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.  

Of Access and Eels

The Connecticut coast isn’t known for its public access. Much of Long Island Sound’s shoreline is privately owned and challenging to access legally. There are several city and state-owned beaches and parks, but they’re dwarfed by the amount of private beach associations, mansions, and manicured lawns. While the public trust states that Connecticut’s shore belongs to the people, you still have to get to the water without trespassing (or without getting caught). So when an opportunity presented itself to fish a private stretch of striper heaven with landowner permission, I jumped at the chance.

This past weekend I finally linked up with a family friend after a year or so of talking about fishing together. Probably like most reading this, Rob is crazy about fishing. He’s caught trout on the Provo, smallies on the upper Housy and schoolies on the lower Connecticut, but he had never attempted full-on surfcasting at night for that next size class of stripers. Rob was determined to change that and recently scored permission through a childhood friend to access a rocky shoreline that screams big bass. He texted me some possible dates and we hatched a plan.

What a sight we must have been fully decked out in surfcasting gear strolling across a great lawn at sunset getting showered by sprinklers. And how refreshing it was to be able to fish a spot like this without having to sneak in after midnight and constantly look over a shoulder. Once on the water, we maneuvered a maze of bowling ball-sized rocks until we found boulders to perch on and tossed top water lures to kill time before dark settled in. When we could no longer see our plugs, I gave Rob a brief tutorial on how to handle, hook and fish live eels. He had never used this prime striper bait before; in fact, he told me the only nightmare he could remember having as a kid involved spearing huge eels. Nothing like a baptism by fire.

Wading up to our waists, we began working the water in front of us that had a left to right swing forming with the incoming tide. It was a gorgeous summer night with a light breeze. The last quarter of the strawberry moon hadn’t risen yet and the dark sky aided us in seeing a few shooting stars. Even better was that there was no one else around. Only one boat passed our field of view the entire time and there wasn’t another surfcaster for miles. On the flip side, the fish didn't seem to be around either...at first. After about 90 minutes without a touch, we took a short breather on shore and re-hooked our now dead eels.

Sometimes a quick break can make all the difference, or at least renew confidence, because within moments of resuming I saw Rob’s rod double over. It was difficult for me to tell what exactly Rob was dealing with because he didn’t make a sound and the fish didn’t take a yard of drag for the first half of the fight. But that soon changed as the bass came in close and bugged out in the shallows. His locked-down drag started paying out line and the fish moved a good deal of water around. When I finally clicked on my headlamp, there was a thick, healthy bass a rod's length away. It was easily twice the size of his best striper to that point.

Rob’s reaction to the catch ranks up there to some of the better I have ever witnessed. I don’t remember seeing an angler so genuinely happy in that moment. His smile said it all. Rob knew this was special; that you don’t just waltz into a spot like that, fish at night with eels for the first time and catch a 30-pound striped bass. It took me many a night of trial and error to eventually stumble upon a striper in that class. But I was ecstatic for the guy. We could have went home with a skunking and Rob would have been more than fine with it, and I could tell he soaked in the info I shared like a sponge.

That bass bought us another solid hour of fishing. Both of us, now brimming with confidence, fished hard for one more fish, a smallish striper in comparison but a decent catch from shore most summer nights. With the hour getting late and a wedding the following day hanging over me, I had to call it quits. Back at his family’s cottage, we rehashed the tide over a cold beer. As a sign of appreciation, Rob presented me with a bottle of Irish whiskey he had been aging for some time. He texted me not long after I left saying that he was going back out solo that very night, and since then he’s contacted me again about gaining more access along Connecticut’s striper coast. I have seen his condition before in me and my close friends; it appears to be early onset of diehard surfcasting syndrome. If not controlled, it can ruin relationships, careers, and leave you broke and sleep deprived. To all of you like Rob out there, be forewarned. 

Broken Curse & Personal Best

The curse of the 60lb Boga has finally been broken; allow me to explain...

Up until two years ago, I never owned a fishing scale and I'd usually never know how heavy any of my fish were before I released them (although one can get fairly close with measurements and formulas). Then after landing a handful of striped bass that floated somewhere in the mid-30-pound range, I thought it was time to invest in an expensive Boga Grip that would accurately weigh my fish up to 60-pounds. Of course, as luck would have it, as soon as I began carrying this tool on my surf belt, bigger fish evaded me like the plague. That all changed this week, however, when I landed the largest fish of my life.

My good friends Mike, Derrick and I reached the shoreline a little after 10 PM on Wednesday night. There was a decent breeze out of the west, but not stiff enough to ruin our plans of throwing eels for a couple hours during the high incoming tide. Mike fished this same stretch by boat the night before and landed a 38-pound striper and a few others north of 20-pounds. This spot had treated all of us well in the past from the boat and surf, including my personal best bass from shore a couple seasons ago (of course I didn't really know just how big it was because I didn't have a Boga!). In any case, we all realized this location had potential to cough up greatness on any given cast, especially when equipped with big eels. 

Donning wetsuits and loaded for bear, we broke ranks at the surf line and entered the water up to our necks to find submerged boulders to fish from. Mike went way left out of shouting range, but I could still keep tabs on him with the occasionally flicker of his red head lamp. Derrick was off my right shoulder about 30-yards, yet close enough to hear each other if one of us latched on to a decent fish. I brought some plugs, but I left them on shore with the intent of strictly fishing eels for the remainder of the flood tide unless bluefish showed up in force.

For over an hour, I lost myself in a rhythm of casting, slowly retrieving, and repeating. No one said a word during this time and only a dim light went on once or twice for an eel change. Around 11:30, I launched my eel for what felt like the hundredth time and let it sink for a couple of seconds when I felt something different. On the drop, a fish had picked up my bait and when I came tight and realized what was happening, I set the hook hard and then again a second later for good measure. I ensured the drag on my ZeeBaas was set tight before fishing that night, so I knew that I was connected to a good fish as the spool began paying out steady line on its initial run. This was one of the first few surf outings with my new custom rod that a friend built me for situations exactly like this and it felt great to have a serious bend in it. 

I had the utmost confidence in my gear and kept my cool during the back and forth exchange with the fish until I flicked on my red light to glance at a giant tail slap the surface about ten yards away. I quickly shut off my light and the striper made its last ditch effort to escape capture. After I turned her for the last time, the fish glided along the surface and, with my 10-foot rod in my left hand, I reached with my right and lunged my hand into her mouth as she clamped down. With a death grip on her lower lip, I jumped off my rock and did a hurried back stroke until I was in knee-deep water. I didn't call Derrick over until I put the bass on the scale and saw it bounce over the 40-pound mark. I admired the beast in the water as I knelt beside her waiting for Derrick to come over to serve as a witness and photographer.

A brief congratulatory was given before I shared the unfortunate news that my good camera was home and I only had my iPhone in a waterproof case with me. I struggled to hold the fish up properly as he tried to get the best photos he could as quickly as possible. After a couple mediocre shots, it was more important to me to send the big girl on her way and I waded out to deeper water hoping for a successful revival. Derrick went back to his perch and I sat with the sulking fish, rocking her back and forth in the current. For over 30 minutes I tried to coax life back into the old battle-worn bass, but it was in vain. Her dorsal fin popped straight up and its tail kicked hard a few times, yet it was not to be. She gave all she had in the fight, the water was warm and the photo session proved too long. She was coming home with me. 

I have nothing against harvesting fish for the table as long as it's within your legal limit and none goes to waste. I personally let the vast majority of what I catch go, unless a family member or friend has a special request. The last thing I wanted to do was kill this fish. A barely legal fish would taste much better and would have been much easier to lug back to the truck. The silver lining with taking her home was that Mike had a camera and I could better document the best fish of my career so far. So I waded with the bass about a hundred yards to the east and found Mike casting away unaware of the whole situation. He asked if I had any bumps and gave a nice yell when he saw what I was swimming out to him with. We traded places on the rock and he jumped in the water and snapped some awesome photos with his waterproof camera.

We all realized the possibility for other big or bigger fish in the area, so Mike and Derrick kept at it for another half hour or so to no avail. I was totally content watching from shore and soaking in what had just went down. Who knows how many hundreds of surf outings I had logged before landing a fish over the 40-pound mark and who knows how many fish of that size I've hooked and lost over the years. It was a great accomplishment for me and I relished in the moment. Many praises came from friends in the surfcasting community who realized it was a milestone fish for me. To hear words like "well deserved" come from casters of their skill level were the best compliments I could receive. 

From his days working on charter boats, Mike is handy with a fillet knife. He made short work of the bass on his front lawn around 2 AM and we couldn't help check its stomach contents to find absolutely nothing. I brought the huge fillets home in freezer bags, put them in the fridge and my head hit the pillow very late for a work night. The next day I was still riding high, especially when I got my first glance at Mike's shots of the fish. The high continued the following day as I divvied up the fresh meat to friends and relatives. I took my share to my parent's house and we wrapped the fillets in tinfoil with lemons, onions, parsley and butter and threw them on the grill. With a nice salad and red potatoes, it made for a splendid meal that my family raved about. I was extremely happy to catch that fish and so glad none of it went to waste. I'll remember that night for the rest of my life.  

My new personal best striped bass 47.5" and 40.5-pounds (photo by Mike Roy).

Out Front

It felt good to break free from the tidal rivers on Monday evening and fish the open Sound for my first time this season. I was aboard my buddy Mike's boat of Reel Cast Charters. He'd been on a solid bite for a week leading up to our trip, with catches including striped bass up to 32-pounds and two elusive weakfish. It was shaping up to be a gorgeous night as we launched in the western Sound around dinner time. We made a B-line to a popular weakfish spot to try for a unicorn and saw a couple dozen casters lining the shoreline. I have never caught a squeteague before and, while reports this year have been better than the last few, my luck wouldn't change on this outing either. Instead my first several bluefish of the season jumped all over the metal spoons and plastic swimmers that were intended for a more prized catch. Nonetheless, it was still fun to have the toothy critters back on the scene.

Once the we had our fill of the blues, we shot out to deeper water and focused on throwing top-water lures around rocky structure. Mike had a boil on his spook right away so we knew there were fish around. We kept at it for a while and he finally stuck a nice bass right before dark. The nearly 20-pound striper fought very well and was incredibly clean and bright having just made its way in from the Atlantic Ocean.

Once the sun went down, we switched tactics and began drifting eels along the same structure. The wind and tide combination created a quick drift and we both missed some strikes while adjusting to it. Mike boated a few smaller keeper-sized bass and I struggled but enjoyed every second of it. We knew there were a lot more bass around than we were catching because we could hear them popping on small bait on the surface. After a while of no love with the live eels, I downsized to a slender swimming plug and drew a hit on my first cast. A short while later I nabbed my first striped bass of the season outside of a tidal river.

Losing the tide, we made a few more passes before heading back to the launch through a thick blanket of fog. I've been in fog like that before, but not always at night. It really dawned on me how crucial good electronics are to a boat captain in situations like those. And like someone flipped a light switch, poof!--the fog was gone as soon as we entered the harbor. Regardless of my subpar fishing performance, it was an awesome night on the water. It sure felt good to have the salt spray on my face again after a long winter. Here's to a great and safe season ahead!

Salty Stirrings

Things are definitely picking up in Long Island Sound and in her tidal tributaries.  Despite the desperate need for rain, alewives, blueback herring and shad are running up rivers and streams to their native spawning grounds.  Early arriving striped bass, bluefish and ever important menhaden are now showing up throughout Connecticut waters.  A large number of holdover stripers have dropped into the Sound from their wintering grounds.  Blackfish and winter flounder seasons just kicked off last weekend and from what I can tell, tog reports are great at local breakwalls and winter flounder limits of two aren't hard to come by in harbor channels.

Rigged eels and eel-skin plugs are two of the deadliest tools a striped bass anlger can use.

As far as fishing goes, my mind has been pretty focused on trout for the last several weeks, especially now with the annual Hendrickson hatch underway.  The Jeep is loaded with freshwater fly rods and ready to head north at a moment's notice.  However, the urge in me to saltwater fish is growing by the day.  Many of the striped bass to be caught here right now are smaller than the trout I'm targeting, but their much larger brothers and sisters are on their way.  Wild reports of good bass blitzing on bunker schools are streaming out of New Jersey and one can only hope that could happen here soon. 

Admittedly, I haven't done as much as I could have to prepare for the coming saltwater season.  I've been out a few nights after holdover schoolies, acquired a few new toys over the winter, but still have to tie leaders, change rusty hooks, rig Slug-Gos, and a long list of other things that I put off while trying to force an ice fishing season.  However, tonight, I took a small step in the right direction.  From the bottom left corner of my fridge, I grabbed the large Tupperware container that my wife tries to forget is there.  Inside I shook loose two rigged eels and a handful of eek-skin plugs from their winter slumber within a kosher salt-filled den.  The skins were dry and hooks a tad rusty, yet overall they survived the offseason well.  Some of the skins are getting gnarly, though in their defense, a few are entering their fourth year of service.  Over the next few weeks I will dust off my gear and get my act together for what I know is coming.

For now, I am hopeful that herring, bunker and shad keep showing up in droves and the big bass and blues soon follow.  Then the table will be set again for some memorable saltwater fishing.  Here's to an awesome 2012 season!  Good luck and stay safe!

Soon...

American Eels

Live or dead, American eels are incredible effective at enticing large striped bass. When it comes to surfcasting, I cannot think of a more versatile bait. They can be fished simply on a hook, rigged as a lure, fixed to a wobblehead or jig head, and you can drape their skin on a plug. Eels can be purchased in almost any tackle store or even trapped in almost any harbor, marsh or river in the Northeast. They can be easily kept alive for long periods of time in a tank or on ice. Dead eels can be frozen and used again. Rigged eels and eel skin plugs can be stored in kosher salt and saved for seasons on end. And I would bet if you asked a group of veteran surf fishermen what they took their best striper on, the majority would say they were using an eel in one way or another. Eels are a surfcaster's best friend.