No signs of Snooki while surf fishing

Not a cloud in the sky. Eighty-eight degrees at 10 a.m. Slight breeze coming off the ocean. Surf rods in their PVC holders, tips bent toward the water. Soaking up sun, sitting on a lawn chair.

Sounds pretty darned good to Montanans right now, doesn’t it? Last week, I spent a morning surf-fishing for striped bass on the Jersey Shores. No, I didn’t see Snooki.

The local newspaper said the stripers were “in,” so we headed for the beach early in the morning. A few days earlier, somebody had caught a 49-pounder.

First stop was at a bait shack for “bunkers,” the local name for frozen menhaden, a bait fish about a foot long. We also picked up a half dozen live clams.

The beach was pretty much deserted when we arrived. We rigged the surf rods with a sliding lead sinker and slung either a piece of bunker or clam foot far into the surf.

Long story short, we got skunked. The beautiful beach was many miles long, and although the surf looked the same everywhere, the fish were no-doubt hanging in holes that we couldn’t identify.

Or they weren’t even there. Or they were just down a beach a few miles from us. Or they didn’t like our bait. Or the tide was wrong.

Didn’t matter. I was lovin’ sitting in the late May sunshine, reflecting about seeing the Statute of Liberty for the first time.

Eating lobster in Maine. Watching the Red Sox win on a walk-off dinger at Fenway Park. By 9:30 a.m. the beach was filling with sunbathers, beachcombers and school-groups throwing Frisbees.