Triathlon Bass

While there was no swimming or running involved, this lazy man’s triathlon did have its share of driving, cycling, and walking. An end-of-summer fishing adventure with a good amount of time and energy expended to reach a chosen spot; effort that would pay off in spades just a few casts in.  

Wearing wetsuits and standing in water 50-yards from shore on a dark night, it was challenging not to think about the plethora of brown sharks that chomped striped bass catches all over Long Island Sound this summer. Jim, the trip planner and my host for the night, started with a live eel. I opted for a lure that punched through the light breeze to reach the dying current, which was going from right to left around a rocky point with an ebb tide.

This lure was an Xplorer, the brainchild of a talented angler and plug builder named John Stirpe. Made of resin with a portion of its core being urethane foam, it is a unique and versatile floating swimmer that digs on a fast or slow retrieve, flashing a super realistic paintjob. It was gifted to me by my pal Eddie, a fellow fishing and artifact junkie from Massachusetts. He has fooled a number of plus-size striped bass over the past few seasons on Xplorers. Knowing I had coveted one for some time, Eddie generously mailed me a plug from his personal stash with the understanding that I would fish it hard.

Our first casts came right after full darkness set in. I was aiming to about 1:30 on a clock face. On my second cast, my lure had just splashed down and something whacked it, even before I had a chance to put my braid on the line roller. A good omen no doubt and I hollered to Jim to give him a heads up. While retrieving the very next cast, a fish slammed the Xplorer and immediately thrashed around on the surface. It then made a bee line right at me and I reeled furiously to stay in contact. When the bass realized it was hooked, she did an about face and flexed her muscles, peeling an impressive amount of line in the process.

This was the biggest test yet for my 'Montauk Eel Rod,' a Lamiglas blank cut and wrapped in 2015 by a friend and expert rod builder, Billy DiLizio. A rod soft enough to throw and feel lighter offerings, yet with enough balls to put the screws to big striped bass, which is exactly what I was doing in this moment for fear of having it bitten in half by the taxman. A strong fish, but beaten pretty quickly and still green when my Boga Grip clasped its lower lip.

In the faint beam of my headlamp, the bass did its best planking impression just under the surface, allowing me to snap a half decent photo with the Xplorer still in its jaw. Before letting her go, I lifted the fish quickly out of the water and watched the numbers on the scale drop to a hair below the 36 mark. This was a notable catch for me in a few ways. It was the largest striped bass I had caught in years, the largest ever landed on that particular rod, and my largest ever using an artificial lure. Stoked doesn’t begin to describe it. Do I wish I had gotten a better photo? Yes, but there was no good way to document it without bringing the fish to shore and risking its health and possibly missing out catching other fish. I took solace in how strong she bolted away for deeper water.

The fish were there as soon as we arrived, and likely before that, though they seemed to vacate the boulder field soon after, as the moving water grinded to a halt. Jim ended up losing what felt and sounded like another big bass on an eel and I had one more hit on the swimmer. That was it, though we kept trying for a while before the long walk, pedal, and drive back. My partner was on vacation and could have kept fishing for another 12 hours, but I had to be presentable at work the next morning. Still, I wouldn’t have changed anything. I floated on air the whole way home and for some time after. 

That was a memorable fish and experience, and I am grateful for the many cool pieces that came together to make it possible—from Jim organizing the trip, to Billy wrapping the rod, to John building the plug, to Eddie mailing it to my door. One of the greatest things about fishing is, you just never know what is going to happen on any given outing.  

Any Given Cast

Block Island is arguably the pinnacle when it comes to all-time fishing grounds for striped bass. Peter Vican's recent 77-pounder is just the latest of countless historic catches from Block waters. And since the island's fabled boulder fields are only a 14-mile ferry ride from mainland Rhode Island, trips on short notice are doable. With word of positive surf reports and a new moon phase ushering in, two friends and I committed to an all-nighter during the July 4th weekend.

Leading up to the one night binge, we spent hours rigging eels, changing rusty hooks, and tying new leaders. We were eager and prepared and hopes were high. The plan called for taking the last high-speed ferry from Galilee on a Friday night.  Between our bikes and wet suits, we planned on moving around and fishing hard. When the day came, we gave ourselves more than three hours to make it to the dock, which typically takes about 90-minutes. However, the rush-hour traffic coinciding with a holiday weekend had us rolling into Point Judith with just minutes to spare. We zigzagged between vacationers on our bikes and only enough gear to last 12-hours. The high-speed ferry cut more than a half hour off our sailing time, which is a bigger deal after pulling an all-night surf fishing trip.  

The extra $9 for the high-speed ferry out of Point Judith is worth every penny if you don't require a vehicle.

The Old Harbor area was one big party as our ferry pulled in. It was a little amusing realizing that we were there for a completely different reason than 99.9% of those around us (we only saw four other surfcasters all night). A good meal was in order before the long night that lay ahead. We chose a window seat at Mohegan Cafe & Brewery that allowed us to watch our gear left outside. The beer board on the wall read: "Striper English Ale"--it was then that I knew we walked into the right place. The round of clam chowder hit the spot, before wolfing down large burgers and nursing the rest our beers.    

While digesting we hashed out a plan of attack. We soon hopped on our bikes and rode out of civilization towards the southern half of the Island. It was a 15-minute mostly uphill pedal to our first stop. At least that mean the way home be would easier! The sun was just going down as we arrived and the fading light allowed us to sort of get our bearings before the very dark hours ahead. We locked up the bikes and changed out of our civilian clothes into wetsuits that we carried in backpacks. With the seal skins on, it was easier and safer to reach rocks that traditional waders would not allow. 

What a better way to start a Block bass-hunt than a Striper English Ale?

It quickly turned into a jet-black night and I could barely make out the silhouettes of my partners in the same cove with a good surf rolling in. The tide had been going out for about an hour by the time I let loose my first cast with a black needlefish. My friend Derrick hooked up right away using a sinking eel-skin popper that is better known for its swimming than its popping. While I couldn't tell at the time, it turned out to be a striped bass in the low-teen range. He and my other buddy Mike soon landed a few more of similar size on black needles and the eel-skin popper while I struggled using the same exact offerings. The biggest of their handful of bass was about 17-pounds, but the clock was ticking and the numbers and size of these fish were not enough to keep us much longer. We walked back to the bikes and headed west, leaving fish to find bigger fish. After another 10 minute ride, we rolled up to another classic south-side spot.

At this point in the night, we had been fishing for a few hours and I had not even experienced a bump. I was growing a little frustrated with myself before finally getting snapped out of a trance by the sharp jolt of a striper. The keeper-sized fish whacked an eel-skin stubby needlefish that had never produced for me before. It felt great to get the monkey off my back and better to know there were fish found at both stops so far. We kept walking and casting around another point then a cove with nothing to show for it. Finally, another teen-sized fish latched onto a 12-inch black Slug-Go and we managed a few more half-hearted takes before deciding it was time to see new water.

A bike rigged for fishing can really be an aid to surfcasters at places like Block Island.

By this point it was already 2:30 AM--the night was flying by. In reality, we had one more good crack at a third and final spot before false dawn. So we opted to head towards the ferry instead of moving farther away. After a nice downhill cruise, we stashed the bikes and bushwhacked down a lesser known trail along the east side of the Island. The smaller surf here presented easier opportunities to wade out to good casting platforms.  We hopped from rock to rock rifling through our plug bags for two more hours with only a handful of hits from small bass. The writing on the wall was starting to show. It's easy to forget that you can nail the best fish of your life on any give cast on Block Island, but we just had the feeling it wasn't happening for us that night. 

As a spectacular celestial show gave way to the first hints of dawn, our group switched to top-water lures hoping for a little redemption. My eels-skin popper was crushed multiple times on consecutive casts around first light, though the bass were small and had trouble finding the hook. Boats started pouring out of Old Harbor and probably fared much better than us in deeper water drifting live eels. It didn't matter though; the big yellow ball started peaking over the horizon and we were treated to a sunrise that was worth the price of the ferry plus the hours of effort put in the surf. 

Bubble weed and big surf can make traversing Block Island boulder fields a taxing proposition. 

After the sun came up, we stumbled on two buddies that we last saw while boarding the ferry over. They had very similar results to share, which kind of made us feel better and worse same time. A few text messages to another friend on the other side of the Island revealed better action, yet the same size class of bass. We gave up on the uneventful dawn casting and pedaled into what felt like a ghost town. Delirium began to set in as we waited for the breakfast joint to open. After the eggs and coffee gave us our fourth wind, we shot the shit at the ferry dock until it showed up at 7:45 AM. It was much spacier on the ferry ride back so we all grabbed our own booths and slept for what felt like a minute. The boat let us off and we rode with our gear one last time to our vehicles, all the while passing people heading to Block for a wild time. I cracked open a Red Bull and listened to a few classic stories from the parking attendant before leaving Galilee.

Even though we didn't find the fish we were ultimately after, you can't win if you don't play. Pulling a commando all-night fishing trip is not everyone's cup of tea, but it's something you should experience at least once. And Block Island is a hell of a place to try it! One of these years I am going to hit it just right and have the best night of fishing of my life. You just don't know until you go...

Watching a sunrise like this makes all the effort worth it. 

Poor Timing

Timing can be critical when it comes to fishing. In the weeks leading up to a recent Cape Cod trip, there were numerous reports of large striped bass gorging on mackerel in the Canal. In addition, the extensive flats of Cape Cod Bay were offering excellent sight-fishing opportunities for smaller stripers. Almost as if the fish were tipped off that we were coming, the bite shut off as soon as we crossed the Bourne Bridge. 

We planned a backyard camping stay with family only minutes from the "Big Ditch" and a short ride up Route 6 to good flats fishing. With our customized bikes, we pedaled up and down the Canal for two full nights and mornings. We bathed in bug spray, chugged Red Bull and retrieved hundreds of casts for one small bass between the three of us. During the day, we covered miles of flats despite a north wind and overcast skies that made sight-casting virtually impossible. We put a lot of eggs in one basket for this trip and were dealt a bad hand. With buckets of rain on the way, our sleep-deprived decision was made easier and we cut the trip one night short.

Poor timing or not, we had fun, gave it our best shot and gained valuable experience and knowledge about surf fishing the Canal and Bay-side flats.  Both fisheries are challenging and enjoyable in their own right and we still have a long way to go with each one. I didn't expect to waltz into epic action without donating some hours to the karma bank. Maybe next time.

Covert Operations

As a kid, bicycle was the main method of transportation for my fishing excursions. Whether I was pedaling to the Wepawaug River for stocked trout or to Milford Harbor for snapper blues, a trusty bike got me there. After reaching the driving age, however, there was a decade-long span where I forgot what a bike looked like. That was until my maiden voyage to the Cape Cod Canal earlier this year. With miles of paved pathways lining each bank, the Canal is a perfect venue for fishing with a bicycle. Canal anglers customize their rides with baskets, cargo racks and rod holders, and refer to them as Canal Cruisers. These tricked-out bikes keep them mobile, enabling anglers to cover much more ground than afoot.   

That trip also got me thinking about places closer to home that a bike would make more accessible--spots that are a long way from the truck; private neighborhoods that you could wheel into unnoticed and parks that close after sunset. I decided it was time to customize a bike that would help me fish locations that I normally wouldn't without one. A fellow Connecticut Surfcaster Association member learned that I was the lookout for a beater bike. Kevin told me a friend of his was getting rid of two and he let me pick the one of my choice for FREE. I couldn't refuse the offer and settled on a purple Murray mountain bike from Kevin's garage. Sure it was a woman's bike, needed a basic tune-up and a rear tire, but otherwise was in great shape. Some key modifications were also necessary for carrying the gear needed for night raid in the surf. 

Before

The first order of business was to lose the bike's purple coat. I peeled off all the stickers and took lighter fluid to remove their remnants. Next I purchased a $3 bottle of black spray paint made for metal surfaces. In just two quick coats the ride went from feminine to ninja-like. I then dropped it off at a New Haven bike shop for a tune-up and new tire. There I picked up a black Wald basket for the front end, which would carry my wetsuit and footwear. I also bought a rear cargo rack for holding my plug bag and eel bucket.

For the bike's rod holders, I picked up 10-feet of 1.5-inch PVC pipe from Lowe's, as well as some 2.75-inch hose clamps to help secure them. I took the bike to my buddy Mike's house, which has a man cave teeming with power tools. Mike turned what started as a simple PVC cut job into an all-out rod holder mounting project. He bolted strips of marine polymer sheets together on the rear cargo rack and then screwed the PVC rod holders into that. This polymer mounting system, coupled with the hose clamps, assured the rods holders weren't going anywhere. 

After mounting the rod holders, I bought another bottle of spray paint, this time one made for plastics and finished off the PVC and polymer with a matching black coat. The last purchases were a headlight and a red taillight for safety measures. Each light has various modes such a blinking setting for passing cars. The bike fits snug in my Jeep with the seats down, but a roof or hatch rack would make it easier to take another angler and their bike along. A strong bike lock and solid kickstand are still needed, but otherwise the she is ready to roll as is. One small drawback is that I have to pay attention of my rod angle with low-hanging branches, as my one-piece 10 footer is already one foot off the ground in the rod holder. 

After

The plan is for this ultimate fishing machine to add new locales to my rotation of spots, allowing me to sneak in and out of quiet neighborhoods without slamming car doors drawing attention. The bike will also make destinations like the Canal and Block Island easier to traverse and more affordable. Hopefully, it will also serve as an incentive for my fishing buddies to outfit bikes of their own too. I am glad that I tackled this project and I am very thankful for the friends that helped make it a reality.