THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, December 4, 1994 TAG: 9412020289
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 06 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Editorial
SOURCE: Ron Speer
LENGTH: Medium: 70 lines
``The blues are running! The blues are running!''
That's the most exciting announcement on the Outer Banks. The shouts ring up and down the coast, in offices, motels, grocery stores, gas stations, saloons, shops and homes.
``The blues are running!''
Fishermen spring for their rods and reels and their favorite lures and head for the beach when the word ripples from Ocracoke to Corolla of the arrival of the big, hungry fighters who seem to go berserk at times when they head north in April and May, and come back south in November and December.
And the fishermen go just as berserk, hoping that at least once in their lifetime they'll be in the right spot for a bluefish blitz.
I've been blessed. In 17 years of fishing for blues on the Outer Banks, I've been in on one blitz. Many a fisherman spends a lifetime without realizing the dream.
The magic moment came for me about 10 years ago at Coquina Beach north of Oregon Inlet, when a friend and I walked over a dune and saw thousands of big blues tumbling in the surf, smaller fish leaping out of the water onto the sand in a mad flight to escape the chopping jaws.
We ran to the surf, excitement slowing our attempts to rig lures, and cast into the sea.
My friend pulled in a 15-pounder on his first cast. So did I, but I had trouble getting the hook free, and my friend cast again, and caught a second, and then a third. By the time I made a second cast the blues were gone, as mysteriously as they had come. I was dazed, and sat down to relax while latecomers picked up trout and other smaller fish that formed a line on the beach where they had fled from the striking blues.
I've never seen another blitz, although half a dozen of us have tried, spring and fall, staying in Dave Shore's Nags Head cottage. Dave and Karl and Phil and Rich were all Old Dominion University professors, and I always figured that even if the blues weren't running I could pick up a little sophistication from learned men of academia.
Well . . . maybe mastering a so-called poker game known as Modified Moyock Blitz is enlightening (education isn't cheap, the professors gloated as they taught me the game), and probably learning how to pop open a clam, or how to create a delightful appetizer called Clams Coinjock (see below) is culturally helpful. But I don't recall ever comparing the novels of Ernest Hemingway against the writings of William Faulkner.
I did get into some serious shouting matches, however, over the merits of a Hopkins lure versus a Cisco Kid. (The Hopkins, a big slab of shiny metal, is the ONLY bluefish lure, all intelligent people know. The Cisco Kid is for folks who like to cast but don't want to catch anything).
My pals, envious of my move to Manteo last spring, are down here now, hoping this is the weekend that they'll hear the cry:
``The blues are running!''
If the cry doesn't come, they have promised to broaden my education by teaching me how to play Modified Moyock Blitz Extended.
CLAMS COINJOCK: Put two dozen dollar-sized clams in the freezer for 30 minutes, which makes them easy to open. Open the clams and cut free the meat, leaving the clam on a half shell, and arrange the shells on a cookie pan covered with foil. Chop some meaty bacon into stamp-sized pieces, and cover the clam with the raw bacon. Sprinkle liberally with Parmesan cheese. Pour on Worcestershire sauce until it overflows the shell. Place under an oven broiler and cook until bacon is crisp. Serves 4 (and they'll ask for more). Enjoy while telling stories about the blues that got away. by CNB