Meric Goddu's Page

Wood Wire Sow & Pigs
(6/19/10)
By: Meric Goddu

We left the dock at 1:00am. We’re on board “Calypso”, a 1987-ish Grady-White Gulfstream 23, with Captain Jacques Bosvert at the helm. He navigates us out of New Bedford Harbor through the Hurricane Dike on in through the pitch-black darkness of night. There is no Moon. The stars are putting in an extra effort and the only cloud in the sky is that of the Milky Way herself – halving the night sky from one horizon to the other. Captain Jacques turns up some music on the satellite radio system and Gary (Jacques’ First Mate and Brother-In-Law) and I sit back and take in the splendor.
We are on route to the infamous “Sow & Pigs”. A reef off of Cuttyhunk Island that time forgot. Where huge, seemingly, prehistoric Striped Bass have been known to maraud for prey since time immemorial. These are the waters from which, back in 1967, Charlie Cinto landed the biggest Bass caught for over five decades (73 pounds!) – tying the All-Tackle World Record set by Charles Church in 1912. It is a treacherous place. Littered with enormous rocks, upwellings and an insidious, ripping tide, The Reef is no place for rookies. It has scuttled ships and taken lives.
Once there, we prepare to deploy our weapons system of the day. “Wood & Wire”, as they call it, consists of a thick, dark-colored (most were black), antique-looking wood swimming plug – about 10” long – equipped with a thin metal lip, two treble-hooks on the belly and a tail hook dressed with a little fly-type skirt/teaser – slowly trolled behind about 80 feet of wire line in about 20 feet of water.
Captain Jacques finds his spot and hollers, “Set’em!” Gary and I release the bales on our Penn 113 reels and let out all 80 feet of wire; exposing the thick spool of Dacron backing – reserve for the anticipated battles. At trolling speed you can hardly hear the sewing machine-like hum of the Suzuki 4-Stroke outboard and the “Calypso” settles into a gentle groove atop a mildly rolling sea. There were just a few other…
– Wup! I’M ON!!!
The hook’s set, the rod bends and the drag sings! Not much more than a few minutes later the fish is in the box. It’s a nice 35-some-inch fish… Not the monster we’re after, but a good start.
As I was saying; there were just a few other boats working The Reef that night. A close-knit, hard-core bunch, to be sure. All, similarly sized vessels. Jacques knew them all. And, all knew “Calypso”. Here, these folks troll up pretty darn close to one another (Had it been Cape Cod Bay, you would be expecting someone to shoot a flare gun at someone for getting within such proximity!).
We trolled up along side of this blue Parker (maybe a 26 foot – charter guy), not more than 15 feet apart, and Captain Jacques engaged in a brief and friendly conversation with the Captain of the line-siding vessel. Basic, friendly and undisclosed reporting… Certainly a friend.
Over the next few hours we had some intermittent luck, mixed in with periodical bad luck.
Gary hauled in and landed an even bigger fish than mine to give our first fish some company. And I hooked into, what seemed to be a very large fish that, immediately, dug deep towards the bottom, through some tough kelp, and was able to shake loose the hook. I could tell that my lure was fouled with seaweed, so I brought it up. I detangle the weed and, upon closer inspection, Captain Jacques noticed a piece of debris on one of the hooks that I had missed. He pinches it off and shows me, in his hand, this fish scale the size of my big toe!
“Look at that!” he says. “That was a HOG!” He pats me on the back and as he turns to step back behind the helm says, “Set ‘em again.”
[See… Here’s the thing… Big Bass can be very old. And, with age, such is the thing with most species, comes wisdom. You can bet that, when hooked into a BIG fish, you are probably not the first one to have hooked it. They’re smart. They have an instinct to survive and have devised counter measures. Dig deep. Find structure. Break it off.]
Gary and I eagerly execute the order with speed. But, as Gary was letting out his line, somehow he developed a “Rat’s Nest” – A mangled mess of rotating knots around the spool.
“Fuck!” he exclaims. And, as he’s trying to solve this linear puzzle – wrapped in a riddle – the Captain mumbles, “Hope you don’t hook a fish while you’re fingers are all up in that.” And, wouldn’t ‘ya know it… That’s exactly what happened.
Gary was able to free his hand but, without the drag in play – trying to, simply, “thumb” the spool to fight the fish – it slacked up and the fish was able to spit the hook.
And just then… My rod went down.
Hard.
This thing was taking line and felt like no Bass I had ever encountered. “Whoa!” yelled Jacques. “There ‘ya go!” shouted Gary. Jacques stops the boat and this thing’s just peeling line. I don’t even get the opportunity to gather any back before – “Ping!” The line goes slack and the rod goes stiff. And, as I reel in the line, I can tell that one of Jacques’ prized lures is gone. We get to the end of the wire line and we realize that the entirety of Jacques’ custom terminal rig had been lost at the splice! Jacques looks at the failed splice with contempt and awe. “Well…” he says, “That’s never happened before.”
Obviously, another wise elder.
“Don’t worry, Jacques,” I said, in hopes to lift his spirit, “We’ll find that fish again, AND get your lure back!”
Gary had changed rods and hooked up with another just before dawn. It didn’t seem like much… Didn’t take much line and came to the boat rather easily… We all thought it was going to be pretty small… Low and behold, Jacques gaffs, and pulls over the gunwale a 40-some-odd inch fish! 30 plus pounds! And with a mouth the size of a small bucket! A true Beauty! Not “Walter” or “Harry” (terms of endearment bestowed upon huge Bass that have gotten away by weary anglers determined to come back, some other day, to find – and land.), But a fish to, truly, make this outing a success. (Jacques, actually, pulled this fish out of the well to show off to some of his other friends, on our way in, and presented the fish as “Larry”)

As the Sun rose and The Reef turned off, the Captain decided to take a jaunt out towards Gay Head Light, Martha’s Vineyard, for a last crack at it. Though, this proved fruitless, the scenery was amazing. Tall cliffs, overlooking twinkling ripples of sea under a shallow dawn. Magnificence.
We ran back at a steady clip across Vineyard Sound through Robinson’s Hole, across Buzzards Bay, back through the Dike and New Bedford Harbor, home to Whaling City Marina.
It’s 6:45am. We’re cleaning the boat, cleaning gear and cleaning fish. And, (as it has been) it’s Saturday morning on Father’s Day Weekend! Dad’s Day weekend-warrior “Fishermen” are coming down the dock in droves with rods in hand, various baits and coolers filled of dreams on ice. Astounded that there are these three guys on a salt-covered boat, in blood soaked oilers, filleting big-ass Bass that were apparently caught before some of them even went to bed! The looks on their faces are of regal and contempt.
Some want to stop and “chat”. Captain Jacques politely answers insignificant questions for the inquisitive, though no secrets slip. Gary needs to get home to his wife and child and I need to go to work!
We finish up, collect our things, and shake hands, hug and promise to do it again – soon.

Driving home to Marion, I find myself lost in thought and recollection. By the time I realize that I’ve missed my exit, I’m on 25E towards the Bourne Bridge and turn around off exit 2, through Wareham, back to Marion to change clothes and put my dog out. I was on schedule… Now, I’m going to be late to work.
Just then; Jacques called!
“You won’t believe it!” He says… “I just left the bait-shop and there was a 50+ pound Striper lying across the cooler!”
“No way!” I said.
“Yeah!” Jacques continued, “And, you won’t believe who caught it… I’ll give you one guess.” He said.
“Who?” I inquired, as if I’d actually had a clue.
“Tod McGreagor” He said. “Ya’know, of: Mac- Attack Charters? That guy who was fishing right there beside us? In the blue Pahkah!”
“No shit!”
To which he responded:
“At least I got my lure back.”