FISHING THE VINEYARD SUMMER SOLSTICE 2022 REPORT
Then, asudden, you glance upwards. And it’s been a decade since the antecedent post on planet blog spot. It’s funny you know Kevin; a lot has happened since our precursory communiqué.
As we discussed at the time, in adversity’s face, I jumped ship. I sold my skiff and a slew of my equipage in an attempt at exhumation from an aperture I bore through a panoply of bad breaks and what were, in retrospect, ill informed decisions.
In the aftermath of the overhead acknowledged fiasco, Josh from the Bluffs imparted upon me a dory in which I spent a compendiary juncture. But alas, my heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Fishing felt, and (probably as a result) often was, ho-hum. Innervating that I was too boyish to be merely embarking by way of ambulation I found myself longing for the contrast that can only be offered by way of a divergent path.
Henceforth, I tried some other shit. And, like anything else Kev, there were high highs and low lows. But, by most appraisals (codicillary upon the examiner and their criteria I suppose), it was a tremendous incumbency, and why I’ve been astray from this instrument for time immemorial. Engrossing and captivating as my assignments were (anyone who bore witness can attest that they were undeniably both), there was always a nagging vacuity that, try as I might, I could never bypass.
Subsequently, incidents betide, and they inexorably bring the entirety of the universe into a proverbial point of convergence. A once in a hundred year plague befell the world and transmuted our collective existence. Bill from Queens ascended to a higher plane of being. I turned forty. It’s affairs such as these which compel one to envisage that which is mission critical which is why I find myself returning to the life I left all those years ago. And scrawling these same insouciant notes once again…
Based upon my preliminary ascertainments, conditions have commutated markedly since I last inscribed. The fish, although still oft ample, seem a mite shrunken. The body politic is recurrently attendant in greater vehemence than they were previously, attempting to entangle them. Moreover, I’d be remiss were I to fail to make mention the weather has changed. These and other external factors seem to have had observable repercussions on the fishery writ large.
Having said all that, we still find ourselves in a prosperous sphere. Overall, Cayo Martha is still an uncommonly generative fishery. And those whom we’re so opportune to bestow it upon by and large relish it. The Vineyard and its astonishingly diverse ecosystem will always have rudiments that set it apart from anywhere else on the seaboard.
Perhaps most importantly though, I’ve prodigiously reprogramed. Whence I began composing this rag I was in my early 20s; habitually imbued with piss and vinegar. Mind you, I’m referencing a bygone era. The Fishing the Vineyard Blog premiered during the veritable infancy of the modern internet. Jesus on ice skates, it predated the ubiquity of Facebook! I had only then just begun altering the chromaticity of images, a concept that would shortly after be pilfered by a pair of San Francisco based engineers who created another social media platform which made several people other than myself very wealthy. But I digress.
The prevailing hypothesis is that my outlook on the whole thing has changed. I’ve mellowed out, man. It’s like this - I still say “fuck” all the time but it’s rarely if ever followed by “you” if ya know what I mean. The measure a good day is completely different now. I’m inconceivably thankful and grateful for every moment I get to spend on the water with friends old and new.
During my time away I tried to do all I could to advocate for better administration. Sadly, striped bass are woefully mismanaged; don’t let the pictures fool you or anyone tell you otherwise. That needs to be the crux of our collective ethos going forward. The brown clown needs our help now more than ever. And it’s not belated. There are a litany of conservation associations/advocates and cape-less heroes out there doing the good work. We need to do everything in our power to support them. Write letters, go to meetings if you can, practice catch and release and do everything in your power to handle fish properly. Every little bit helps.
I cannot even begin to put into words (even the convivial and cryptic ones I draw from my thesaurus) the joy it has brought me to pen this note and how enraptured I am to return to doing what I love most. None of it would have been possible without the abutment and succor that those of you who actually read this nonsense have shown me throughout the years. I truly feel as though it’s all come full circle and I anticipate composing the next literal and figurative chapters with prodigious enthusiasm.
Always a hoot…
Captain W. Brice Contessa