Remembering the Madhatter

Like a lot of newcomers to the Montauk surf fishing scene, Greg Klein was one of my first friends on the beach. In a social circle famous for its gruff characters and locals-only exclusivity, Greg was unusually welcoming and friendly for a Montauk local once he had encountered you on the beach at least a few times.

When I was a teenage newbie from the netherlands of Southampton, working in Freddie’s Bait & Tackle, trying to catch a few fish, learn a few tricks and maybe earn at least a nod of recognition from a passing local, Greg was one of the folks I was always happy to see arrive at the beach in the mornings.

He was hard to miss. Greg was big—the ponytail and moustache made him seem bigger than he actually was—and he was loud (maybe not Gary the Toad loud, but pretty loud). He’d bound out of his truck with a wry comment and his deep-inthe-belly chuckle. He wore those goofy bright colored knit hats that earned him the nickname Mad Hatter. And he was always fishing with that girl.

His laid back fishing style was what stood out to me. Rarely was Greg on the scene at first light, beating the dawn into submission with relentless lashing of his surf rod. He’d wander down to the beach in his old Dodge just before sunup, survey the lineup of casters and pick a spot somewhere well off to the side of the scrum. He strolled to the water’s edge and almost always at least smiled at whoever the goog standing next to him was.

For all the lessons on surf fishing I learned from Bobby Michelson over the years, Greg was the only person that ever showed me a new fishing spot: the Rat Hole on Kings Point. When I was just out of college I spent countless late mornings pulling rat after rat from the Hole with Greg instead of eating breakfast.

In recent years, as both of our days at the beach had been cut back significantly by other obligations, I’d bump into Greg on the sand once or twice a year. He’d always roll up laughing, with some wisecrack about how I must’ve gotten a real job. After 20 years, I still counted him as one of the few real friends I ever made on the beach.

I hadn’t seen Greg since last fall when I heard of his tragic death in an accident in Florida this week. He had just finally married that girl—fittingly the best fisherwoman I’ve ever known, Cathy Callen—this past summer and I exchanged brief messages of congratulations with him.

Montauk has lost three of its sharpies in the last couple weeks and perhaps it is apropos that these dark clouds come amid one of the worst surf fishing seasons in years. There’s a pall over Montauk. It will hopefully blow through with winter and the spirits of Kathy Kronuch and Greg will bring us a bountiful spring.

Catch ’em up, Greg. We’ll miss you.

When he’s not fishing or hunting, Mike Wright is a staff writer for the Press News Group.