2003 Weakfish Nightmare:

It was a warm September evening on Jersey coast, perfect for casting to blues or bass in the suds. But I was not going to the beach. I had left my car on the side of the road, close to a bridge over the backwaters of the Shrewsbury River. On the grass in front of me, I had lain out my new float tube and flippers. I had never used a tube before, but the concept seemed self-explanatory back at Sports Authority. By the time I had figured out how to inflate it and attach the stupid flippers to my shoes, the sun had gone down.

I had been assigned to write a story on weakfish by the local fishing magazine. I should have been thrilled, since it was my first chance to write for an outdoors publication. I edited a business magazine nine-to-five, so this was a big break. Unfortunately, the weakfish run on the coast had been nonexistent this year, leaving few options for a guy without a boat or a clue. I had been landlocked for 25 years in Ohio, and this was my first summer in Jersey.

People crabbing from a bridge stared as I duck-stepped towards the bank of the river, float tube around my waist, pole in hand. They were not sure how to react, so I waved to reassure them that this was part of my plan, legal, and under control. The tide was out, exposing the stinking mudflats along the shore. I hopped down and backed in. Then I gave the thumbs up to the people on the bridge and paddled out into the current.

It took me about a minute to figure out that the slimy wisps that kept wrapping around my thighs were jellyfish and not seaweed. They were thick, like egg drop soup, like spaghetti around the tines of a fork. But they had not really started stinging yet.

So there I was in the middle of the river, after dark, with a tiny flashlight strapped to my head that kept falling off. My legs were going numb from all of the jellyfish and I had already dropped my pole in the water once. I had a box of uncooperative sandworms and a floating jig head tied to a three-way rig with a two-ounce weight. I was living the good life.

It was slack tide; probably the best time to fish the river since lazy fish will not fight a 15-knot current. But it is not the best time to make ground in a float tube. So I threw out my line and started kicking down river. I worried about spooking the fish, so I kicked lightly. I started to feel really stupid at that point.

After about an hour of perpetual exposure to jellyfish stings, I started going into toxic shock. My lips had gone numb, my hands were tingling, and my legs. I was so engrossed in my own thoughts (how much the float tube had cost, how little I was getting paid to do this, how I would afford to eat this week since I had bought a float tube) that I never noticed the current picking up momentum. Determined to get this first story, I ignored the fact that I had drifted for over an hour, without a bite.

At some point I decided enough was enough. I gave up and started kicking back up the river. It was like running on a treadmill. That is, if your treadmill was surrounded with jellyfish and you could not get off. I kicked as hard as I could for ten minutes and gained about a yard. I may have screamed.

It is private property up and down the banks of the river. There was no way to get out and walk. I should have popped the tube and just swam. Two hours later I had almost made it back to where I left my car. That is when I saw the police boat cruising with the spotlight, probably looking for some idiot in the river. If they had been there an hour earlier, I would have screamed for help. But at that point, I was too close to my car to just turn myself in and get fined, so I hid behind a dock until they left. I would have kissed the ground when I got on shore, but it was covered in goose droppings.

This is not an ad for Sports Authority, but they took the float tube back and I was grateful. So grateful in fact that I bought a kayak with my store credit to continue my pursuit of weakfish.

Hey Luca,

I just got my t-shirt and flies! I don't want to win another contest but I do have a funny story. Last year a buddy and I went to the Little Red River in Arkansas the same weekend that hurricane Rita was hitting the Texas coast. Well being the idiots that we were, we decided we would be fine! Well the hurrican moved inland and on saturday it came through northern Arkansas! We were sleeping in a tent and were getting tossed around by the wind and rain (not to mention we were under a huge tree that lightening struck)! Well at 3 in the morning we finally decided we'd had enough so we went and got a hotel room. We went back the next morning to our camp and found that the tree above us had split and would have landed on us during the night! Glad we got out!!!!!