The call of the surf. That is partly why I’m on Cape Cod today, and before heading home tomorrow I want to try and explain just a bit of why surfcasting has such a magical appeal.

Standing at the ocean’s edge, a fisherman seems infinitely small compared to the vastness of the water. It’s an odd feeling and makes trout rivers and bass lakes seem cozy by comparison. I have often felt oddly idiotic standing at the edge of the sea, wondering where in that huge expanse I might cast.

Then at some point a cast is made, the reel cranked, and something unseen gives a powerful yank on the line. That is a startling event that somehow defies logic, sort of like getting a message from Mars. The event becomes a striper flopping on the beach, and in releasing the fish back into the washing waves I find everything starts to make more sense.

Over time—lots of time—I learn more about tidal cycles, wind, weather, sandbars and wave-gouged holes near the beach. What at first was an infinite, impenetrable ocean becomes at least partly predictable. I learn by those things both where to go and when to go there.

But there is still, after so many years of doing this, also a sense of my own smallness, standing in the waves under the stars, casting and hoping, and like surfmen everywhere, ultimately facing the ocean in solitary insignificance.

Still reporting live this week from Cape Cod, Massachusetts, where we’re on vacation and fishing for stripers between platters of fried clams. The weather has been outstanding; highs in the 70s, bright sun, and just a little breeze. As it turned out, that breeze was key to yesterday’s fishing.

We launched our skiff in a large harbor area that also features a salt marsh and lots of small grassy islands that are flooded at high tide. Thanks to the breeze, I could set up long drifts along the island edges where the boat could move silently just a short cast from the grass margins. We’d sometimes see stripers slapping baitfish in the gentle current, but took more fish just by casting blind.

Mrs. Merwin did most of the fishing. I did most of the guiding and boat-running. A small chartreuse Yo-Zuri Crystal Minnow did most of the catching, fished on 8-pound spinning gear that allowed even small bass to give a good account of themselves. Every time she caught a fish, I was just as happy as if I’d caught it myself.

Well, almost as happy. The discussion last night was something like,”Honey, why don’t you learn to drive the boat today, and I’ll do a little more fishing.” So that’s today’s plan. We’ll see how it goes. Stay tuned….

So I’m posting live this morning from Cape Cod, Massachusetts, where my wife and I are vacationing. No, we did not hit the surf for stripers at dawn this morning. We are presently at the Cottage Street Bakery in Orleans scarfing down fresh fruit pastries and coffee. Stripers are iffy. The bakery is a sure thing.

I did do a little surfcasting yesterday afternoon, kind of a warm-up and partly to answer a reader question about gear. Someone asked what kind of surf tackle I used and how it was rigged. Okay, here goes.

The rod is one I built on an old 1265/2 All Star graphite blank (made before All Star was bought by Shakespeare/Pure Fishing). It is 2-piece, 10.5 feet, and with a 2-ounce lure is one of the sweetest casting rods I’ve ever used.

The reel is a 6500-series Abu baitcaster, considerably modified with power handle, bearing upgrades, and more. I’m spooled up with about 300 yards of 30-pound Berkley Big-Game Braid, fastened to a small barrel swivel with a Palomar knot. Some 40-pound fluoro comes off the other side of the swivel as a leader.

All that said, I use this conventional outfit in the surf because I enjoy casting it more than I do spinning tackle. Not because I think spinning is better or worse. If the wind were howling in my face, I might switch to spinning gear. But on a lazy sunny Sunday afternoon when I can do what I enjoy doing most, I pick up that little conventional outfit almost every time.

While rummaging through a box of old books not long ago, I found a marble notebook that served as my fishing log. It was from 2003, and the first 10 pages had 5 trips logged, all with meticulous info ranging from water temperature, to wind, tide, hatches, and air temperature. The rest of the notebook was blank.

You would think that since I'm a writer, I'd stick with a fishing log, but I guess on trip number 6 I came home dead tired and just said "eh, I'll skip it tonight." I never went back to it. But without question, I'd be a far better angler if I had kept it up.

I've interviewed lots of guides, and the best ones have volumes of logs holding, in some cases, decades worth of fishing trips. They'll all tell you something to this effect: "You'd be shocked how even three seasons of keeping a log will show you patterns you may have never picked up on otherwise." Friend and striper guide Lou Grazioso once told me he actually uses his log to mark bait locations more than fish. If he goes to find bait and it's not where it should be, he'll quickly scan old info that matches the day's conditions. Often, his notes point him to the right spot fast while other boats burn gas and run all over looking for the bunker schools.

I'm curious, do any of you keep fishing logs? Have they made you a better angler? Bottom line is we all should keep them, but it takes more dedication than you might think. -- JC