Bill Cochran

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Suddenly the big surf rod twitches, then bends sharply and line starts zipping off the hefty reel. We are hip deep in the surf of Smith Island, one of the charming and remote barrier islands reached only by boat along the seaside of Virginia’s Eastern Shore.

We are after red drum, a prestigious, inshore prize. A bowed rod and throbbing reel is why we’ve walked a mile along the beach at daylight.

The fight is on. More line is taken, regained. We hustle along the beach to keep the glittering line straight toward the target. Arms hurt. Legs are strained. A back aches.

Then something rolls to the surface well beyond the breakers. What you want to see is the back of a copper-hued fish with a big, ocellated spot at the base of its tail.

But what I see, out of the corner of my eye, is Claude Bain doing a duck walk, folding his arms and flapping them birdlike. Or raylike. We have hooked another ray -- maybe a cownose, bat ray, bullfish, stingray, skate, I’m not certain because I am not on a first-name basis with these critters. I just know it isn’t what I want. It isn’t a drum.

When a 50-pound ray is within about 30 yards of your careful reach, he really shuts down. The pancake flat, diamond-shaped animal appears to become a giant suction cup. It takes your every muscle to gain line on it. You hurt all over. You want nothing more in life than to rid yourself of this fruitless tug of war.

Your partners aren’t much help. Written on their face is a grin that says: “I’m glad it’s you not me.”

Once near your reach, a rays merits respect. Four hundred years ago one just about did in Capt. John Smith when he plunged his sword into it. In return, the creature drove its stinger into Smith’s arm and before long a grave was being dug and Smith was preparing for death. We currently are celebrating the fact that he didn’t die.

Battle a bunch of rays in a row, and the time soon comes you are much slower grabbing a bowing rod from a sand spike. Suddenly you are polite. “No, you take it. It’s your turn.”

Before long you are leaving the task to one of your hosts: in this case drum expert, Kevin Crum, or Bain, who is director of the Virginia Saltwater Fishing Tournament.

When Crum takes his turn, one of those “I don’t know about this one” looks crosses his face.

The fish rolls. A bronze back is exposed. A spotted tail is revealed. Drum!

It is a beauty, 44-inches long, just a couple inches short of release citation size. Crum is apologetic that one of his guests, namely my son, Preston, or me, did not catch the fish. But our spirits are renewed. We move closer to the rods that are secure in sand spikes. When one bows we are quick to grab it.

Another ray. Then another.

Frustration turns to humor. We laugh. We talk about forming a ray fishing society. We joke about the acronyms we could derive from RAY. Maybe “Rays Aren’t Yucky.” We tell Bain that he can be the executive director of our new organization, as he is retiring as director of the Virginia Saltwater Fishing Tournament.

It has been a good season for both red and black drum. Red drum citations in the Virginia Saltwater Fishing Tournament number about 300 and black drum citations are well beyond that.

While the spring surf fishing has not been spectacular, boat fishermen have done extremely well in the inlet between Smith and Fisherman’s Island, near where we were surf fishing.

The fishing has been so hot that Justin Hurst, 31, of Suffolk, set a goal to catch 100 reds in seven days. He and his buddies got 69 -- 29 in a single outing!

A day after our surf trip, Preston and I moved to the Inner Middleground Shoal near the north end of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. This has been a productive spot for boat fishermen.

We anchored on the edge of a shoal and put out crab baits. Nearby were about 40 other boats doing the same.

Before long, we were hooked to a giant of a fish. It fought first on one side of the boat then the other, then directly beneath it, more like a black drum than red drum.

When it came to the surface, the first thing we saw were the “wings.” It was ray. We landed two more then headed in.

Someone else would have to beat the drums.