Monday, June 18, 2012

Block Island Line

I'll be 42 next month and should know better than to to be pulling all-nighters. Now I have that horrid jet-lag feeling - the one that makes you feel like you're wearing someone else's body parts - and it's all I can manage to throw up some photographs from a very enjoyable, though terminally slow, evening/night/morning of fishing the brine. Sleep pattern is assuredly wrecked for the next several days but, as always, my man-brain is possessed by my own dismal catch and the need to get back out there and put things right. I'll let the following images convey just how well I did at catching bass last night.

But somewhat regardless, adventures at sea, with the willing company of Bob, Steve and Todd, are always a necessity; always fun.

Follow the fish, you must. Perhaps I was going the wrong way?

Do not adjust your screens. Bob actually had cash. (Thanks for the dinner, Hos.)

We've learned not to start too early. First, a rather romantic tour around this small, Victorian island.
A quick game of boules.
The Block. Immensely pretty.
Coordinates? Not really.
We caught fish early. Signs were good. They fought like animals twice their size. But the signs were wrong.
The Norwegian lands a nice one. The tray should read ""
We all stood round to watch and film Bob fight and land this one (around 37" and maybe 20lb). Again, do not adjust. He's actually smiling.
Worth the trip for a chance at this. The photos don't convey the girth of this fish.

Isn't it good; Norwegian skate.

It was cold, so English Jonny lit a fire. (Don't try this at home kiddies).
Met these guys at breakfast. And Stacy. We will always remember your breakfast fare.

Until next time.


  1. Ahh - so THAT'S what a grandpa routine looks like.

    Very nice. I can almost smell the salty air. Or Bob. Same thing, basically.

  2. You really have a thing for fire. Did you do any reading?

  3. I don't like to sail to close to the flames.

    I do like to mix my metaphors though.