Finally it has arrived. All year I count the months to days when I can began the hunt that is the Fall Migration Period. This is my time, all I can think about; tide, moon, wind and weather. As they say, Tide and Time wait for no man. I am new to this sport, say ten years, and have been keeping a log since 2004. Growing up the time spent fishing and hunting with my father was the best. My father is gone and I just don't have the time for hunting. Fishing the lake all summer in Maine with my son is so much fun and serene, unlike the frenzy of the Striper Chase to come. I will never forget my son's first time Striper fishing, a Keeper his first time out, on a cheap 7 foot rod someone had given me. With an old reel and worn line he landed this fish around a pile of rocks in front of four guys. He still has the single scale we took from that fish prior to its gentle release. My son is a teenager now and at this moment of his life does not have a strong desire to be up early or away from his friends. This is time I spend alone with friends happy in the same pursuit. It is with this fever that I drive 30 miles from home to the water's edge just to see the day change from black to purple to orange to yellow and blue. In this setting I would like to relay my 2009 story.

On 9/30/09, 5:30 am, sunrise is at 6:41 am, high tide at 9:15 am. It is a sunny day, 56 degrees, little to no wind. The new moon was 9/20. The prior day the Back Shore had strong NE winds and a 3-5 foot surf. As I approach the Back Shore I always stop at Good Harbor Beach to check the wave height. Today things have calmed down. I park the car and make my way to my favorite spot. As I climbed across the rocky surface I began to consider what conditions to expect today. My buddy John and I had tried to fish this spot yesterday but the surf would not allow us to get close enough. Along the Back Shore, the spot is locally known as the Bridge. The section I fish has a narrow peninsula that affords me access to deep water at the end of the cast. Two small coves are formed on either side of my rock pile, another rocky point to my right. The collection of bait and white water makes this a productive spot. My perch on the rock pile however sits low to the water and can be dangerous at times. On another occasion I was hit hard and dropped, the force of water rushing past just immense. I have always been cautious and became even more so. Today I was well aware that even though it was now calm, a few good waves would be coming. It is my custom to sit away from the water's edge and strap on my Korkers, light a cigar and study the wave action before heading forward. Everything felt fine and I began my decent. As I approached I suddenly became apprehensive and questioned if this was a good idea, but I pushed on nonetheless. I had just got to the beginning of the water's edge when I spotted a rogue wave approaching, not from in front of me, but from my right, over the point some 150 feet off. I knew I would be hit so I turned to grab a rock about waist high. The wave hit me hard in the back and I went down. Now typically the waves in this location do not enter the shore from the right, they come straight on or from the left, hitting the peninsula and losing steam. This wave came from the Wrong direction and came in full force without a break. I guess this is the point, as well as you think you know an area, think again. As I went down the force of the rushing water would not let me get back up. The receding wave pulled me off the rock pile and into the cove. At this point you know you are in trouble but that realization never takes hold. You just try to get out, trying not to get too wet so that you are able to make that first cast by false dawn. I can remember trying to take hold, grabbing the sea weed and it breaking off. I felt myself running with the surf, rolling under water and slamming into the rocks. At one point I was able to jamb a foot into a rock and was able to climb out. As I climbed out my first thought was that I will never get this cigar lit. Then it was; where is my rod and glasses, where am I and what just happened? My body hurt, my knee was swelling, a trip to the doctors. As my head cleared I realized that I was 40 yards from where I went in, I had indeed lost my rod, Korkers, favorite hat and my new glasses. My waders were filled to my knees and my mouth tasted like salt. The only reason my waders did not fill up and pull me to the bottom was that my plug bag was secured around my waist. In what seemed like an instant, I was a pounded against the rocks, carried 40 yards submerged fully under water, and I’m still alive!

I thought to go for help to look for my gear but quickly realized I did not want to jeopardize my friends who were fishing at other spots along the Back Shore. I got back into my car and began the long drive home, without my glasses, wondering how my family would receive this news.

Later that day my wife Cathy and I went back to have a look. We were just leaving when Cathy spotted the tip of a rod sticking out of the seaweed. The rod had travelled about 150 yards into the cove and remained in-tact. The fluorocarbon line did not break and my favorite plug was still attached to the line. We spotted my fishing buddy John on the next rock pile and called him over to explain what had happened that morning and he and I went to retrieve the rod. As I reflect on the experience it almost made me bitter. I have always been respectful of the water's edge. This spot is one of my favorite places in the world, a spot I knew well, how could this happen? What you realize is that a Lesson Learned is invaluable, Listen to your apprehensions. I felt that I was aware of the conditions present, was knowledgeable about my location had taking the proper steps in making my assessment. It cannot be said enough, please have the proper respect required for a life time of shore line fishing. As I recalled this story to other fisherman all seemed to have similar stories. Sometimes the intensity of the hunt, especially in a down year can drive you to take an unnecessary chance. Believe me it is better to live to fish another day. Tight lines and dry waders,

Joe C.