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I’m a certified landsman, in the words of Melville, passing my days pent up in plaster and lath, clinched to a desk. In need of escape, I accounted it high time to get to sea.
OK, maybe the “Moby-Dick” references are overblown. I didn’t exactly ship out on a merchant steamer. But the tug of the sea — and the chance to hook a big one — did send me off on a more modest adventure last weekend, on a fishing boat out of Sheepshead Bay.
There are a handful of such boats, offering trips from the piers along Emmons Avenue. Their main quarry is striped bass, but bluefish and fluke are regular catches, and, to a lesser extent, porgies, weakfish and sea bass. Boats offer full- and half-day trips, and many make night runs as well, shipping out at 7 p.m. and returning at midnight or later. I opted for one of these, choosing the Sea Queen VII, a 70-footer captained by Steven Ventura, a former police officer who bought the boat eight years ago.
I’ve done some fishing here and there, but I’m not exactly a cover boy for Field & Stream. I’ve always fished in the company of others who’ve tended to details like providing equipment and telling me what to do.
For such amateurs, party boats like the Sea Queen are a perfect match. They’ll give you a rod and reel and provide bait, as well as a crew — in this case first mate D.J. and deckhands Roman and Nick — who bait hooks, untangle crossed lines, hover with nets when fish are hooked and otherwise help out.
Last night was dead, Ventura warns me when I meet him at the pier — only a few fish hooked. “The night before that, we were beatin’ on ’em,” he says, showing a picture of a 30-pound striper he’d bagged.
I’ve got a question before we head out: Will I get seasick?
“That’s up to you,” he says. There’s often one or two who end up green around the gills, but he expects fairly calm seas, and not wanting to lose my dinner in front of a bunch of salts, I’m relieved.
We ship out, headed for the open waters past Breezy Point. Having spent the day on the water, Ventura’s gone home, relieved at the helm by Capt. Jerry Nappi, who announces that we’ll be fishing in 30 minutes.
There are some three dozen people on board, with men outnumbering women about 4-to-1. Ventura said the crowd is heavy on regulars, and on the ride out I chat with a few. One is Chuck Rego, a union carpenter who works on the boat on weekends. He’s been out since 7 a.m., and should be whipped by now; instead, he’s pumped to snag a few himself after watching others fish all day.
There’s J.R., a bluff but friendly cigar chomper in a Mobil workshirt. He stakes out a spot by the bow next to Mike Dean, a bond broker from Murray Hill, dubbed “Manhattan Mike” by the others.
Dean became a regular a few years ago, cutting out of work at 5 p.m. to catch the 7 p.m.-to-midnight run. He used to make it a few times a week; with a toddler at home he now averages once.
The boats can be intimidating to newcomers, he notes, and loudmouths or those with endless questions “can get labeled the pain-in-the-ass guy quickly.” But it’s a good group of guys, he says, who’ll warm up quick enough if you keep your head down.
Sounds good to me — though as we speak, the ride’s been getting rockier. We’re surfing waves of increasing size, and I need to grab the rail hard when a lurch off a big one nearly floors me. “It’s a little rougher than usual,” notes Dean. I’m feeling unsettled by this development, though J.R., who says he never gets seasick, is stoked — “This is striper weather, baby!” he exults.
As the boat pitches, I decide to ride out the swells in the cabin. Soon Dean follows, with an amendment to his earlier statement: “It’s a lot rougher than usual.” It’s a hardy bunch, though, and when we reach a promising spot and Captain Jerry gives the “lines down” call, within moments there are a couple dozen lines in the water.
I want to go out and put a line in the water myself. I really do. But the truth is, I’m having a rough time of it. While others fish, I sit in the cabin trying to hold it together as the boat rocks like an amusement park ride. I feel validated to note that Rahav Segev, The Post photographer, looks equally haggard. Soon he’s lying on a bench with his eyes shut, and before long I follow suit, my concerns about looking like a wuss be damned.
I’m not the only one holed up in the cabin — I spy one woman vomiting over the railing — but as the waves pound the boat, I’m surprised at the number of people who have no problem fishing in an upright position. I’m struck by one group of Russians in particular— between line drops, they knock back belts of brown liquor and chow on a picnic that fills the cabin with the scent of pickled carrots. Not only are their appetites undimmed by the heaving seas, the men wear nothing but T-shirts in the night chill. Through my haze of disorientation and nausea, I ponder how exactly we managed to win the Cold War.
After a while, I will myself to go out and lurch around on deck. Nobody’s catching much. Someone lands a small thresher shark, which is tossed back; so is a striper that measures 27 inches, an inch under the size limit. Marco Bustamante, a construction worker who comes out from Manhattan every weekend, hooks the night’s first keeper, a decent-sized fluke.
Up in the bow, J.R. and Dean offer friendly sympathy instead of scorn over my obvious wooziness. J.R. rummages in his backpack and pulls out a pill. “Here, suck on one of these,” he says. It’s a Dramamine, and it turns out his immunity to seasickness stems in part from a habit of taking one before every trip.
Soon I’m feeling immeasurably better, and while the Dramamine might be part of it, the most obvious reason is that Captain Jerry has opted to retreat for the calm of Jamaica Bay. A genius idea, in my view, and a game changer.
Soon I’m having the time I’d envisioned — dropping a line in the water under the night sky as black waves lap at the boat and the Marine Park Bridge looms in the distance. It’s thoroughly enjoyable, even if nobody’s catching much (I get nothing) and I’m still too woozy to think about cracking one of the tallboys I’d brought in a cooler.
Later, Jerry turns back toward the open waters in a last bid to land some fish. I’m dismayed, but it’s not as bad by now, and while we’re out there, Bustamante expertly reels in the night’s prizewinner (a literal prizewinner, as there’s $90 in a pool). It’s a striper around 16 pounds, that flops on the deck as onlookers cheer and slap Bustamante on the back.
It’s time to head back, and we tie up at the pier shortly after midnight. Not a great night for bagging fish for anyone, but that’s how it goes. As I head out, a few of the regulars lounging in the cabin encourage me to come back on a better night. “Tomorrow should be good,” says one.
I’m going to need a little more recovery time than that. But I will go back. The rough parts were hairy for this landsman, but between the camaraderie, the lure of the hunt and the pleasures of being on the water under the stars, I can easily see what brings the regulars back every week.
Next time, though, I’m bringing a weapon Ishmael never had at his disposal: a box of Dramamine.
Hook up your fishing party
Besides the Sea Queen VII (seaqueenvii.com), several other boats offer party trips from the Sheepshead Bay piers; including the Brooklyn VI, the Captain Midnight, the Captain Dave II, the Marilyn Jean IV and the Flamingo III. Most offer night runs and half- or full-day trips that start early in the morning.
Rates for night trips run from $45 to $55 a head for adults, with bait included; all provide rods and reels, though some charge $5 extra for them. On top of the fee, a tip for the crew is customary; they work hard, so dig deep.
A few tips: Boats leave on time. Bring water and snacks, and sunscreen for day trips. It’s colder out on the water, especially at night, so bring a jacket. And if you’re prone to seasickness, take a Dramamine an hour before departure.
Here fishy, fishy: What you can catch in New York city Waters
Striped bass: The most commonly caught — take it home and cook it.
Bluefish: The second-most common catch, it’s tasty smoked.
Weakfish: Can grow up to 3 feet long and is also called sea trout.
Porgy: This feisty fish is a bottom-dweller with mild, sweet flesh.