Re: [BP] Bush/ Karioke

[MSGuild]

5 am Georges Bank, Montemoy spit 5 miles south of Chatam light Cape Cod   This is a curious part of the world ; a place unchanged since the end of the last ice age ; There is no record, no trace of humanity having ever been here . Well on the surface anyway . It lays as a long sand dune barely a 100 yrds wide feathering the arm of the Cape like a finger pointing out to the North Atlantic. A bird sanctuary, and nesting ground  if there ever was one. It is the home for thousands of Terns , Frigates, gulls;and assorted avian travelers that make the coast their birth place and  home . It is also a graveyard of centuries old  shipwrecks .Including those of Vikings and Pirates   The morning sun is late; In triumph it  breaks a lead grey  cloud bank and spills out  over dark sea dazzling it with  dramatic  splashes of emerald and dancing  the tops of   large swells with the bright foam  of  little white caps.   Cold purple clouds ride the horizon, as puffly pinks sail over head . The  sea breeze and swells  push us  Aft   as  the slap and sudden  spray drenches  our face and beards. We work the deck wearing yellow oils and Glousters laying  out a choice of  deep sea reels and antique lures, then constructing  intricate  bloodlines for the bait made from   the gaily colored  deceivers.    The spray   wets  our appetites and we give into  smells of   black coffee and the warm of left over  pastry from  the galley .    The day is not lost on us ; our boat the Sea Gill ;is a happy little Black fin of about 30ft With a good sturdy  disel  that can take an open  sea .   We pepper along at about 4 knots and  set the compass on course of 182 deg to sally the shore while we  set the outriggers up with heavy sea poles rigged with steel wire and adorned with  fearsome looking  lures and deceiving  streamers to mimic sea worms.      .The banks themselves are a sight to behold ; a long churn of  thrashing  white  water that breaks the air in the salted  diamonds of multicolored  mists. Somewhere between the rise of the mists and the churn of the prop lays an etherial  kingdom   worthy of  mystical  nymphs and the legends of sea gods ..   Here in the morning light   jitterbugging  rips and  dancing whirlpools spin and weave  a chaotic  line of water  unto the  surface;     where  Underneath   plays out a drama as old as time itself.   It is here that the water rises first from 100 ft to 50 f then to 25 and so on until there is a huge collison of currents  meshing with and colliding into  from the cold water of the North meeting the (relatively) warm water of the South ..    The amount of bait life brought with it especially at the changes of the seasons is a fisherman's dream.. Here at the Harvest moon schools of stripped bass, shad  and   warm water bonita compete with hordes of Blue Fish and if you are lucky occasional tuna  to feed on the  masses of sea eel, worm  and the  bait fish which gather at this feeding paradise.   But you have to be lucky. There is no guarantee. Three hours of fishing as yeiled  2 blues and one bonita,   we break pattern and move further up the shoal.   To be continued)       Caught the debate on ship to shore ;  As for politics  Take it from a pyrate ... ....When we fish we use lures to deceive the fish ;   frankly I do not see much difference in the bait ..and the fish.... they all smell the same .. perhaps if they let Nader have a voice ;....but ..oh heck ...  that would be too democratic   Py ......Ps.. I rather be fishing ...........................