Capt. Tim Ramsey
The most amazing thing happened. Well, at least to me. Here’s the backstory: For roughly the last ten years my son and I went to the Jersey shore in late April/early May to fish for monster bluefish, striped bass, and flounder. Sure, we can catch blues elsewhere or there at other times of the year, but that’s when we get the angry thirty-six inchers. We stand in the water in the surf and back bay and cast to them. It’s awesome. We love it. He talks about it all year. Catch and release. I also know of a bluefish migration in Southwest Florida. It happens around November and is partly responsible for teaching both my son and my wife how to use a topwater lure. Normally I caught them along the beach, concentrating in the areas outside Big Marco Pass to Cape Romano. Not this year. It was windy and crowded so I spent all year in the backcountry working on my snook obsession. And then came the Corona virus. The virus came and shut us all down…momentarily. The airlines stopped flying. The yearly ritual fishing trip/steak barbecue-cancelled. I thought of driving. Then my seashore island hometown said only year-round residents were welcome; no outsider should transport the virus there. I reluctantly understood.
In Florida, the smart people realized the best way to “social distance,” was get out on the boat. Miraculously, the marina never closed. The boat never got trapped on the rack. And then it happened. So here we were, not far from Goodland on the Skeeter, just out front in the 10K, sipping coffee as we slid across the calm water headed east. My son lamented our cancelled trip and said he never caught a bluefish in Florida. Not two minutes later I noticed a silver flash in the distance, then spotted some fish jumping about a quarter mile away. We went to investigate. “Mackerels,” I announced. “Looks like it,” he replied. Coming off a plane closer to the fish, my son grabbed his rod and hopped onto the bow. I shifted into neutral but stayed behind the wheel. Then my son twisted his body around and turned his head to face me.
“Dad, they’re bluefish,” he proclaimed, eyes beaming. His voice had a slightly astonished quality. He cast a trout jig.
“No way,” I replied. Almost instantly, he set the hook. The rod bent almost double. I walked up next to him.
Moments later he was so excited he hopped down, snatched the net from the rod holder and scooped the fish from the water without waiting for our usual team approach. He pulled it from the net and measured it along the gunwale. “Twenty-five inches,” he said. “Biggest blue I’ve seen here,” I told him. It was true. He released the fish and gave me a high-five. “I can’t believe we caught blues,” he said incredulously, smiling. I gave him a quick hug as he held both the net and his fishing rod. I couldn’t help myself. “Catch another one,” I said.
And that’s what happened.
