And Things That Go Bump In The Night...
by Paul Melnyk
Montauk was in the grip of the first big gale of the season... The windswept dunes drew long shadows on the rocky shoreline surrounding Murderers Row. The heavy overcast crowded the wave-tops as the storm wound its way up the eastern seaboard. Beaches and the bluffs had an eerie cast on this cold night. The shoreline was particularly deserted and lonely.
The dreariness of the area surrounding the north side of the Point was exceptionally mysterious. Rain squalls passed, leaving rivers of mud at the base of the cliffs. I thought back to the many shipwrecks and strandings that must have occurred in times past. Before the construction of the Montauk Lighthouse there must have been an abundance of souls taken here. To this day, some of the more notorious have been those careless fishermen who were just too aggressive. Lost in the wash. I hoped that my own crusade for that trophy bass would not place me within the ranks of those poor devils. I have often pondered on the chances that I may depart this world in some freak mishap. Maybe that 80 pounder will drag me off to sea tonight... like Ahab.
This late October Eve, I made the choice to fish the waters at Jones' Reef. I found myself wading out to one of the rocks that lay submerged in the wash. It is usually easy to get to a perch. A bit precarious, maybe. This time though, the Nor'Easter had made the dynamics of the place change. I climbed a good rock, but made a poor cast. The wind was too strong for my choice of tackle. While switching my lure, I was caught looking down. A wave toppled me into the surf. As I thrashed around trying to get my footing, the clasp to my flashlight came undone. I watched as the light sank into the foaming sea, below me. Try as I may I could not bend to retrieve it without filling my waders with water. Upset with this loss, I left to dry out, and maybe make a few casts from under the Lighthouse.
The Montauk Light. Commissioned by George Washington, Its sole purpose was to spare those hardy men from the rocks, waves and certain death... Standing above me, the light shone down like an ancient sentinel... Flashing off into the distance... To quick to perceive it's long steady arc.
Fishing from "up front" at midnight was quite an experience. As I approached, the sea seemed furious. The clamor of wind and surf was enhanced by the repeating blasts of the fog horn on the bluff above me. I made several casts and for this, I was rewarded with some decent fishing. I began to feel more at ease as each cast was followed by a hit, or a striper.
As I tossed a fish back to the surf, from behind me came the most horrific screaming! This howling gave me such a fright, it took several minutes to compose myself. I stood quietly, listening to the blood pounding in my ears... I found that this strange din was coming from the rocks beneath me. I could only guess that these were the emanations of the local wildlife... On occasions I have seen great raccoons, the size of dogs, steal a fellow's fish right out from under him, then disappear into that craggy sea wall. Unnerved by these bayings I decided to move on. I headed for my truck and a nice hot thermos of coffee.
Rounding the cove, I came upon two excited fishermen. Moving closer,
I caught their conversation;
"I tell ya, there is someone in the water!"
"Poor fool must of hit his head or somethin'."
"Hey guys, what's going on?" I said as I was drawn to their dialogue.
"I think there is a body in the water, near the get-on!" one of them says.
"Come on, let's go take a look.."
Off we went, stumbling down the rock strewn cove that ends near the service road. As we rounded the bend, one of the guys began to point. In a hush, he whispers, "Look, there he is! Down there below that rock!"
We all stood there... glaring into the night. I strained myself to make out any man-like form, below the rock.
"I don't see nothin' Sam." his buddy says as he sweeps the water with his flashlight.
"Turn your light away from the rock and you'll see him, just below it."
Switching our lights off, we wait for our night vision to return.
"Oh my god... there he is!"
As we watched, we could see a green glow radiate from below the surface. This caused the bottom to shimmer and dance with strange motion. The apparition was swaying slowly, back and forth... And blinking, on and off.
"Holly Mother! What is that?"
As a swell passed the rock, and the green vision suddenly disappeared...
"What the .....?" Sam says.
Another swell passed and the spectral light again returned. A strong case of the heebee-jeebees passed between us.
"Did you see that!" we chant in unison.
"Well, don't just stand there... go see what it is!"
"You go and see what it is!... I'm stayin' right here!"
Sam waded out to the rock to duck under the surface. We all wait for the fateful moment when Sam will surface with the poor drowned fool. Again, he dives.
"Well... what's doin'?"
Another wave passes, and the ghostly light fades.
"I can't see nothin' down here." Sam shouts.
"There's nobody here, fellahs. Just that awful green glow. I don't know about you, but ... I'm outa-here!"
Turning to flee the scene, we had convinced ourselves that this was some frightful apparition. But then... I began to understand the truth to the matter...
"Man... I'm not gonna fish down here no more..." Sam says, as they jump in their jeep and skip off the beach, sand and rocks flying.
As I climb into my own cab, I look over towards the phantom rock. Damned if I don't see that green glow under there again.... I didn't have the heart to tell them about my lost flashlight ... If you twist a Mag-lite just so, any bump will cause it to blink on and off... Nothin' like a good ghost story to keep the competition off my rock...
Further down towards the North Bar, the place had become even more deserted. The passing storm and the associated high seas had sent all but the most steadfast home to their beds. I could not, however, shake the thought that the strongest ebb tide in weeks may push some quality stripers onto the beach up at Shagwong Point. I ran the beach, stopping for a cast here and there and picking a few rats, ending up at the Wong for the four a.m. tide.
The trip west was slow and tricky. The storm swell had brought the water to within a few yards of the bluffs in a few of the tighter spots. Several times my wheels would splash through the tidewater, my truck tipped precariously towards the surf. It appeared as though the storm was breaking... Long columns of storm clouds raced by overhead, as the wind drove steadily on. This low deck was riven with the most brilliantly crisp air. When the moon would break through, it shown with the intensity of a spotlight. The temperature had dropped even more in the aftermath of the gale. I was beginning to tire. At the Point, the sky took on a surreal quality. This combination of cold and fatigue must have caused my mind to play tricks. At times the air was so bright, it almost seemed to be midday, rather than midnight. Quite suddenly, the sky would dim as though a switch was thrown as the moon would passed behind the sweeping clouds. Tired as I was, I made for the beach at the waters edge.
I was immersed in my womb of gear. I had on a fully hooded neoprene top, gloves and my heavy winter waders. I was bundled up like a nervous toddler. The only sensations I had were the numbing cold on my face and at the tips of my damp fingers and toes. And the wind.
It is funny how a tired mind can play tricks...
"Don't get wet! ...And stay out of the puddles!", I heard my mother's voice, from a time, long ago....
What a strange thought. Hmm... My mom had been gone for years now...
Casting into the 20 knot wind was a challenge, in the dark, rapped up in my cocoon of gear. Running towards the retreating wash, I would cast hard, then turn to race the incoming waves back to the tideline. I was using a bail-less reel and my line has a tendency to jump the roller in a head-wind, situation. The riptide was so powerful it seemed to pull my legs sideways, digging deep ruts under my boots. As the moon broke through the clouds once more, I threw my favorite cow hunter, (a 3 oz bottle plug), into the surf. I began the retrieve and in a few moments I noticed that I was reeling nothing. Damn! My line was steadily drifting down-wind into the "mother of all tangles". Boy, was I glad to be alone, 'cause it is as sure as Day that my good buddies would have given me the ribbing of the Night, for this one. Squinting in the dim light, I slipped the line back on the roller. As I turned the crank, I realize that I must have let 100 yds. free to the wind...
Just then, in the shadows cast below me, I see the form of my pal Joe, coming up from behind. The brim of his distinctive fishing hat stood out like a duckbill. Oh no... More explaining to do...
Keeping my eyes on the line, I greet my buddy," Hay Joe, what brings you out on a night like this!"
Nothing...
I mean... no answering remarks...
no laughter...
Nothing.
I turn to see what's up with Joe... and...
there is nobody there...
The shadows blinking in and out, dance around me...
Yes...I am truly alone, out here...
Desolate...
Another un-nerving to galley my heart is all I needed tonight. I could not, for all the life in me figure out what I had just seen from the corner of my eye. I was sure it was Joe...
Hallucinations?
I began to reel, in ernest, quickly returning line to the spool.
Easy boy... You've spooked yourself...
I feel the line finally come taught. My wrist hurts. I am loosing interest in this fishing trip rapidly... There is a strong tug at my shoulder and I about... jump-out-of-my skin!
"God, Joe, don't you have any sense! You nearly scared the hell out of me... you...."
I turn to confront my prankster pal....
But no one is there....
The wind drifts the shifting sands at my feet.... And here am I...
My shoulder within the grasp of some loathsome monster!
But wait...
With bile and adrenalin in my throat, I reach behind...
And remove my 3 oz bottle plug from my back...
How could this be? I had cast into the surf just moments before....
Thoroughly gallied now , I decide to make a better night of it... At home. I pack my gear and hit the road... for good. The trip home is alive with shadows. Branches skitter across the highway, animated by the passing winds. The radio is filled with a strange static. A truly weird scene of bucks, thrashing through the underbrush... As I turn into my driveway I take a deep breath. I curse myself for getting spooked on the night that was sure to bring in that trophy.
Returning to the warmth of my bed, my wife stirs as I slip between the covers.
Sleepily she asks, "How did it go honey... any luck?"
"Same old story", I remark...
"Nothin' to shake a stick at..."