Our nearshore waters experienced an ultra-rare showing of mola molas, boringly known as ocean sunfish, so nicknamed due to their tendency to lie on the ocean surface to regulate their body temps via the sun and warm surface water. See: facebook.com/reel/1763418364878619.
I first thought there was only one mola being widely seen, most notably in Barnegat Inlet. Then, simultaneous sightings were reported by surfers, mariners, fishermen and paddlers, suggesting a goodly slew of sunfish had shown up. In almost all cases, their large dorsal fins were mistaken for surfacing sharks.
The mola moniker is derived from Latin, meaning “millstone” or “grinding stone,” which describes the species’ unusual round, flat and gray body shape, marked by unusually large dorsal and bottom fins.
As noted, the upper fin is often and easily mistaken for a shark dorsal, except for the way it just floppily sits there, doing nothing remotely predatorial.
The molas seen in shore waters were young, the largest being maybe 75 pounds. That might sound largish until compared to fully grown molas, which can reach up to 5,000 pounds, among the largest finfish in the sea – and tough as nails, to boot.
As for their locomotion, it’s nothing to brag about. Even at full throttle, they barely break 2 mph, making them at once among the largest and slowest finfish in the sea. Their modest locomotion comes from the synchronized undulating of the top and bottom fins, which act as subtle oars.
Their tails are short and stubby. Known as clavuses, they have no propulsion capacity, acting as crude rudders.
Molas compensate for their laidback propulsion capacities by being admirably dogged, covering many miles in a day, often traveling rather erratically well out at sea.
In a survival situation, even the largest sunfish have an uncanny ability to perform short acceleration spurts, occasionally leaving the water. Nonetheless, they can be sitting ducks for vessel strikes, though the largest molas offer payback by seriously damaging the hulls of boats.
As to those times when ocean sunfish leisurely lie sideways upon the ocean surface as if tanning, this is most often done to warm up after making deep foraging dives into icy waters, sometimes descending over 1,500 feet.
During dives, they opportunistically feast on squid, crustaceans and small fish, though such fare is for variety’s sake since their primary diet is comprised of every type of jellyfish under the sun.
It’s remarkable that molas can weigh tons by eating mainly jellyfish, which are comprised of over 95% water.
The current juvenile mola stoppers-by can reach that size in short order. Starting life as larvae the size of rice grains, they grow at a rate of 2 pounds or more per day, primarily during their juvenile growth. Stunningly, they increase their size 100 million-fold when going from larvae to oceanic giants, placing them among the fastest-growing vertebrates on Earth.
When young, ocean sunfish are vulnerable to attacks from orcas, sharks and seals. Once they achieve significant size, alpha ocean predators seemingly lose interest in biting into them, possibly due to a sunfish’s toughening exterior, though it might also be their flesh becomes increasingly infiltrated by toxins from their jellyfish diet.
As to why these open-ocean denizens suddenly arrived here, I’m guessing recent powerful storm systems blew them shoreward, meaning west winds, once established, could assist them seaward.
BACK WE GO: The upcoming month marks the annual end to the sunnier side of daily life. We bid an annual adieu to beloved Daylight Saving Time, though it isn’t going quietly this time around.
The falling back to Standard Time occurs on the first Sunday in November. This year, that conveniently falls on Nov. 1, the earliest possible date for the autumnal time change.
We return to DST on the second Sunday in March, should world affairs allow us to survive until that date.
Under the current framework, established by the Uniform Time Act of 1966 and amended by the Energy Policy Act of 2005, the United States spends roughly 65% of the year in DST.
There are now those stumping for nonstop DST, including 19 states. They’re using the rally call “Lock the Clock.” Many congressional reps are on board. In fact, the House voted 308-117 in bipartisan support of H.R.139 – the Sunshine Protection Act of 2025.
Even the seldom-shining-brightly Maestro Donaldo has called the biannual clock tweaks a “ridiculous, twice-yearly production.”
Despite its momentum in Congress and White House, the full-time DST effort has gotten a dim reception in the U.S. Senate, where it is now stalled in the Committee on Commerce, Science and Transportation. It didn’t reach the floor prior to the Senate’s extended recess, which began on Oct. 5.
We shall once again fall back.
The Senate’s slowness in debating full-time DST stems from a formidable coalition of scientists, educators and health professionals strongly opposed to permanent DST. In fact, they are concurrently stumping for never-ending Standard Time.
Sleep researchers and groups like the American Academy of Sleep Medicine contend that DST already runs roughshod over human circadian rhythms, the body’s biological clock. This bodily rhythm is thought to be reliant on morning sunlight – not late-day brightness – to regulate and synchronize bodily metabolic processes over 24-hour cycles. Feelings of energy and tiredness are closely related to circadian rhythm.
Critics allege that nonstop DST would force people to wake up, commute and start their work or school days in darkness, leading to a phenomenon known as “social jetlag,” possibly linked to increased risks of insomnia, metabolic disorders, cardiovascular disease and depression.
Such dramatic interpretations fly in the face of emerging studies on mankind’s innate primordial sleeping patterns. Findings contradict modern sleep theory based on humans naturally seeking eight hours of continual sleep.
Anthropological evidence indicates early humans, surely more attuned to natural stimuli than modern man, practiced segmented or biphasic sleep, sleeping in two distinct phases.
The first phase would begin shortly after dusk, lasting a few hours. It was followed by a naturally occurring period of nighttime wakefulness, from one to three hours, during which individuals might stoke fires, communicate with one and other, or possibly reflect on dreams – inspiring wall art, thought to be done at night.
After first-phase wakefulness, ancient humans would return to bed for their second phase of nightly sleep, waking up around sunrise.
Research on circadian rhythms has found it is linked to naturally occurring four-hour sleep intervals, which would cover both modern and primitive sleep patterns.
Many people find the first four hours of sleep quite suffice; notables include Winston Churchill, Thomas Edison, Nikola Tesla, Ben Franklin and the Trumpster himself, who once publicly called the sleep theory “Canadian rhythm.”
WEATHER WORD: Atlantic coastal storms continue to form with uncustomary regularity. Another doozy will hang out offshore this week.
The latest wind maker, lacking rain for us, is yet another slow mover, though it won’t retrograde back upon us. Nevertheless, its honking northeast winds and sizeable medium-period swells, joining a size-enhancing moon phase, will royally rile shoreline seas for much of the week, adding to an already record-setting northeast-winded fall.
Although I’m reluctant to overdo the everyday impacts of a supersized El Niño, something seems a bit odd out there. Nevertheless, there are those who rightfully balk at nonchalantly attributing random weather events to warm ocean waters in the eastern Pacific Ocean, many thousands of miles away.
Whatever the impetus behind this surge of shoreline storms, we deal with them the same, regardless of causation.
GOTCHA, POACHA!: Saturday afternoon saw some terrible tog times befall three anglers as they returned to their vehicle after quite successfully fishing the South Jetty. Their tautog success will likely prove costly.
Waiting for them in the parking lot was a conservation police officer, a native son. He had suspected their angling success was of a poaching nature, based on the un-minor fact he had formerly hooked up with the same three game thieves. He dubbed them “repeat offenders.”
This time they outdid themselves, being redhandedly caught trying to secret away what I estimated to be at least 15 tog, all seemingly undersized fish.
The flagrant pilferers, while being given a stern albeit professional talking to, offered pseudo forlornness, showing grief for being busted more than any genuine contriteness.
While I know nothing about their previous run-ins with the Division of Fish and Wildlife personnel, this go-round they were having the boom lowered upon them, being handed an absurdly long computerized printout detailing separate punishable violations.
It would be tough to track where judicial things go with this case, though fines will likely fly. However, the endgame might be far-reaching.
In the past, I’ve written about hardcore tog poaching being part of a lucrative criminal enterprise. Tautog achieve a top dollar rating within a restaurant-related black market, where it is successfully sold as a stand-in for prohibitively costly grouper. A single tog might be worth well over $100 once pared, prepared and plated.
Having cooked both tog and grouper, I can assure that our blackfish has a culinary profile very similar to grouper. No other non-grouper species comes so close.
Apparently, we’re not fully appreciative of a tog’s top-shelf tastiness, especially when prepared just right – smothered in an Asian black bean sauce.
While on the subject of law enforcement, a strange story came my way through the monthly Fish and Wildlife Bureau Reports.
Conservation Police Officer Capri responded to reports of an ugly incident related to a local HMS (highly migratory species) fishing tournament. It would lead to a rare but highly serious “wanton waste” citation.
Word had it that a captain dumped “tunas” (unspecified species) shortly after they had been weighed in for the contest.
Thorough savvy policing, Capri tracked down the captain.
Per the follow-up report, “It was determined that a total of six tunas were discarded into the water whole, with no meat removed.”
That strikes as supremely strange and unacceptable, even if the fish had not been properly stored and transported, which is a form of wanton waste in its own right.
I first wondered if the tunas might have been false albies or the like, but they wouldn’t have qualified in a strict HMS event. What’s more/worse, any kept fish demands a respectable disposal, according to state law.
I’m sure hardcore big-game fishermen will have better insights into what might be behind this incident. Please let me know. I’ll write it up sans prejudice.
RUNDOWN: Tog, kingfish, weakfish, bluefish and striped bass are out there, though once again becoming tough to reach, as storm conditions prevail … again.
The ocean roil comes at the height of kingfishing, which shines during calmer seas. To see what was being caught, check out the pre-blow weigh-ins for the 2026 LBI Surf Fishing Classic at lbisfc.com/live-results.
Tog are also in top form, as are South Jetty toggers seeking them daily, mostly using green crabs or sandcrabs.
Rock-top anglers realize they are on display, being monitored rather closely. Virtually all legit anglers have no problem with those watchful enforcement eyes.
I was asked: “Are the wardens (old expression) checking for saltwater fishing licenses?” I’m not sure. I’ll check.
Oceanside and jetty bassing is hardly bountiful, though I got some stellar reports of them being boat-caught just inside the bay.
Of interest to me, there was a Classic-grade keeper bass caught on a plug inside Barnegat Inlet by John Bonner. He caught it at 4 a.m.! Cool. Though my schedule no longer allows me to take on such afterhours fishing sessions, I fondly recall years of all-nighters, when glow sticks spiced the Holgate shoreline.
