Unexpected Visitors Off The Jersey Coast

A stuttering buzz from the stern brought Ken to his feet. He cranked in a Spanish mackerel to get things started. It was followed by a bluefish, and then Adam got a second Spanish.

Here off New Jersey, this trolling bite was what we had hoped for. Things were good. With patience restored, we got reoriented and trolling. I was tying on a green crocodile spoon when one of the reels started screaming. Ken let the fish run a long time before he tightened the drag and started gaining.

When he first saw the fish, his face lit up. He kept saying, “It’s a king!” in a high, tight voice I’d never heard before. Off New Jersey, a king mackerel might be once-in-a-lifetime. As Ken brought the beast boat-side, Adam swung and missed with the gaff, then hit it square in the head with a second shot. Ken took his fish and stood there grinning while Adam and I muttered,“yeah, great job.”

We trolled another hour. While Ken grinned at the horizon, Adam focused on the depth sounder to hide his jealousy. I was jealous, too, so I stared at my rod, blinking one eye at a time.

The jealousy ebbed once we got on plane headed home. We’d all caught dinner. I’d made peace with my lone bluefish when Adam hollered, “Woah!” He slammed the boat into neutral.

“That was a cobia! I thought it was a shark, but it was a cobia!” Adam was excited, talking fast. I didn’t see anything. Neither did Ken. Adam swung the boat around, retracing his wake.

“There! Throw something! Cast!” he shouted.

My eyes focused in on a lumbering golden-brown cobia. The fish swam closer to investigate. Ken cast. The fish didn’t see his lure and kept swimming… toward me. Just feet away, I plunked an epoxy jig in the water. I saw the wide mouth open and inhale my lure. I froze. The huge fish, old and ragged and covered in scars, was looking me in the eye. I was hypnotized.

With Adam and Ken yelling, I snapped out of it and set the hook. It felt like a brick wall on a medium-heavy spinning rod. I cranked twice and my rod bent double. Too much drag. I moved to loosen the drag and saw the cavernous mouth open and the head shake. The fish was still looking at me as if to say, “not today.”

The rod slacked. I heard the jig whiz past my ear. My jaw dropped as I watched the fossil swim away.

The boat was quiet for a minute, and then they started busting my chops. That went on for the whole ride in. By the time we hit the inlet, I was able force a laugh. Looking back, maybe I’m glad I lost it. A fish that old deserves to swim. From now on, though, I’m keeping my drag nice and light.