Monday I met Breakwall Don at Opaleye Point.  It was so early when I made my first cast into the high tide to the right of the point I couldn’t pick out my fluorescent red bobber as it buoyed atop the water.  It seemed like a half‑hour passed before there was enough daylight to see one of us was blessed with some action.  I think it was Don who had the first hook‑up on red shrimp, a fish that was lost to the rocks.  My first hook‑up also came on red shrimp, as a nice three‑taco opaleye was being inserted into my gunnysack.

    After such an early fish‑bite flurry, I felt a limit comin’ on.  Historically, if we start catching them here right away, the bite will last for an hour‑and‑a‑half before we have to move on.  If we don’t immediately hook‑up, let’s say within the first hour, we move on.

    Today those two early fish faked us out.  We hung out until seven‑fortyfive, fishing a rock here and there around the point with no success before deciding to try elsewhere.  We had a choice of either walking across the cove to fish the Marineland Ledge or walk back up the trail and drive over to Long Point, the latter of which generally is a better spot.

    The swell was real calm at opaleye point and from there we could see the same held true at Long Point.  It was so windless and warm this morning we could have fished in our bikini bottoms and not had to worry much about getting wet and freezing to death.  Last year when Breakwall Darryl and I fished Long Point, we had to dodge a big swell while wearing rain suits in order to fill our limits.  I was hoping to actually catch more than one during today’s halcyon.

   To the left of the point during high tide is where, as usual, I tossed a red shrimp five feet under my bobber.  Boom, another three‑taco opaleye slid into the bag.  Mere moments later another slightly larger specimen joined the others.  Again I had high hopes for a limit but those thoughts were dashed shortly thereafter.  After the two fish were landed, neither of us noticed any more bites.

    While waiting for the tide to subside enough for us to scamper out to the pillar rock, I tried a wad of enteromorpha to the left of the point.  The fifteen shrimp that survived the past two days by now had already been used.  Lots of kelp along the shoreline meant havoc was wreaked upon my hook and line and generally impeding my efforts.

    Finally by eight‑thirty the tide ebbed enough for us to make the crossing.  I tried flinging a five‑inch Fish Trap lure for a while but I knew it was way too late for any calico bass or white seabass around to be very interested.

    I switched over to enteromorpha, tossing the bobber rig here and there, finally settling on a spot twenty feet to the left of the pillar where multiple bites were noticed.  It was another case of Long Point syndrome.  Out of ten bites I could muster no hook-ups.

    After Don exited for home, I went back over to the spot to the left of the point to chum heavily with the rest of the smelly dead red shrimp and a few handfuls of enteromorpha.  That trick didn’t seem to work.  No bites were had by eleven so I left.

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