I’ve often thought the real joy of fishing, when saddled on the steed of anticipation, is found in places where n’er a grain of sand sticks to my tires, nor salty champagne tickles my toes. Places like bait and tackle shops, where breeze shootin’ is an art, and fish frys, that come with sides of tall tales of trophies caught, mostly half true. Surf fishing memories, which swirl like rip currents in my mind the night before the first big cast, keeps me awake as I wonder which hole I’ll fish.

Like children on Christmas Eve, I dream of my new toys propped up in beach carts and pickup trucks just beyond my front door threshold. Shiny things, like new fancy lures tethered with luck and hope conspire with my tackle box to determine which magic bait will draw the fish to my rig is a craft only mastered by few.

The joy of harvesting fish from the surf, whether one or a gaggle, is a tradition often rooted in my childhood when I lifted my first spot and croaker for a Polaroid photo. In my mind, exploits in the tidal pools hoping to capture a minnow to offer my quarry that hole up just beyond the break, were mostly fruitless, but fun. Unlike freshwater fishing, the tap of the tide which vibrated the rod tip was sure to be a fish, but often, just lead bouncing along the sandy bottom. Like bird dogs on point, my eyes trained and tail straight, I was ready to break on the anticipation of a real bite. The glory days of old are still glorious and that inner child is still there.

My optimism is not rooted in the fish I’ve caught, but it’s rooted in those I’ve yet to catch

– Steve Wade

Anyone who loves fishing as I do, knows dropping sustenance in a cooler is the end game, but it’s the game I plan which brings the excitement of what may come. There’s no wonder, “just one more cast”, like Pavlov’s dog, makes me salivate with anticipation. My optimism is not rooted in the fish I’ve caught, but it’s rooted in those I’ve yet to catch. Some say the early sun, which peaks over the horizon, is company for the lonely fisherman, but really, the salty memories of buddies who’ve fought the current beside me, coupled with what the tide may bring, is what keeps my heart and mind company.

Wishing all a bushel full of fishing tales, tight lines, and salty memories of childlike awe of what patrols the surf just in front of those who hunt the surf.

Anyone who loves fishing as we do, knows dropping sustenance in a cooler is the end game, but it’s the game we plan which brings the excitement of what may come. There’s no wonder, “just one more cast”, like Pavlov’s dog, makes us salivate with anticipation. My optimism is not rooted in the fish I’ve caught, but more, it’s rooted in those I’ve yet to catch. Some say the early sun, which peaks over the horizon, is company for the lonely fisherman, but really, the salty memories of buddies who’ve fought the current beside us, coupled with what the tide may bring, is what keeps our hearts and minds company.

– Steve Wade