THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, June 18, 1995 TAG: 9506180246
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C3 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BOB HUTCHINSON, OUTDOORS EDITOR
DATELINE: GLOUCESTER LENGTH: Medium: 97 lines
Outdoor writers always catch a lot of fish because they get to go fishing all the time and have the latest intelligence from the area's best fishermen.
Right?
Wrong!
A recent trip is a case in point.
Hearing that a tremendous run of big speckled trout had developed in Mobjack Bay, near Gloucester, Charlie Johnson of Suffolk and I did what any trout addicts would have done. We planned to go as soon as possible. That was the following day, a Friday.
At 2:30 Thursday afternoon I learned that the trout had been hitting late in the day, from about 4 p.m. until just before dark.
Problem: Our Friday outing was planned for early in the morning because I had to be in town late that afternoon. So the Friday trip was out.
I called Charlie: ``They've been hitting late. Can you leave within the next 30 minutes?''
We agreed to meet at 4 o'clock in Newport News at the intersection of Interstate 64 and J. Clyde Morris Boulevard.
I left my Kempsville home, pulled up on I-64 and flipped on the radio to learn that ``traffic in the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel is normal and motorists should expect little or no delay.''
Wrong!
The traffic was backed up around the big curve where you get on the causeway at Ocean View, just 8 miles into the trip. Back to the radio. There was an accident in the tunnel, and ``motorists can expect a delay of 30 minutes or more.''
Traffic started moving 40 minutes later. But it didn't move far. The blinking yellow overhead lights changed to red at the entrance to the tunnel.
A truck just ahead in the right lane had tripped the over-height warning. So we all stopped while the 18-wheeler was ushered around us and onto the island parking area.
We started moving again and made it through Hampton without event. But at J. Clyde Morris, construction diverted four lanes of traffic into two. Another 15 minutes.
``Where have you been?'' Charlie asked when I finally met him. It was 4:50. ``Don't ask,'' I said. ``Don't ask.''
Slowly, we headed north on U.S. 17 in stop-and-go, rush-hour traffic, our 18-foot boat trailing behind.
Five miles south of the York River Bridge, we actually got up to 55 mph and held it there a few seconds.
Four miles from the bridge, the traffic came to an abrupt halt. We sat for an hour and 15 minutes while wreckers and emergency vehicles cleared an accident at the bridge's apex.
We started moving again. But only briefly. A three-car tail-ender at the south foot of the bridge cost us another 15 minutes.
``It's 6:30. We should turn around and go home,'' Charlie said.
``Remember, they've been hitting late in the day,'' I said.
Finally we arrived in Gloucester and, following directions from Claude Bain, who runs the Virginia Salt Water Fishing Tournament, headed for Ware Neck Point, 10 miles away, where the Ware River meets the North River to form Mobjack Bay.
I was certain Claude had said that's where we would find the boat ramp. But when no ramp and no directional signs to a ramp appeared, we started asking questions.
``Perhaps,'' I said, ``I misunderstood Claude.
``Perhaps,'' Charlie said. I could tell his disposition was not cheerful.
``The only public ramp,'' we were told at the Ware River Yacht Club, ``is back in Gloucester at Warehouse Point.''
We finally arrived at the ramp at 7:30, only to find its single lane occupied by a boat whose owner seemed in no hurry to move it. We didn't push the issue.
The skipper finally pulled out of the ramp, and we backed down and launched. I held the boat while Charlie went to park the car. Meanwhile, another boat came in.
``Can you fellows hurry it up a little?'' the skipper demanded. ``I'd like to load my boat before it gets completely dark.''
We got under way at 7:45, headed down the Ware River, looking for Keith Nuttall in a boat we had never seen before.
A patrol officer for the Marine Resources Commission, Keith is an old friend and an ardent and successful trouter who lives on the river. We knew he was out with Charlie Carter, a neighbor, and Eric Burnley, an outdoors writer from Virginia Beach.
We located them on the North River, just upstream from Ware Neck Point. They had not had a trout strike.
``It's over for the spring season,'' Keith said. ``Only one fish caught all day. Boat over there. And that was real early this morning.
``It was hot first of the week. You shoulda been here. One fellow has caught six citations (fish weighing at least 5 pounds) so far this year.
``How come you're so late?''
I started to answer but decided it would take until dark to explain.
``At least we'll know where to go when we come back again,'' I said to Charlie as we raced Keith to the ramp in gathering darkness.
``Yeah,'' he said, ``if we come back again. I don't think I can take another day like this.'' by CNB