Crowd favorite Wyatt Jenkinson got on stage as one of the eight grand leaders, and while he didn’t win the top prize — a truck — he still walked home with a pile of loot and the title: He’s a derby champ. Said his dad, Patrick, who put him on the fish last week: “This is way better than winning it myself.”

Update 10/20: Video of the ceremony, from the derby site. Check out the great speech by grand-prize winner Michael Seeger in the last two minutes.

And here’s derbyite Bob Clay giving his annual remarks about what the derby means to the island fishing community. A hint: It’s not all about the prizes.

10/22 Update: The full scoop from The Martha’s Vineyard Times.

Striper Steve Pietruska’s iced-down bluefish is generating some chatter (see here and here), though nothing like the uproar over the leadbellied 57-pounder two years ago.

Meanwhile, as Wyatt Jenkinson bites his nails over his first-place boat bonito, I’m reminded of a story I heard this summer about the 2007 boat bonito race. Islander Geoff Codding won his second consecutive derby that year with a 9.14-pound bonito caught from his friend Lev Wlodyka’s boat in September. It was a smallish first-place fish, and Geoff never felt entirely secure that it would hold up. He knew better: He’d finished in second place six times over the past few years.

As it turned out, it could’ve happened again. Somebody did get a bigger fish. If only she’d registered for the derby.

Krista Martinko violated the cardinal rule of fishing Martha’s Vineyard in the fall. If you’re going to wet a line, get a derby button. The 64-year history of the tournament is choked with would-be winners who didn’t shell out a few bucks just in case they caught a big one. (See page 253 of The Big One for the ultimate beatdown: Harry Beach and his couldabeen derby record striper.)

Krista and her husband David, who are from Maryland, have been coming up for the derby most of this decade. In 2007, they were out with charter captain Kurt Freund when Krista brought in a nice bonito that topped 10 pounds on the Boga Grip.

“Kurt’s mouth dropped,” Krista recalled, “and he said ‘Please, PLEASE say you have a pin!’”

Her husband had one; she didn’t. It wasn’t until she went to Edgartown that night to weigh in her husband’s fish that she realized how big a mistake she’d made. She overheard a couple of islanders talking. “You hear about some girl who landed a 10.5-pound bone today? She’s not even entered in the derby!”

“I had to smile,” she said. “I had made the local chatter.”

Small consolation, if you ask me.

In 2007 I spent a day on the water with fishing fanatic Patrick Jenkinson and his son, Wyatt, then 9 years old (Chapter 12 in The Big One). As a fourth-grader, Wyatt’s entries went on the Vineyard derby’s junior leaderboard, but he took the competition as seriously as anyone. The day I met him, he had a 54-pound, first-place junior grand slam going — the heaviest combined weight of a striper, bluefish, bonito and false albacore. When he spotted a rival cruising the same waters nearby, he looked at me and said, “He’s our archenemy.”

Wyatt is still a junior, but the bonito he caught Monday morning is a major-leaguer. At 9.71 pounds, it launched him to the top of the main leaderboard, ahead of everybody — kids, flyrodders, grizzled veterans, rich charter-boat anglers.

For now at least, the 11-year-old is, in derby parlance, a Grand Leader.

At school Tuesday, Wyatt basked in the attention. “I told a lot of teachers,” he said. “They were amazed.”

Now comes the stomach-churning. If his fish holds on through Saturday night, he’ll have a one-in-four shot at the grand-prize Chevy Silverado. If lightning strikes (No Whammies!), he’d have to wait a little while longer to drive the truck, of course, but in the meantime he could get used to that cherished Martha’s Vineyard honorific, “Derby Champion.”

His superstitious dad — frankly, I’m shocked he picked up the phone to talk about the fish with me — isn’t doing much to help his nerves. Patrick is either preparing him for the worst sort of heartbreak, or else doing anything he can to keep from jinxing the kid. “I told him, ‘You’re going to get beat. It’s gonna happen. There are bigger fish out there. A nine pounder is not going to win this year,’” he said, wishing and hoping and dreaming that he’s completely and totally wrong. Working in their favor is the weather forecast. Big winds are called for as the derby heads into its final four days.

The Jenkinsons have been dialed in on the bonito this fall. Patrick led in the first week with an eight pounder, and he has two other daily winners to his name. One came on “Bonito Saturday” and got him a $500 jackpot.

On Monday school was out for Columbus Day, so they headed out at 7:30 a.m. in a stiff north wind. Nobody else was on the water as they got into position and cast their lines out. The way the Jenkinsons do it, Wyatt gets to fight the first fish, then they alternate. But the first one was a little bluefish, so father told son they would start taking turns after Wyatt caught a bonito, and the kid ended up with the rod when the next fish hit.

“It was a heck of a fight,” Patrick said. The first run sent the bonito right past the boat and they got a good look at it. “It was like, ‘Oh my god, I haven’t seen a big one like this in a long time.’ I says ‘This is a real one.’” He went for the net and it turned into a minor adventure. Patrick got the bonito halfway into the webbing but it shot back out and under the motor. A few hair-raising seconds later they had it on deck.

They marveled about the fish for a moment. Then, reflexively, they started talking about Wendy, Patrick’s wife and Wyatt’s mom, who died last year after a year-long fight with brain cancer. Fish like this inspire thoughts of the heavens.

“What else do we think about when something good happens, or something funny happens?” Patrick explained. “You know she was with us. It was an unbelievable moment. It was just a nice moment.”

Patrick has been fishing the derby forever. As a kid he won the junior ranks twice. As an adult he’s won enough daily pins to cover 10 hats, and he’s taken first place in the boat grand slam standings — a feat that earns lasting respect in hardcore fishing circles.

He knows better than to bank on Wyatt’s bonito. He knows how tough it is to finish a Grand Leader: He’s never even done it himself.

But juniors have been crashing the main leaderboard regularly in recent years. Molly Fischer, then 12 years old, finished atop the boat bass division with a 49-pounder in 2005. Two years later Chris Morris, an eighth-grader, caught the big bluefish, an 11-pounder, and went home with the grand-prize boat.

They ring the final bell on the derby Saturday night at 10. It can’t come soon enough for Wyatt.

“It’s probably going to be the longest week on my life.”

(In the meantime, he might consider reserving his derby badge number for the foreseeable future. Coop, the Edgartown tackle shop owner, set aside a special one for Wyatt this fall: 1234. Derby anglers are nothing if not superstitious, and that number may have mojo.)

Steve Pietruska, a retired Fall River fire chief and part-time commercial fisherman known as “Striper Steve,” showed up at the weigh station in Edgartown Monday night with a bluefish that weighed 13.86-pounds. Since it slid into first place, a derby official cut it open to check the stomach — standard operating procedure for combating cheating — and found the ice.

The chunks didn’t weigh much, just 0.11 pounds. But they were enough to make a difference between first and second place. Flyfisherman Tom Rapone led with a 13.81-pounder. The derby kept the fish off the leaderboard, and scheduled an interview with Steve at the Old Whaling Church on Saturday morning.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Steve told me Friday as he drove down to the Vineyard for the meeting. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

During an hour and a half of grilling before the committee, Steve said he could have been unintentionally responsible by jamming the fish into his ice cooler — not just once, but many times as he showed off the fish during the day.

The tournament brass decided on Saturday to disallow the blue because of Steve’s “failure to remove all particles of ice from the cavity of his fish.” They did not disqualify him from the competition, because they could not prove he stuffed the ice in the stomach. But they could not let the fish stand, since the ice could not have been inside the gut when he caught it.

While Steve may have been trying to keep the fish fresh — and prevent it from losing precious ounces before weigh-in — “it is the responsibility of the angler to bring a fish to the derby scale without any ice that may add additional weight to his catch,” tournament president Ed Jerome wrote in a statement. He said the committee had “insufficient evidence to prove intent to deliberately increase the weight of the fish, so no further action is to be taken.”

That’s significant, because Steve is already on the leaderboard with a 44-pound striper he boated on the first cast of the first morning of the derby. That fish stays atop the boat bass division, and unless some other fish tops it Steve gets a shot at the grand-prize truck.

Steve told the committee he wasn’t so worried about the prizes.

“I told them it’s not about the money. It’s not about the truck. It’s about my reputation,” he said Saturday after the decision came down. “I think they came to a fair way of resolving this.”

The ruling was a surprise, and is sure to generate fierce debate in island fishing circles. Many derby fishermen argued that it’s impossible for ice to end up in a fish’s gut accidentally, and they expected Steve to be branded a cheater and thrown out of the tournament. In years past fishermen have been banished for stuffing entries with baitfish — both fresh and frozen. In 2007, though, derby legend Lev Wlodyka was not disqualified despite weighing in a fish filled with 10 pieces of lead. The tournament concluded that Lev’s 57-pound striper ingested the weights by eating “yo-yo baits” — pogies rigged with lead. (That was the central story of my book, The Big One.)

Steve told me caught the blue at 10:30 a.m. Monday on pogy chunks near the Elizabeth Islands. Afterward, he packed it in the ice in his cooler.

“Bluefish when you first have them in the boat, he’s one nasty little fish,” he said. “He’s chomping. They’re constantly swallowing. He popped the lid open. It’s possible — maybe he ingested some ice in captivity. I don’t know.” He said he took it out several times and then jammed it back in head-first.

“Maybe I did do it unintentionally by forcing it down into the cooler so many times,” he said.

But later he added: “I still think the fish swallowed it.”

The Larsens gave Striper Steve his nickname. Years ago when they needed bass for the family fish market in Menemsha, they found a reliable supplier in Steve. His biggest striper weighed 64.8 pounds, caught on Cuttyhunk’s Sow and Pigs reef. He swears — “I’m not shittin’ you” — he caught five 50s from a boat one day off Squibnocket. He’s supplemented his fire department income over the years by selling stripers, scup and sea bass.

Steve registered for the derby once before, but this was the first year he really fished it. In earlier years he had had a trouble fitting it in with work. This year he retired at age 60, and he decided to finally give it his all. Fishing almost every day, he has weighed four stripers that won daily prizes. One of them netted him $500.

Now that he’s been cleared to continue, he’s getting back out on the water.

“I can tell you right now, I will put long, hard days in. I’m going to go out and catch a bigger one.”

10/14 Update: Steve returned to the weigh station Tuesday night with a blue that just missed Grand Leader status. It weighed 13.71 pounds, one tenth of a pound off Rapone’s flyrod bluefish. Presumably it came in ice-free.

This fall, he booked a charter captain to take him out during the derby: Lev Wlodyka, the six-time derby champion whose 57-pound leadbellied striper is the central story of The Big One. What had everybody talking was that he didn’t just hire Lev to fish once or twice, but every single day. At $500 a session, morning and afternoon, you could say that Evan is invested in this tournament. The pair have been fishing dawn to dark many days — “Lev is an insane man,” Evan says — and so far the mogul is second on the leaderboard with a 40-pound striped bass.

But Evan says he’s after more than a mere derby winner. “My goal is to drum up a fish that’s older than me, and I’m 27,” he said. To that end, he’s also been fishing regularly for several years with renowned Montauk charter captain Jimmy George.

Evan’s full-service approach to the venerated derby has raised some eyebrows. Some see this as overkill. Is it right for a guy to hire a tournament legend for five weeks to try to win it all? But at its heart the derby is a tourist draw that drums up much-needed fall business for Vineyard tackle shops, hotels, bars and, yes, fishing captains. Evan wouldn’t be the first guy to win the derby on a fish he caught during a charter.

***

Me? I didn’t see any 40-pound fish during my trip. I did find a pod of nice stripers one night, and battling them for a couple hours counted as success enough for a laidback angler like myself.

I was coming at the derby fishing from a decidedly non-competitive frame of mind. The morning after I arrived, I had breakfast with a handful of recovering war veterans at the Beach Plum Inn in Menemsha. The inn’s owners, Bob and Sarah Nixon of Washington, D.C., and Chilmark, had invited the military men to the island for a few days of fishing, and Vineyarders of all stripes chipped in to help. The vets weren’t worried about winning. They were just happy to be fishing. (Check out the press here and here.)

I saw another side of derby insanity hanging around Larry’s Tackle Shop in Edgartown for several hours signing books. The guys at Larry’s see all kinds. First, a woman asked for a lure that wouldn’t catch a fish. She just wanted to attract hits, not actually catch one. Or something like that. Then a clutch of women in their 20s walked in and began perusing the selection of saltwater flies. They didn’t want to catch fish either. They wanted to cut off the barbs and sell the flashy flies as earrings at $50 a pair.

Finally, in walked a guy with a giant stuffed tiger strapped to his butt. A bright orange sticker on his forehead read “Damaged.” And he was.

“I’m actually sitting on the back of my boat in Menemsha last weekend on the 3rd Sunday of September reading about Brad and Skipper fishing for albies from the same jetty on the same weekend (see The Big One, Chapter 4). It’s kinda of surreal as I’m popping up out of my chair every so often to see if anyone has hooked up so I can put the book down and join them for a few casts.

“But alas nobody has any luck. I watched guys all day with expensive waders and lots of gear hop out onto the jetty just to see them walk back after an hour or so with no luck. I broke out the binoculars to scan the horizon for birds and the adjacent beaches to see if anyone was dragging in anything. Nope, nothing. I swore I saw a few splashes just out of the surfcaster’s reach, so I put the book down and took a run over to the spot. Nothing!

“I return to the comfort of my deck chair and envision myself fishing alongside Lev for the big one (Big One, Prologue). I get a picture of my kids eating ice cream along Squid Row. I argue with my wife that that guy that just walked along the dock was David Letterman. My wife and I stuff ourselves on lobsters and steamers purchased from Stanley at the Menemsha fish market.

“Oh so good! We head for home with an awesome sunset in our wake. What a weekend. No fish but still a great time.”

Yes, the baby’s due date is Oct. 1, smack in the middle of the 2009 tournament. Yes, trying to catch another championship fish would mean putting the Vineyard Sound between husband and wife/baby if and when the water broke or the contractions came.

But he’d make arrangements. Bring along extra cell phone batteries. Call once or twice a day. Leave a list of his friends’ phone numbers in case she couldn’t reach him. Tell his friends where he’d be at all times. Keep the Cape Air and steamship schedules with him. Arrange for a tackle shop owner to ferry him across if all else failed.

And thus, in a feat of derby daring and marital maneuvering, he got a green light to fish the derby — if only for a week instead of four.

“Considering I had to cram a month’s worth of derby into one week, I hit it pretty hard,” he told me today, back on the mainland.

He paused, then laughed.

Pretty hard means maniacal to fishermen like Keith. You and I get eight hours of sleep a night. He got maybe eight hours of sleep the entire week. That’s how you win the shore grand slam — heaviest combined weight of the four derby fish — not once but twice.

The bass fishing was decent enough: He must have caught 100 stripers, but the guy who won the 2004 derby with a 42-pound bass couldn’t catch one bigger than 35 inches this year. Late in the week he heard of a mess of bonito being caught up-island, but before he could get down there his Jeep broke down. A few friends helped him keep his line in the water while he waited for a new starter. On Friday, he paused long enough to swap in the part, then kept fishing.

At 2:30 Saturday morning he drove out to his planned morning fishing spot. He slept in the truck for a couple of hours. By 5:45 he was casting for albies and bonito with a 20 mph wind in his face. A lot of anglers showed up that morning. Word had gotten out about fish caught there earlier in the week. But conditions weren’t ideal, the water dirty and whipped up into whitecaps. Nobody was catching anything and the crowd thinned out.

Keith stuck around and kept working the water, casting continuously even though there were none of the tell-tale breaks of fish.

Then, a hit. The albie slammed his lure right in the trough. Two more cranks and Keith would’ve been lifting it out of the water for another cast. The fish tore out line in a long run. “As soon as I walked up to it I was like Holy smokes!” A few years back he’d seen a fish that size in the weigh station. But this? “I think it looks different when it’s on the end of your line.”

Wilson Kerr, the derby’s publicity whiz, happened to be fishing the same spot that morning, and he offered to weigh the albie on his handheld scale. Keith said he wanted to be surprised at the weigh station — just as he and his wife had decided to wait until the delivery to find out whether they were having a boy or a girl. But he told Wilson he could weigh it as long as he didn’t tell him the result. Wilson took the fish, hooked it up to the Boga grip and returned. He couldn’t tell him how much it weighed, he reported. It had bottomed out the 15-pound scale.

Trouble was, Keith had missed the morning weigh-in and he’d have to wait 10 hours until the evening session. All the while the fish would be losing ounces.

As Keith ran off to get the fish in a cooler filled with ice and seawater, Wilson ran to the top of the dunes to get a cell phone signal. He’d persuaded the derby committee to let him Twitter during the tournament this year. “Estimated 16 pound shore all tackle albie caught this AM!! Missed AM weigh in. Watch the board tonight!!” he tweeted. With that, Keith’s was probably the first leaderboard fish to hit Twitter before it hit the scale.

A crowd showed up in Edgartown to see the fish go on the scale. At 16.55 pounds, it ranked among the heaviest albies caught from shore in derby history.

So now Keith settles in for the interminable wait for 10 p.m. on Oct. 17, when the derby ends. If it holds up, it would be his sixth top-three finish in the past seven years. “I think the baby will distract me,” he said hopefully. He’s hoping to have a reason to come back for the awards ceremony, in which case he plans to bring the newborn and, like any proud papa would, slap it up on the fish scale for a photo. In the meantime, he’s rooting for a big storm to push the albies offshore, and for more reports like his friend’s on Facebook: Fishing is slow, albies are scarce.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “Slow fishing, and maybe throw a hurricane in there.”

(Thanks to the Domurats for the photograph. Ron Domurat is the other half of Team McRat, currently leading the derby team race.)

Check out the online leaderboard at mvderby.com. You can also get your derby fix on Twitter.

Readers of The Big One have been emailing me over the past few months about their exploits. Since I’m filled with the derby spirit, I thought I’d share a few of them this month.

Rich Hall recognized himself on page 248 of The Big One as the unnamed winner of the first and only “Lev’s Derby” in 2007. Rich caught a little albie and won $5.

And yet he sounded as excited about that victory as the much more momentous one he sealed a year before with another albie caught from the same jetty. Rich was fishing the Menemsha side of the inlet on the first morning of the 2006 derby when a fish hit a Deadly Dick and took off into the harbor. Rich had brand-new gear, and he needed it: the fish quickly smoked 150 yards of line off the reel. A sailboat gave him a scare when it cruised through the inlet and right over the line. But the vessel passed and Rich still had his fish. He muscled it up to the rocks only to watch the line part. Somehow he managed to grab it by the tail and hoist it up.

A fellow derbyite named Scott, a cigar-smoking New York City cop with a mohawk, looked over Rich’s shoulder at the fish.

“That thing is comically large!” he said.

Rich needed to get to the weigh station before it closed at 10 a.m., or else wait another 10 hours, his fish losing ounces by the minute. He floored it toward Edgartown, passing a couple of tour buses in his haste. He made it in time and celebrated when the fish weighed in at 14.63 pounds to take over first place. It stayed there for 35 days. Nobody came within a pound and a half of that beast, and Rich Hall was a derby champ.

He didn’t win the grand-prize Boston Whaler, but he did get his name on the list of winners that goes back 60-odd years. He’s got bragging rights on the Menemsha jetty for the rest of his life.

Post-script: All fishermen lie, but you’d think Rich would have no need to exaggerate his fish tale. And yet he still subconsciously enhanced his victory when he first wrote me. He had the fish at 15.63 pounds. “Correction,” he wrote the next day. “It was a 14.63 albie. I added a pound during the years and am believing my own B.S.”

(Have a good story? Email it to thebigonebook@gmail.com or use this form.)

Buddy is famous Menemsha fishing charter captain William “Buddy” Vanderhoop, the star of Chapter 10 in The Big One (I Fish, Therefore I Lie). Tree is Charles Ogletree, the Harvard Law School professor and advisor to President Obama. Ogletree is a passionate fisherman, and for months he has been talking about how much he wants to get the president out on the water with his friend Buddy.

Will it happen? Buddy was cagey when he spoke to the Vineyard Gazette about the possibility this week:

Mr. Vanderhoop of course cannot confirm or deny the existence of any plans for any charter fishing trips with presidents. But he did say that anyone who goes fishing with him next week can be assured of two things: a good time and lots of fish, and not necessarily in that order.

“We would go out at 7 a.m., head south and start catching striped bass,” the seasoned charter captain said. “We would have some snacks on the boat and we would take in some great views … Gay Head, Noman’s Land, maybe get over to the Elizabeth Islands. Some of those views, like the cliffs [at Gay Head] and Squibnocket, are epic. We have to show those off.” He paused and continued:

“And we would get some fish … we always get some fish,” he said.

Last month, Ogletree told Plum TV reporter (and obsessive tuna fisherman) Alex Friedman that he had some reservations about fishing in the Obama bubble. “I don’t know how the fish will bite with 30 Secret Service agents with AK-47s,” the professor joked. “The bass will say, ‘Oh my god they’re bringing guns now! I thought it was just hooks and bait!”

Buddy has taken out some famous people, including Keith Richards, Spike Lee and Taj Mahal. But Ogletree fishes with him more than anybody else. They have history, and being fishermen, they can tell some stories. They told me a good one a couple of years ago when I went out on Buddy’s boat with them during the Vineyard’s fishing derby.

In August 1999 — 10 years ago next week — they were tuna fishing far off the coast of the Vineyard when the boat battery went dead. As night fell, they had no engine, no radio, no lights and no bilge pump. The seas got rough and a couple of waves nearly capsized the wooden boat. Buddy told everybody to prepare for the worst. Fortunately, the crew of a nearby lobster boat spotted Buddy’s emergency flares and they set about towing the crippled vessel back to harbor. After the lines parted several times, they called in the Coast Guard to finish the job.

A few weeks later, as the anglers reconnected with the lobstermen over lunch and Red Stripes and thanked them for saving their lives, Ogletree considered their good fortune. “I believe that if not for them,” he said, “they’d have been picking dead bodies out of the water.”

Hence the email I sent Buddy this week:

“Good luck if you get Obama out on the boat with you this week. (Don’t let the battery go dead!)”

My neighbor Bill Olver came over a few weeks ago with a stack of pictures showing his dad at the Martha’s Vineyard derby in 1954 and 1955. That’s Bill Sr. in the shot above holding a nice striper. (I’m guessing he wasn’t wearing those wingtips when he caught it.)

The derby was only a decade old when these photos were taken. It started in 1946 as a way of drumming up island tourism, and with the help of a massive publicity campaign and great prizes (island land, boats, canned hams), early derbies drew fishermen from all over the U.S. and from other countries, too. Then, most guys fished for striped bass from the shore. They’d take their buggies out onto the beach and maybe stay out overnight, cooking spaghetti dinners and ham-and-egg breakfasts on their tailgates.

Bill Olver Sr., who would run a fish market in my hometown of Haddonfield, N.J., went up to the Vineyard with Elmer Marshall, who owned five hotels and a restaurant on the Jersey Shore; a friend named Ed Thompson; and a guy he met working at RCA, Ed Lick.

Ed’s son, Bob, sent me a couple of stories after seeing these old pictures of his pop. Both of them, it turns out, involve pranks at the expense of Elmer.

Bill Olver, Sr., Ed Lick, Ed Thompson on Martha’s Vineyard

“Around 1948 -50, Bill and my dad cut the body off a Model A Ford and built a beach buggy. Along about that time they began going to Martha’s Vineyard for the derby.

“There are two Vineyard stories that the guys told often.

“On one trip, when they were unpacking at the motel Elmer discovered he had forgot to pack shirts, so he borrowed one from Dad or Bill. He called  his wife and requested she send six or eight shirts. When the shirts arrived Elmer was not there so my dad and Bill unleashed a plot.

“You have had to know Elmer. He was a fairly big guy who when excited his voice when to a range where only dogs can hear him. Well, the first night they went to dinner with Dad and Bill each wearing an ‘Elmer’ shirt. Elmer noticed and proclaimed, I’ll be damned, I got shirts at home exactly like the ones you guys are wearing. Coincidence was the reason Dad and Bill offered. The next night the same thing, except with different ‘Elmer’ shirts. This time, Elmer really got excited. His voice exceeded a dog’s range. Dad and Bill could not contain themselves and cut loose laughing.

“Only then did Elmer get it.

“Another night, one of the guys legitimately found a plug on the beach. When Elmer learned of the find he went off squeaking, You lucky so and so, etc, etc. and returned to casting. You have to understand, Elmer was very well off financially, but still, someone finding a plug caused him … unrest. So my Dad started throwing out a few plugs from his own plug bag.

“Of  course Bill and Ed were in on the deal. My Dad grabbed his rod and as he began to walk toward the water, he exclaimed, Hey, here’s another plug! Elmer cut loose again. Awhile later, Bill walked back to the buggy and found a plug and of course let Elmer know about it. Then it was Ed’s turn. Elmer got so worked up, he quit fishing and began wandering around the beach in excitement looking for plugs.

Derbyites Elmer Marshall and Ed Thompson

“Of course, none were found and he squealed on. He wasn’t told of the plot for a few days …

“Because of my Dad’s taking the time with me, I am blessed  to have experienced untold joys in the world of surf fishing and gained an unlimited number of very close friends during my many years of casting and cranking. For this I will always be grateful to my Dad.”