Tog Action!
December 03, 2023
Stone Harbor
3 photos




Tautog
Trip Summary
Trip Summary
It was one of those days. I tried to find someone to go fishing with me, but everyone had other plans, or had an ailment. Looking at the weather I started to figure fishing was probably not the greatest idea anyway. It was pretty dismal out. And besides, there were some good college football games scheduled throughout the day.
I took Bubbalouie out front to check the mail. He kept looking over at the truck. So, we took a ride over to Avalon to check the inlet. The ocean looked quite inviting. There was a bit of fog, but entirely manageable. So, I hit the tackle shop and snagged a few dozen green crabs. Then ran home to prep the boat and gear.
While wolfing down some left overs, I tried another fishing buddy. As luck would have it, George was available and wanted to go. So, I was no longer a solo trip. I met George at the ramp and we headed off for the reef. The fog that had been rather wispy earlier was getting thicker. We poked our way through the ICW and made it into the inlet and made our way to the reef. We looked for signs of stripers along the way, but the fog was a major impediment.
We spot locked over some rubble and dropped green crabs down to their doom. It didn't take long for the tog to find their free snacks. They picked us clean the first few rounds, but then we got the hang of it. We pulled up shortie after shortie. It was nonstop action. Towards the last of our crab bits, George and I caught our only keepers of the day. His was 16", mine was just shy of 20". The fat bugger was five pounds. Around this time we noticed we could no longer see any of the other boats that were around us. The fog really socked in! And it was getting late. Time to bug out.
I put the radar on and followed my track back from whence we came. Running in a heavy fog is just eerie. All sense of direction vanishes. Sounds are distorted. Thank God for electronics. We made it safely into the inlet and under the bridge. Once inside the ICW we felt constricted and disoriented. We thought about pulling into one of the other, closer boat ramps or just tying up at one other marinas for the sake of safety. Then we just figured stuff it. Let's take our chances. So we pressed on. Pretty sure the fog got even more dense as we approached the football field area. If you know it, you know it. The place is a long stretch of narrow channel flanked by mucky mud flats. The place eats boats on crystal clear days. We were running it blind. Slow and steady won the race. We made it through and picked our way back to the marina. We arrived in the dark. The fog never relented. I pulled the boat and made for home. George was good company and a solid navigator, picking the channel markers out of the pea soup. We didn't find any stripers, or any of the streaking bluefin tuna that have been rampaging through bunker schools. Maybe next time...
Tight Lines!