Ocean View Fishing Pier patrons hooked on this bay of life

By Bruce Ebert
Correspondent

More than 200 suntanned rod-and-reelers, some bare-chested, were casting their bait off the Ocean View Fishing Pier on a recent hot, breezy afternoon. The aromas of sunscreen, cigarette smoke and squished fish innards mingled in the air.

It was a boisterous crowd, from elementary school students on summer break to long-timers old enough to recall details of storms that have shaped and reshaped the beach.

For as long as most can remember, there has been a pier jutting out into the Chesapeake Bay from this exact location. Ocean View Fishing Pier, owned by Ronnie Boone Jr., was built after the rubble from Harrison's Pier was cleared, after Hurricane Isabel in 2003.

The pier is 1,690 feet long. It has what Boone called "that fisherman feel" with rough-hewn, 16-foot wooden planks. Boone said he made his pier with concrete underpinnings that make it better able to withstand a furious storm. It has quickly become a Norfolk institution.

Though many fishermen are from Hampton Roads, others such as Peanut Brown, a dreadlocked weekender from Roanoke here with his father-in-law and cousin, come great distances, lured by the prospect of catching fish from Chesapeake Bay.

Boone said he has no idea how many people fish off his pier over the course of a year. "In the good weather, we do great; in the bad weather, we do not," he said. "In the middle of the night, in the summer, when you think everyone is asleep, this is like Times Square or Las Vegas. It's crazy."

Amid the loud talk, ship repairman James Chase spoke to a roundhead.

"I got you," he said, looking the 12-inch fish squarely in the eye. "You ain't going anywhere. I said I got you. The next destination for you is the frying pan."

The gray-stubbled grandfather crouched down and explained softly to his granddaughter, who came up to his waist, "There are certain fish we eat and some that we don't. Croaker, spot, roundhead, we eat."

At the end of the pier, Kathy Lanberson meticulously unhooked three small squirming fish and tossed them back one by one. She said the crowd is friendly.

"We're a family that sees each other in fishing season," she explained.

Experienced fishermen offer advice to novices, and if two anglers cross lines, the offender quickly apologizes and the other fisherman accepts the apology.

In September 2003, just before Isabel destroyed its predecessor, Harrison's Pier, Lanberson and her two sons spent 19 days in a row at Ocean View, stopping only to go back to their house, off Tidewater Drive, to shower. They ate, slept and fished on the pier, she said, and it was one glorious time. "What else is there to do?," she asked. "There is great camaraderie out here. It's peaceful and fun. And it beats sitting home, watching TV."

Up and down the pier recently, conversations were struck.

"Some of the people here are doing this for more than just a good time," Chase observed. "They're here because of the economy."

One fisherman told another, "Flippin' houses, taking out loans that you can't pay back... We got to start living more modestly."

In another huddle, the topic was the Gulf oil spill, and in yet another an explanation of how climate change may affect coastlines.

Talking on cell phones seems rare. Debbie Springs, resplendent in straw hat with wide brim, doesn't see the point. "You can't call the fish!" she said. "You might as well leave it at home. You come here to relax."

She cast a perfect arc into the water. "If you stay long enough, you may see me catch a whopper!" she said.

Had she ever caught a whopper?

"I'm still looking."