By Marco Pompano, Surf Fishing Guide
I’m breaking out my mukluks (native Canadian snow boots) and gatkes (Yiddish for long underwear). It’s cold in Florida, record breaking: a little snow, a little ice. That is super rare for this area. Big winds, weeks of cold weather, and cold water in the ocean have shocked our little paradise of Wilbur By the Sea.
I’m not exaggerating: Chill-brrr By the Sea.
Ya, mon! It’s my time to Bamba! It doesn’t matter I’m going out in the morning. I’m ready with five layers. I’ll hide behind the walls. The wind is coming out of the West, which might save me. We’ll see if there are any fish around. I’ll use the term ‘fresh’ this morning, because it’s real stinking fresh out here today. The wind died down. It’s very fishable. I’m setting up four poles with crab knuckles, sand fleas, and pompolicious fish gum. I’m gonna give it my best shot. Let’s Bamba!
It is so sunny out here this morning! The water is blue-green and beautiful. Cold wind from the north, no current. Ya, mon! Very, very fishable. I’m all set with four poles up, so I wait.
I stuck some fish gum on my sand fleas for good luck and it puts out a great scent.
It’s foggy this morning but the sun is breaking through, a typical winter in beautiful Wilbur By the Sea.
As I’m waiting, I’ll tell you a little bit about Wilbur by the Sea. It’s a mile long on the beach in between Daytona Beach Shores and Ponce Inlet. No condos, only 3-story tall houses, and it’s full up of fishermen, skateboarders, surfers, paddle boarders, kayakers, bicycle paths, and real grumpy people who don’t want anyone to come here, and one of the most pristine beaches in all of Florida.
It was all started 112 years ago by a man named Jacob Wilbur who had a dream to make a little beautiful town with roads paved with seashells, divided by flowerbeds, with a nice size hotel, and of course the famous Wilbur boathouse, which has been re-created to look like the original.
He bought 64 acres that stretched between the Atlantic Ocean and the Halifax River. Now it’s 1075 acres. He bought it from a woman named Sara McConnell, who had bought it for $4.68 and $6.28 of back taxes. The first deed is from the 1880s. What a deal! Ya, mon!
The boathouse and the docks behind the boathouse were busy areas, with all the fishermen and transport boats going up and down the Halifax River and into New Smyrna Beach. It was pretty thriving for a while, until the hotel burnt down. Wilbur died. But the town didn’t.
I’m sure I’m standing in a place (with the new rods and reels I use) where people have been surf fishing continuously since Wilbur’s time, and before. The proof is all the old Indian oyster shell mounds in the area.
The rods are starting to Bamba. Breaking the calm, no bites in the last three hours, but something big is on the line. I think it’s a shark. I keep reeling, but I’m not getting anywhere. It’s definitely a stingray, a big one.
Oh well, at least it didn’t get my rig. Back to the ocean for this big guy.
The whiting bite. It’s on, and I’m getting plenty of them. Great pan fry or air fry. Nice white meat, flaky. These fish like to eat just about anything: crab, shrimp, clam, sand flea, chunks of small mullet. They are not unlike cod, and they are bottom feeders. They’re all over the Atlantic into the Mediterranean, and down by us in Wilbur By the Sea. Plentiful, and they’ll stick around in cold water.
But now the island music of reggae is wafting through the air, and me and these beautiful fish are heading to the smoker.
