No Boat, No Problem
An ode to the pier that raised me and a primer in proper pier fishing etiquette
When I was a kid on summer break, back before there was instant access to weather apps, I would religiously watch the afternoon news. Twelve-year-old me wasn’t particularly interested in current events, but near the end of the half-hour news segment, the news anchor would report the current tides and wind direction.
When Daddy's truck would come grumbling up the gravel road in the late afternoon, I would run out to meet him in the yard.
"Southwest at five miles an hour."
That was all I had to say. We'd throw the heavers and a bait bucket in the back of the truck and make a beeline for Buckroe Pier.
I can't begin to sum up all the hours we spent on the worn wooden planks of that pier. Some of my earliest memories are of me riding Daddy’s shoulders out to the end. When I would get too heavy to tote, he’d set my pink sneakers on the planks, and I would wrap my tiny body around his leg like a vise, afraid I would slip through the gaps in the boards and wash out to sea.
I know Daddy fished that pier long before I came along. There are old black and white pictures of him, smiling as he holds a citation cobia. There’s one of him in a dusty old fisherman’s hat, proudly hoisting the red drum that held the pier record for decades. Someone snapped all those photos before I could hold a fishing pole.
But half of my childhood, the summer months of cobia season and the early bluefish run, was spent on that pier with him, watching storms brew up over the Chesapeake Bay, sometimes catching fish, more often getting sunburned and amusing ourselves with stupid jokes.
We spent long hours there, sometimes from dawn to dusk. Sometimes, we’d sit out after dark, a dead fish head run through a barbed hook and dropped to the grassy bottom, hoping to catch a night-feeding sandbar shark.
Most of our time was spent in a waiting game, sitting on overturned five-gallon buckets, watching the sunlight dancing as it sparkled off murky blue-green water.
It takes patience to catch big fish. You bait the hook, toss it out, and bide time. We would sometimes go weeks without catching anything. But in a flash, a big cobia might grab the line and head for deeper water, the sound of the screaming reel sending a burst of adrenaline through your body, making your heart race as you rush to grab the rod. You have to let them run just long enough to get a good hold before setting the hook and starting the fight.
That pier helped raise me. I am the person I am today, largely due to the hours I spent there each summer. I cried in September 2003 when I learned Hurricane Isabel had washed it away.
I made a trip home to see the aftermath of the storm. I cried again when I saw the wreckage of what had been like a childhood home. I combed the beach and found a piece of plank, one I had undoubtedly trudged over a thousand times in my life. I carted it home. I have it tucked away in a keepsake box with my Grandfather’s hat and my folded wedding dress.
Use Your Best Pier Manners
You don’t need a johnboat, center console, and guide to catch saltwater slammers this summer. Much of America’s coastal waters are dotted with public fishing piers. From Florida to Maine, San Diego to Seattle, and all along the Gulf of Mexico, thousands of public-access fishing piers exist for itchy anglers hunting the bite.
If you’re new to pier fishing, there’s no need to be intimidated. However, as a long-time pier-fishing regular, I have some advice. You should know a few things before you haul tackle to the far end of the planks.
Few things are more frustrating for dedicated pier rats than having a rookie wander onto the pier, get in the way, and mess up the fishing. These seasoned pros have put in the time and understand the best ways to catch fish. If you stay on their good side, they might share some old-salt knowledge that will increase your chances of success. The best way to keep on their good side is to follow the rules.
Most public piers have posted rules. Those rules apply to everyone. Make sure you follow them.
However, pier fishermen also adhere to a list of unwritten rules. These include:
Keep the Mess to a Minimum
Don’t fan out your fishing gear across the pier rail. Other people want to fish, too, so keep the space you occupy minimal, leaving room for other anglers. Promptly throw away excess fishing line, bait packaging, and other garbage that could get blown around in a gusty sea breeze.
As with most outdoor activities, pier fishermen should have a “leave no trace” philosophy. When you finish the day’s fishing, there should be no visible evidence you were there. Pick up all your trash. Either take it with you or put it in the proper receptacles.
If you clean your fish at the pier, don’t leave scales, guts, and heads in the sinks. What you don’t need of the fish carcasses can usually go overboard and back into the food chain.
Don’t Use the Rail as a Cutting Board
The pier rail might seem like a convenient place to slice your squid, bloodworms, and clams. However, there’s nothing worse than leaning on the rail to view the sunset and having your elbow slide across the sticky, gooey remnants of someone else’s bait. Keep your bait cutting confined to the pier’s designated bait boards, or use your own to keep the rail clean.
Cast Carefully
Crossed fishing lines understandably agitate pier anglers. Casting is a skill you should master before you attempt it on a pier full of people. If possible, practice pitching a sinker in your backyard ahead of time to learn the art of casting straight. If you can’t cast straight, there’s no dishonor in dropping your bait straight down next to the pier. Plenty of fish lurk under the shade of the planks and around the barnacle-crusted pylons, so you might get lucky dropping a rig right over the side.
If you cast crooked, apologize and try to uncross the lines before you set down your pole. You should also give your fellow anglers plenty of space to cast comfortably. If possible, don’t crowd out other fishermen, even if they’re situated in a fish-producing honey hole.
Some piers can have anglers packed shoulder to shoulder on a busy summer weekend, especially when the fish are biting. If elbow room is hard to come by, you may need to duck your head or move away from the rail when your neighbor casts. Giving an audible “heads up” before pitching your rig over a crowded pier rail is also a nice courtesy.
Big fish are usually big fighters. When an angler hooks a giant king mackerel, cobia, or tarpon, he’ll need to walk the pier to keep up with his fish during the fight. When this happens, do the responsible thing and bring in your line. Refuse to move your rig when asked, and your line could end up cut. Not because the other angler is a jerk but because big fish are unpredictable.
A bottom rig in a fish’s fight path is never high on an angler’s list of priorities. Unattended lines are often cut to get them out of the way quickly. The angler may compensate you for a cut line and the rig attached after he lands the fish. He might not. When someone hooks a beast, the best thing to do is reel in your line, get it out of the way, and then stand back and enjoy the show.
If the tables are turned, and you’re the lucky guy who hooks a monster, it’s okay to ask people to move their stuff. While manners often fall by the wayside in the heat of battle, remembering words like “please” and “thank you” goes a long way in keeping peace with your fellow fishermen.
Don’t leave your rods or other gear unattended, especially if you have a line in the water or rods leaning against the rail. Fishing poles can’t move themselves when someone is fighting a big fish, and they quickly become a tripping hazard in the heat of battle. Also, if you end up hooking a big one while you aren’t paying attention, that rod could end up flying overboard before you can get to it.
Respect the Regulars
Basic pier etiquette boils down to respecting your fellow anglers. Although you may be fishing in a public space, it’s important to remember that a fishing pier is like a second home to some of the people leaning against the rails. Those seasoned “pier rats” spend an awful lot of their summers there. Give them some space and respect, and they might throw a few valuable pier fishing tips your way.
Very well written