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I just may have to give up on surf fishing. You heard my tale of woe a couple of weeks ago, and then I ran into Bubby Settle. He went down to the Outer Banks about two weeks after I was there, and had wonderful luck. Maybe it was not luck at all; maybe it has something to do with skill.
He told me that by 9:00 a.m., he was sitting on a cooler of fish enjoying a refreshing beverage. Friend that he is, he did try to make me feel better by saying that it all had to do with the temperature of the water, and that it was too warm when I was there. I am willing to take any excuse I can get, at this point. Perhaps, I will just stick with hunting.
A few weeks ago, as day was breaking, I was scrunched back under an eastern red cedar, at the edge of a copse, overlooking a valley of pasture and patches of brush. It was about 28 degrees, and a beautiful, still morning. It was just frosty enough that your breath hung in the air.
As the sun peeked over the ridge, I sat watching for a white tail deer, with my muz
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