Connecticut is where I spent my youth, part of it near Niantic on the shores of Long Island Sound. What I remember about those long-ago days seems to fade as the years tick by. But as we drove through the old neighborhoods past former homes, so much came back. Someone asked me if I went up and knocked on the door and asked to see inside. No, that’s not me.
All the time we were driving around, the thought was in my mind about fishing where my father fished. But how?
I know about charter boats and party (head or walk-on) boats. I’ve been on plenty of both. But I wasn’t sure we’d have time.
The subject came up at dinner with old family friend Tom MacDonald, who said, “What about the Mijoy?”
“The Mijoy is still there?” I answered with astonishment.
The Mijoy was docked between the bridges at Niantic. I saw it as we passed through the narrow channel from the back seat of my father’s boat every time we went fishing. It was one of those things you see countless times and forget about. I’d never been on it, but I saw it and it stored itself back in the bottom left-hand corner on one of the last rows of my well-cobwebbed memory.
So like most everything else, I looked it up on my phone. And there it was under mijoyboat.com.
Two days later, we were on the deck of the Mijoy 747 (the latest version in a line of four Mijoys).
We headed out of Niantic Bay, past Black Point on the starboard and Groton Long Point to the port. And even though it had been more than 50 years, I knew right where we were going. And I sure was hoping there was a big bluefish there with my name on it.
Like so many fishing trips I remember, we fished and we moved, fished and moved … all afternoon. Just before it was time to put a cap on another fishless day, I pulled and pulled and nothing happened. Austin Marlowe (formerly of Ironton), the mate who was tending to the folks on the port bow, walked past and I told him I had apparently hooked the bottom. He grabbed my pole and gave it a mighty yank to break it free. Nope, still hooked. So he yanked again and then said, “Sir, you have a big fish on the other end. Want me to reel it in?”
I grabbed the pole back. My fish, I’ll land it.
So I did. About 15 minutes later, the mate stuck his gaff in and pulled it into the boat. I sat back with a big grin on my face. I was whipped. The 33-inch blue weighed at 10 pounds … felt like 50 when I was reeling it.
As we headed to the dock I was thinking about my dad and the many fish he caught on that same spot. And as I write this column, it’s my dad’s birthday. He’d have been 109.
This one’s for you, Jack L. Morris.
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