, the entire island and beach are National Seashore. That means, other than Highway 12 that runs north to south, the island must remain in pristine condition. It consists of barrier dunes, miles and miles of uninterrupted beach and often deserted beaches. The rest is low brush and maritime forest. The body of water between Hattears and mainland NC is called the Pamlico Sound. It’s like a gargantuan, salt water lake, calm and quiet.

A map of the Outer Banks shows a long, crescent shaped barrier Island , running north to south with miles and miles of pristine beaches. The island’s width varies from a few hundred yards to 2 miles at the widest.

Fishing:

Hatteras Island is called the saltwater Fishing capital of the world, but so are a few other places. However, the Outer Banks must rank way up there with something for everyone and all budgets.

Offshore angling is incredible with dozens of charter boats leaving everyday from world-famous Oregon Inlet to the north and Hatteras Marina and Teaches Lair at the southern end of the island. These boats can put you on tuna, from 20-30- pounders up to giant blue fin in the winter months that can go 500-600 pounds! Blue Marlin and sailfish are very common in these waters. In fact the world record blue marlin was caught here.

Many tournaments originate here. A favorite pastime of vacationers is to arrive at Oregon Inlet Fishing Center about 4:00pm and watch the charter boats come in and throw the days catch up on the dock. On an average day, there may be 50-75 on-lookers ooh-ing and aah-ing!

The Fishing boasts a neat little store that is popular with tourists and fisherman alike. For the budget conscious, twice a day head boat trips on the Miss Oregon Inlet are available for around $25.00 and offer the chance to fill a cooler with flounder, croakers, trout and small blues.

Many INSHORE fishing opportunities abound as well. These are usually smaller charter boats or guides in skiffs or flats boats that offer trips by the day or half day. These usually involve trout, blues, stripers, or Spanish mackerel. Light tackle and casting jigs is usually the rule or at times trolling is the way to go. Lots of fun.

Many vacationers bring their own boat, but be sure to buy a chart. The sandbars are tricky and shallow water is everywhere. This reminds me of a story…

In 1998, my dear friend George Lanham, a retired taxidermist of some note and long-time guide for Shete’ Safaris in Africa agreed to go with myself and another friend Lee Rosencrance, to the Outer Banks for a long weekend in mid-September for some fishing. George was a colorful character who hunted and fished all over the planet for 60 years until his passing in September 2004 at 86. We were staying in my Prowler travel trailer and had taken a small 14 foot Sears and Roebuck aluminum fishing boat with a 9.9 hp Suzuki lashed to the back.

Yes, you read that right.

We two morons were planning to fish in / near the Atlantic Ocean with our dear elderly friend in this aluminum death trap. While this was a fine little rig for catching bluegills or rainbows back in Summit Lake in West Virginia, it looked slightly out of place following 55’ Hatteras Sportfisherman charter boats out of the marina that morning. After the wake from these boats nearly capsized us, we drifted to the outside edges of the channel and made our way three miles out to the fishing grounds at the Herbert C. Bonner bridge. This 3 mile long bridge connects the mainland to Hatteras and is the defacto border between the ocean and the Sound. Our plan was to fish the calm waters of the Sound because even we were smart enough to know that neither Mr. Sears nor Mr. Roebuck had ever envisioned this craft out on the briny deep.

What we did not count on was the out-going tide, pulling water from the Sound, under the bridge, at a high rate of speed (5-6 knots), pulling our little craft towards the bridge piers. We initially tried to motor upstream a half mile or so and drift back toward the bridge, fishing as we went, but the current was so swift, we had little time to fish. We tried anchoring, but the current merely pulled our tiny boat and anchor along the smooth sandy bottom, back toward the bridge and the large rolling waves of the ocean.

I hit on the idea of leaving the boat in idle so we could sort-of maintain our position. This worked pretty good….until disaster struck!

Lee was in the bow, I in the stern and elderly George on the middle bench seat. We were drift fishing some squid strips for flounder, bouncing along the bottom with 2 ounce weights. Usually this requires a 7 foot rod, with 10-20 lb. test monofilament. Our friend George brought his own tackle, and we were initially somewhat amused that he was sporting 80 lb test line and a rod, made much like a broomstick. George had not gotten a bite all morning and was getting a little testy. All over sudden, I heard him say, “ Got One!”.

That was about a half-second before the dependable little Suzuki 9.9 seized up.

It really took us about 30 seconds more to realize that the tiny propeller was wrapped up tight in 80 lb test mono. He “ Got one” alright!

About 60 seconds later in this process, we realized that we were adrift again, heading towards a large concrete bridge pier at an increasingly high rate of speed. Now 5-6 knots which is about 7-8 miles per hour does not seem that fast, unless you are in a tiny, tiny boat, that is overloaded, going towards either a very hard, house sized, concrete wall. Knowing full well, that if we hit the wall without capsizing, we would be swept out to the churning sea.

My boyhood friend and idol, Lee Wilson Rosencrance, always ready to be heroic, jumped over George, and stood on the back seat with me, to survey the situation. His added weight caused the stern of our sturdy craft to dip under the surface, and water to rush in. After calling him a few choice names he moved to a more centrist position in the boat.

Since he obviously was still feeling somewhat heroic, I looked up in time to see him dive into the Pamlico Sound with a Rapala fillet knife clenched in his teeth. Those of you old enough to remember Johnny Weissmuller in the Tarzan movies would have been very impressed at this sight! He was able to cut enough line from the prop that we could get it started and motor away from the approaching death that surely awaited us all. After pulling up on a nearby sandbar, we finished cleaning the line from the motor and went on about our business. Another spine-tingling adventure!

SURF FISHING is a long standing tradition on the Banks that has been challenged by some of the more leftist of the environmental wackos in recent years. This is due to the unique nature of Outer Banks Surf Fishing, in that it is a mobile sport, done by 4×4 SUV or pickup. The wackos are trying to stop fisherman from driving on the beach because a shore bird of some sort may be inconvenienced. The last time I looked, we had more seagulls (I call them dumpster chickens) than we can use anyway. You know, it’s the same old song and dance from these wackos.

The Outer Banks are home to numerous nesting sites for sea turtles in June and the National Park folks cruise the beaches at sunrise, looking for turtle sign. If a possible nest site is located, a temporary fence is erected to keep folks from driving over the nest. Everyone respects this and it is a great idea!

In the spring or fall, the Outer Banks is a world-class destination for surf fishermen seeking trophy bluefish, up to 50 lbs. caught in the surf as well as puppy drums (known in Florida as Redfish) up to 90 lbs. Now think about that….a 90 lb fish in the surf, fighting with the waves, at your feet in 2 feet of water. It’s exciting!

Once I went to the “POINT” with the Warden and my good friend Dr. Chuck Smith and his wife Vanessa for some November surf casting. The “POINT” is a world famous fishing spot where the actual “CAPE” in Cape Hatteras is located. The geography of the island makes an abrupt turn heading south, bachback to the southwest. This is a favorite spot for surf casting and usually there are hundreds of people there on any given day in the fall, surf fishing.

On this day upon arrival, I pulled a light spinning rig out that already had a hot pink “GOTCHA” lure tied on and made one cast with a quick jerking retrieve and caught a bluefish about a foot long, maybe half a pound.. I removed it and using a large circle hook, I rigged the squirming bluefish up as bait on a 9 foot surf rod, cast it 50 yards into the roiling surfing with a 3 ounce singer, handed the whole thing to Julie, the Warden, and figured, “that will keep her occupied a while”.

I turned to open the cooler, grabbing a soft drink and when I turned back, I saw the Warden, holding the now completely doubled over rod as line shrieked off the Shimano reel. She bravely fought the big drum that had grabbed the little bluefish, for about 10 minutes. We saw it roll over in the surf a couple of times and I estimated it to weigh about 40 lbs. The 17 lb test line in the surf was no match and eventually it broke off. That’s how quick you can get into a big fish there or catch a 12 inch blue, you just never know….

In the fall, the serious surf fishermen cruise the beach in their 4x4s watching for diving birds that give away the position of huge schools of migrating Bluefish. When spotted, a call goes out on the CB radios and these guys will drive willy-nilly down the beach, trying to get ahead of the school and jump out and make a cast. A flashing metal spoon, thrown into a school of large bluefish will generally always turn into a vicious strike if placed in the right spot. Once the school moves on or out of casting range, the binoculars come back out, the CB’s turned up and the waiting process begins again.

We go to the Outer Banks every summer for a week and fishing in these months, can be fun too, but usually the surf fishing offers more pan-fish type opportunities. Bear in mind, that while your wife sunbathes and your kids boogie board, you can stand a few yards away with minimal tackle and on a good day, fill a 5 gallon bucket with Croakers in a couple hours. Fishing in the summer is almost always decent, sometimes crappy, but quite often, outstanding. A really handy piece of equipment on these deserted beaches can be a Coleman Lantern. Some of the best summer surf fishing can occur right before dusk until late at night. A couple of good friends, a cooler, and a lantern and campfire can make a great fishing experience.

One evening right at dusk, I made a cast and placed my rod into a sand spike type rod holder and turned to the tackle box for a minute. I heard a soft thump in the sand and turned back to see my road being dragged down the beach towards the surf. I made a quick run , grabbed and fought a monster of some sort for half an hour before landing a Stingray or skate as big as a garbage can lid. When they get big, they are a hoot to catch!

As a side note, don’t forget another OBX tradition; Pier Fishing!. Every several miles on the Outer Banks there is a commercial fishing pier, usually rickety looking structures that for $5-6.00 will allow you access for fishing. These are great places to fish at night, as they are well lighted and fishing can be great at times. Once I entered a pier and met an elderly African American lady leaving. She was pulling a “little red wagon” of some sort with her rod, tackle and two 5 gallon buckets full of pan-fish. I asked her how many and she quickly replied “ 172 !” Not bad for an afternoon of fishing.

CAMPING:

As RV’ers, we love the many places the Outer Banks has to offer to us and our special needs. It is a very RV friendly place and unlike Hilton Head, you are not required to show up in a million dollar rig to be allowed to come in. The RV Campgrounds and Resorts on Hatteras and Ocracoke cater to folks in wind-blown tents, to tent camper, travel trailers, Class C rigs and the occasional seven figure Prevost Motor Coach will come in too. To the north, up in Nags Head, there are only a couple of small campgrounds. But farther south on Hatteras the possibilities open up.

As you travel south on Highway 12, at the Oregon Inlet Bridge there is a large National Park Service Campground near the dunes. It has no hookups but bath houses are provided. If you like dry-camping and can get by without Air Conditioning, this is a good choice. After you cross over to Hatteras, you will travel down the dunes for 12 miles before reaching the first town, Rodanthe. In the beach there you will see first “North Beach Campground”. North Beach, ran by a guy named Joey and his wife Virginia, is “old Hatteras” . Charming, sandy, and primarily a place to park your trailer full time. Rent is by the year and a family atmosphere prevails. Joey has 3-4 transient campsites up near the beach that rent for about $20.00 per night for full hook-ups, but they’re right in the sand at the dunes.

Passing further down the island another mile, one sees a landmark Camp Hatteras, a lovely 52 acre world class camping resort, with every amenity that one expects in a modern campground. Right past Camp Hatteras is Hatteras KOA, a resort similar in size and offering similar amenities. Expect to pay about $60.00 per night for a concrete pad, cable hook-ups, water, sewer and electric including taxes. This is about average for beachfront camping.

A little further along is my favorite spot, Ocean Waves, a small Mom & Pop place that is immaculately kept and offers beachfront camping for only $24.95 per night. Sadly, I was told the property may be for sale and due to gross inflation, whoever pays the $5+ million asking price will not be able to afford to keep it as a campground. What a shame.

Passing through Rodanthe, Waves and Salvo, travelers will drive another 11 mile stretch of pristine beach to the next town, Avon, or Kinnakeet to the natives. There is one little campground on the highway, but it is not near the beach. By the way, while in Avon or Frisco further down the island, DO NOT pass up Bubba’s Barbecue. Shaved smoked turkey breast with North Carolina style, vinegar based sauce – it is unbelievable!

Passing south through Avon, another 5 or six miles brings you to the wider, southern end of Hatteras Island. Buxton has the world-famous Hatteras Island Lighthouse with its familiar white and black diagonal stripe pattern. Recently it was moved a half mile to protect it from the numerous hurricanes that plague the Outer Banks. Buxton is home to “the POINT” or “Cape Hatteras”, a great fishing spot. Another large National Park service Campground is there as well as a couple of private parks on the sound side.

Several more miles bring you to the southern tip of Hatteras Island at Hatteras Village, where Hatteras Sands is the campground of choice.

Eventually, the road ends at the North Carolina Ferry Terminal where you can board a free ferry for Ocracoke Island, a twenty minute ride to an isolated place know as the hiding place and hanging place of the notorious Blackbeard the pirate (Edward Teach) and home to a remnant of wild Spanish mustang horse who have made this island home since they swam ashore from shipwrecked Spanish ships, 500 years ago. At the southern tip is the quaint little village of Ocracoke where among other places is the famous Howard’s Pub, an outstanding spot for a fried oyster sandwich. There among the narrow back roads is Ocracoke’s only private campground. There is of course a National Parke Service campground out at the beach. From Ocracoke a three hour ferry ride south will take you to the mainland at Swan Quarter, N. C.

These are my Outer Banks. Sometimes I feel like I should have been born there instead of the hills of West Virginia. If you like the beach, if you like to fish, if you like history, or you just like it quiet and peaceful, bring the RV and come on down. Stop by Ocean Waves in June, August or sometimes right after Thanksgiving. You might see me there.

Here are some more pictures from the areas around the Outer Banks

Enjoying the warm sands and sunshine of the beaches.

Reading a good book while waiting for the fish to bite.

A good camping buddy is always good to have along.

The scenery can be spectacular!

Currituck

The Old Guys

By Rod Davis

I was trying hard to fall asleep, really I was. No kidding. It’s really hard to doze off when you are 12 years old and staying with the “men” at CAMP. The flickering fire cast shadows on the wall that were comforting. The men in the room were snoring loudly. I was tucked into a sleeping bag on a bunk bed in the corner lying near my Dad.

In a few short hours, was the season opener of Trout Season in West Virginia!. How was I supposed to go to sleep?!!

Being 12, without a care in the world, without a guilty conscience and without regrets about life, eventually I would indeed drift off to sleep, only to be awakened by my Dad, before the dawn, to make ready for the task at hand.

The smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying was heady to a young lad. Something is different about men’s cooking as opposed to Mom’s cooking. Things never look, smell, or taste as good when a man makes I and it usually is a bit greasy.

Thus fortified, we made off into the night when the stars were still out to be at a certain stretch of lakeshore or stream bank, ready to make that all important, first cast at precisely 6:00AM.

It was early April in the mountains which usually meant cold clear weather. My Dad made sure I was wrapped in some sort of jacket and gloves. I had some thick socks on , in my galoshes, which passed for waders at my age, knowing full well, that before lunch I would probably fall in the creek and need to dry out in the truck!

Up and down the creeks, the Old Guys were laughing when they were biting, serious business when they weren’t. These guys were masters of their little stretch or river and this was indeed, serious business. It made a huge impact on me to be around these guys. I thought they were all heroes and gods until later in life when I saw their frailties and attended the funerals of many of them.

This day could just as easily have been the season opener of squirrel season or deer season. The “feeling” was the same. Everything was fresh, new, crisp and cold. It was heaven to a young boy.

Like many young boys starting out in the world of hunting and fishing, I was heavily influenced by a crew of “Old Guys” who hunted and fished with my Dad and who, for better or worse, rubbed off on me.

Now bear in mind, these “Old Guys” were probably not that old when I started out, early to mid-forties maybe, but that seemed plenty old to me. It’s peculiar that doesn’t seem so old anymore.

Some of my earliest recollections involve my Dad going off to “Camp” with some men he worked with or otherwise had a relationship. “Camp” was a 24’ x 30’ cinderblock house on the banks of the Greenbrier River in Pocahontas County, West Virginia. At that time, in the sixties and early seventies, you had to travel to the remote Potomac Highlands to get a glimpse of a deer or a turkey in West Virginia. They were scarce or non-existent in most parts of the state.

Thanks to the DNR’s successful stocking programs, you can hunt deer, bear, and turkeys all over West Virginia, with your backyard a good place to start. But not back in the day…

My Dad was a sheet metal worker. He started in WWII repairing the skins of B-17s while stationed in Florida and Texas. When he returned home he went to work in the construction business building new post war homes that sold for $3995.00 in Charleston West Virginia. Through a church acquaintance, he gravitated into the sheet metal, roofing, and heating and air conditioning business. He eventually owned his own company, started in 1967, which I operate today.

During this time in the 1950s and 1960s, my Dad met some guys who would become lifetime friends and hunting companions. These guys and their lifestyles would impact our family and build relationships that exist today, two generations removed.

My Dad’s best friend and hunting companion, was a guy, who if described as colorful, would not do him justice. His name was Ernest Frederick Harless. I grew up knowing him as Harless, Ernie, Fred, Donkey Head, etc. (They all had nicknames for each other.) Harless was a lifetime co-worker of my Dad, and eventually worked for my Dad until his retirement and subsequent move to Florida.

I can’t describe what an unusual character that Harless was, so I won’t even try. He was above all things, comical, and a hunter and a fisherman.

Harless owned the “Camp” along with his brother-in-law, Ronald Garrett, known simply as Garrett or Doc. Dad and I were regular guests with this band of miscreants. I have many memories of hunting with Harless and my Dad that stay with me until this day. Like when Harless shot the heads off two hen turkeys on Middle Mountain with his iron sighted .35 Remington Pump gun. These old guys were WWII veterans and knew how to shoot.

Garrett had a male friend who looked after him following the death of his wife and only child. This guy’s name was Freddie Heater, a confirmed bachelor. Freddie took a lot of heat from the guys. He was what some folks would call “persnickety” about certain things. He kept the camp spotless when he was there and was an incredible cook. Freddie and Harless, however were often like oil and water.

Once Freddie removed his contact lenses, carefully wrapping them in a tissue and laying them on the mantle over the fireplace. The next morning came chilly, with a hard frost. Old man Harless started to build a fire and lo and behold, here’s a handy tissue to start it with. A little later when Freddie needed his contacts to start breakfast, there arose a bit of a “hissy fit”. Of course Harless was accused of burning the contacts on purpose!

Most of the time, if I was there, it was just with my Dad and Harless. I learned the right way to drag an aluminum boat up and down riverbanks in the dark. I learned how to cast a Jitterbug bass lure in complete darkness without getting into the trees. Mostly I learned a love for the Greenbrier River that lasts till this day. That stream is the last river in West Virginia that is un-dammed and free-flowing, which causes some concern in times of heavy rains. I have seen Harless’s camp almost completely underwater at times and helped scrub it out after these episodes.

Old Man Ronald Garrett was a bit of an enigma to me growing up. I did not see him much at camp, even though he was part owner. When there, he slept a lot. In later years I figured out that Ronald slept, because he drank. A wife dead in her 40’s and a boy killed in an auto accident within two years, would cause most men to drink, so no one judged him.

Years later, Ronald put down the bottle and came out of his room and proved to be a delightful old gentleman until kidney failure took him at the age of 80. Strangely enough, Ronald was a chain-smoker who even smoked in the shower, but that did not kill him! (Don’t believe everything the tobacco Nazis tell you)

Bryce DeBord was another old codger that Dad hunted with at Camp. He was amazing in that in 25 years of deer hunting, he never killed a deer! Mostly that was because he never sat still in the woods more than 5 minutes. Once while hunting on Garrett’s farm, he shot a goat, thinking it was deer, but it got away. He told my Dad he had shot a “spike” but could not find it. Dad had seen the goat limp by earlier, but would never tell him the truth so as not to embarrass him. I had no such scruples.

I was sworn to secrecy by Dad and Garrett that until their deaths, I would not tell the other guys, so they would not needle Bryce about the goat. Garrett died 4 years after Dad.

I told all the guys at the funeral about the goat….

There were others, in and out of the camp from time to time: Bill Walker who I enjoy seeing to this day. He killed the first turkey I ever saw with his 16ga Remington 1100….in flight!

There was Ricky Charles and Ronnie Harless. These guys cracked me up!

While they could recite a poem on the back of a pint whiskey bottle from memory, Harless said they could not tell you who the president was at the time!

The Old Guys were the hunters and sportsmen of their generation. They came out of WWII with a little prosperity, a little free time and a camaraderie that lasted a lifetime with each other.

I have many, many hunting friends, some new, some old, but it seems the kind or relationships the old guys had is hard to find these days.

What I would not give to lie near my Dad again, hearing the fire “pop” and seeing it flicker, waiting on another adventure to start.

Fish On

By Rod Davis

My darling wife, Julie, a.k.a. “The Warden”, had never been fishing before. Oh, sure, she had spent some time growing up angling crappies from sunken brush piles with her Dad, Marshal P. White, on Strom Thurmond Lake in Modoc, South Carolina.

But she had never been on a big-game, big-time, trip with the boys to catch some really nice fish. Now considering, I don’t like to go anywhere without The Warden, when a trip was proposed by myself and my long-time fishing partner, Dr. Charles Smith, I naturally asked the wife along, fully expecting a “No Way!”

To my surprise, she readily agreed to go, providing that Chuck’s warden, Vanessa would travel along as well. Now Vanessa likes to fish, so that was a no-brainer.

Dr. Chuck (a noted dentist from Charleston, West Virginia) and I had done some fishing before on a local basis. We had spent many, many evenings at the local chapter banquets of Ducks Unlimited and the National Wild Turkey Federation. We had not gone on a big game fishing trip together at that point in time.

In January that year, went to the Sports Show at the Charleston Civic Center. This event is sponsored by the West Virginia Trophy Hunters Association and attracts about 20,000 local hunters and fisherman each year.

We talked to several fishing guides and charter captains, but kept coming back to a strange little man from upstate New York. He was a charter captain on Lake Ontario, specializing in big King salmon, coho, and steelhead. Frankly, he also seemed to be just about half a bubble off level. That attracted us to him immediately! However, he was sporting an earring. This immediately causes a Hillbilly to pause, but then we decided he probably was pirate, so that was okay! In a few minutes, a deal was struck, a date was reserved, and a deposit was tendered.

The pirate’s name was Captain Chris Efing (pronounced “ EEF ing) of Chrysalis Charters in Point Breeze, NY. We found out that Chrysalis was a play on words using his name and that of his wife, Alice. (Chrys- alis)

This was January, so we had a long wait until time to make the trip north in August. As usual, as the day approached, our preparations were mighty.

Dr. Chuck and I loaded ourselves in the Ford pickup I owned, which was lashed to 1 30’ Prowler travel trailer and took off that hot August morning on a 500 miles trip to Point Breeze. Vanessa and The Warden were following along in Chuck’s car. The trip was going great until somewhere north of Pittsburgh, on I-79, a huge outlet mall was spotted and the ladies insisted on a lunch stop.

A little later, we drug them out of there and got back on the road, because any true sportsman will tell you it’s all about making good time.

We were able to make it, late that afternoon to Niagara Falls, a place neither The Warden nor I had visited before. Like everyone who sees the falls for the first time, we were very impressed. Other than a slight altercation between a Japanese tourist and one of the hot-tempered members of our party, the side-trip was very pleasant.

We decided to head on eastward across up-state New York, before Japanese-American relations were damaged beyond any hope of repair. About half way between Buffalo and Rochester, we turned off the interstate and headed North through some lovely little farm communities for about 40 miles until we spotted a seagull or two and realized we were nearing Lake Ontario.

I had never fished Lake Ontario and did not know what to expect. It is a large, beautiful lake, deep with clear water. Many years before, we had fished for salmon in Lake Michigan and caught lots of walleyes in Lake Erie. While no expert, it seems each Great Lake I have been on has a little different character than the others.

We located the campground that we had made a reservation at and pulled the Prowler into a spot next to some other fisherman. It seemed everyone was fishing there that weekend. After setting up, we found our way down to the marina and located the Chrysalis’ slip and there we spotted the pirate, Captain Chris, cleaning up the boat. We agreed to meet there the next morning at 6:00 am and got a recommendation on a local eatery from the good Captain and left.

Breakfast came early at the Four C’s Marina that Sunday morning. A tiny sandwich shop there caters to fishermen. Four C’s and Captain Chris are located on Oak Orchard Creek, about a mile upstream from the lake itself. After loading our lunch, cameras and some rain gear, the boat departed the dock, precisely at 6:00 a.m. Captain Chris is the proud owner of a 38’ Penn Yan, a wonderful boat, manufactured in Penn Yan, Pennsylvania. This boat, like most all Great Lakes salmon boats, is outfitted with the latest in GPS navigational equipment, color sonar fish finders and the all-important downriggers.

I was first introduced to downrigger fishing in the early eighties fishing in Lake Michigan with Captain Mike Peel out of Saugatuck. Downriggers are nifty devices that allow for “controlled depth fishing”. In other word, it will allow you to drop a lure to a predetermined depth and maintain it there until a fish strikes. At that time the downrigger weight is automatically released from the fishing line, allowing you to fight the fish freely. I was so impressed, I put two on a 17’ aluminum bass boat I owned at the time and was often seen trolling for Crappies in Burnsville Lake in West Virginia. Successfully so, I might add.

Late in the summer, Captain Chris will often travel 15-20 miles due north, to roughly where the Canadian border transverses the lake. Sadly there is no visible line on the water’s surface, so you need to know where you are. We were informed that Canadian Game Wardens had little sense of humor and loved writing citations to the ugly Americans.

Julie and Vanessa were having a high old time on this early morning boat ride. They both experienced some mild seasickness and after a short barfing spell, were back in good spirits.

Captain Chris started trolling the big spoons common in the Great Lakes. These lures are normally chromed spoons, 3-4 inches long, with various reflective designs in assorted colors. Also some crank baits designed for trolling were used. These lures had names like Northport Nailer, Southport Slammer and Wigglewarts. In the right color, they proved deadly.

The four of us drew straws to establish an order concerning who would take turns landing fish that we hoped would strike. We then took up positions, scattered around the aft fishing deck, waiting for the fish to bite. We did not have long to wait.

The bite was on after 30 minutes or so. Captain Chris shrieked “Fish on!” and Vanessa, who was up first, leaped for a bouncing rod. The trolling rods we used were 7’ and 8’ models, designed for downrigger fishing. After 15 minutes, Vanessa landed a 21 lb. Steelhead on the deck. This was a NICE Steelhead. For those not “in the know”, a Steelhead is actually a Rainbow Trout that is born (hatched) in a tributary stream, migrates to a large lake, lives a couple of years, then returns upstream to its birthplace to spawn. This is very similar to salmon life cycles.

Julie hooked and landed a 19 lb. Steelhead. Chuck and I did our part with some smaller fish in the 15-lb. range.

Over the next several hours we sporadically caught several nice fish, including a pair of 25 +lb. King Salmon that Chuck and Vanessa dropped in the boat. The fishing petered out in late morning as the water became flat calm and the air temperature steadily rose.

Our limit was 3 fish per day each, or 12 total. That first day, we boated 8, I think. After an hour’s boat ride back to harbor, we retired to our RV for a shower and a trip to one of the local spots that Captain Chris recommended to enjoy a “Fried Platter” This consisted of a plate full of deep fried “stuff”. I say stuff because we were never quite sure what some of these things were, but since they were fried, it was of course, good.

The alarm in the RV made its announcement at 4:00 am the next morning, signaling a new day and a new chance to fill our coolers. We putted out of 4C’s Marina shortly after 6:00 and headed out again in to a 2-foot chop, which Captain Chris assured us, would improve the fishing. He was right. That day we did not get our limit, but did boat 10 fish that averaged 25 lbs. or better. That was over 250 lbs. of meat! I lost a huge King, probably 35 lbs. or better after a long fight. Chuck, Vanessa, and then Julie each boated a King in excess of 30 lbs. Julie’s, actually weighed 34 lbs. on the dock, and took 45 minutes to land.

While I did not land that big King that trip, I had the pleasure of seeing my child bride land two huge fish, and then had the pleasure of paying the local taxidermist $500.00 to mount them. In the ensuing years, this has proved to be a mistake as she is quick to point out to visitors in my office where they hang, that I did not, indeed catch these fish, but she did. This is why you never, ever, take your wife hunting or fishing. They will always show you up. Always….

We had dinner that night with Captain Chris and his wife Alice at a local establishment that served a great prime rib dinner. As usual, these kinds of experiences generate lasting friendships and this was no exception. We have been back several times to fish with the good Captain and always had a great time. We have stayed there in RV’s, Bed & Breakfasts and the local motels and were always pleased. Of note, we stayed once at a Bed & Breakfast that belonged to an older gentleman and his wife. She was hospitalized with terminal cancer and later passed away. A year later we got word the old fellow had sold out. It was sad for many reasons, but this guy had a great set-up for fishermen. He had walk-in coolers, outdoor grilles, a picnic shelter with TV, in the back yard and a keg was usually in the icehouse. The rooms were spotless and each bed was a featherbed.

I recommend the “ Over The Ridge Campground”, which caters almost exclusively to fishermen and hunters.

Boys and Girls, for a very reasonable amount of money, you and your friends, spouse, kids, etc., can have a great day fishing on beautiful Lake Ontario with a better than average chance of yanking in a wall-hanger and most certainly loading your freezer with delicious salmon and trout fillets. Kent /Point Breeze, NY are less than a day’s drive from virtually anywhere in the Northeast.

Chrysalis Charters is a link you can click on to see Captain Chris and his success stories. All contact information is included and the web site and Captain Chris can direct you to lodging, etc.

See you out there!