"I have never seen so many folks trying not to catch fish and being so unsuccessful at it..."

If Genghis Khan had been reincarnated as a fish, there is little doubt in my mind but that it would have been as a jack crevalle. And most of the old-timers that I know would hardly disagree with the analogy. Fishing buddy, Bill Damron poses with a nice 25-pounder caught on a fly.  A trout fisherman by preference, Damron still will not shy away from the challenge of taking a really powerful fish like this jack on the long rod.

There are few fishermen that trout fish along the front beaches that haven't felt the wrath of the mighty jack at one time or another. Serious trout fishermen with their Ambassadeur 5000's, relatively light lines, and casting rods are particularly susceptible to memorable encounters with these fish. Big jacks, you see, have little respect for light-line fishermen. In fact, I sometimes think that they relish such encounters where their sheer strength and power give them a clear advantage. I can still recall a memorable wadefishing trip just west of the Long Beach Harbor jetty.

Perhaps half-a-dozen fishermen occupied the new harbor pier, and there were three of us within a few hundred yards wadefishing in chest-deep water. Everyone seemed to be enjoying reasonably good success catching trout as scarcely a moment passed without one or another of us having a fish on. Then it happened. From a distance, it sounded like a series of depth charges going off.

Kaablam, kaablam, kaablam... Mullet, croakers, trout, anchovies, you name it, became airborn as they tried to beat a hasty retreat. It was amazing to see just how many fish the surrounding waters held. Only moments before they were all hidden from view as they foraged along the bottom, and now they were literally scrambling for their very lives as the marauding school of jacks continued its rampage. As the carnage drew closer, I could see fishermen start to scramble.

No sooner had the school approached the pier than the drags began to whine. First one, then two, and finally half the entourage on the pier was engaged in some serious stuff. Lines were criss-crossing every which way as they big jacks had their way. I could see one fisherman frantically tightening his drag in desperation, hoping to break the line before all of it disappeared.

One of the guys wadefishing near me had turned his back to the approaching fracus as he beat a hasty retreat towards the shoreline. Cranking hard, but to no avail, he too made the dreaded hookup as his rod was rudely snatched down. Depending on your perspective, the scene was somewhere between comical and tragic. I have never seen so many folks trying not to catch fish and being so unsuccessful at it. In anticipation now, I held off retrieving my topwater MirrOlure, and it sat harmlessly on the surface some hundred feet away awaiting the fast-approaching school of jacks. Still stung by the memory of a big crevalle that got the better of me, I was grimly determined to exact my revenge this day. What a joke.

When I finally felt the time was right, I began a mercuric retrieve of my own. Within seconds, a big jack had taken the bait; and we were off to the races. The twelve-pound test mono melted from my spool with disturbing ease, despite an already alarmingly heavy drag setting. Over the years, I have grown apprehensive about hooking big jacks on light tackle; and, as this experience would prove, my concerns would be well justified. A full 275 yards of line disappeared in nothing flat; and even the knot didn't slow this fish one bit as it headed south without even so much as a goodbye.

Taking a quick look at the battlefield, I could see that the other folks didn't fare much better. With the exception of one fellow who had the right idea - a Penn Senator and fifty-pound test line - they were all inspecting their reels for damages, wondering how all those screws got so loose. As for me, the only thing that hurt was my ego. In little more than a month's time, I was 0:2 with the jacks. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe it is high time to break out the heavy tackle. . .