Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 14 · column 5 of 7 · from the scan, no model involved
Last year, when I ventured to the Outer Banks of North Carolina to tiy surf fishing, it was the first week in December. What the locals consoled me with was, “You should have been here in October.”
Two weeks ago, when I walked into the bait and tackle shop on that narrow stretch of sand that separates the 25mile wide Pamlico Sound from the Atlantic Ocean, I said, “What do I need to do to catch a striper in the surf.” I expected he would sell me this and that, and I would go on my way. Instead, he said, “Come back the end of November, or the first of December.”
I have heard it said that only a fool will keep repeating the same actions while expecting a different result. I think I am going to have to modify that somewhat to include my attempts at surf fishing. Or, maybe they are already included.
By now, you have probably guessed how the fishing progressed. I fished for three days in the surf. I used finger mullet. Fishermen all around me were using the same, or squid, or cut bait, or bloodworms. In three days, I saw one fish caught. He was a little bluefish about a foot long.
On the positive side, the weather was wonderful, the beach was clean, the water reasonably warm for October, we had a couple of great seafood dinners, and the missus had a lot of good books to read, so I could fish all I wanted. All I wanted turned out to be three days, and that was a gracious plenty.
The people were nice. Even the non-fishermen would stop and talk and ask how you were doing. One nice couple walked up to me as I was rebaiting my rig. The lady
86.3%