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).

Loaded Red Fins

Cotton Cordell's Red Fin has long been a top producer for surfcasters targeting striped bass in shallow waters where slender baitfish like sand eels are prevalent. Right out of the package, these inexpensive plastic swimming lures will catch their share of fish. However, a simple modification to this classic lure will greatly increase its casting (and catching) ability certain situations.

Red Fins are hollow and light, which make them not good casters. A stiff breeze in your teeth will render them pretty useless unless the fish are right in the wash. This is where loading the swimmers comes into play. "Loading" Red Fins with water, oil or shot will allow anglers to cast them much farther in snotty conditions. What to load them with and how much boils down to personal preference. Some prefer water because it's simple while others like oil because water evaporates too quickly. Some anglers choose shot due to the rattle it makes inside the lure.

Surf fishermen have been loading Red Fins and many other hollow-bodied lures for decades. One such surfcaster, Steve McKenna of Rhode Island, has experienced incredible success with loaded Red Fins over the years. I recently caught up with Steve at Rivers End Tackle and filmed him showing how he currently loads these proven fish-catchers. Another modification not shown is swapping out the cheap hooks and split rings that come on the Red Fin for stronger versions, which is highly recommended when targeting trophy striped bass.

A loaded Red Fin is just another tool for your toolbox. There will be times when using one will be completely unnecessary, but there will also be nights featuring a heavy onshore wind and striped bass gorging on sand eels where a loaded Red Fin will be just what the doctor ordered.

 

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. 

Cashing In

The ingredients for serious thunderstorms were mixing all day. They finally materialized in the afternoon and we waited until they passed before our sunset bait-snagging mission.  A friend and I were soon cruising along a stretch of shoreline that has been home to bunker for the last few weeks.  They were right where we left them last, but teasing us just out of casting range. After back-tracking a half mile west, we witnessed another school getting sliced and diced by bluefish. No doubt there were also bass underneath, cleaning up their mess.  We only had a few cracks at snagging before the bait moved out of range for good.  On our furthest casts with weighted treble hooks, we connected with four hard-earned baits that would soon pay huge dividends.

Three of us arrived to spot B in fading light. Our fourth partner had already been there for a short while, slinging rigged eels to no avail. Conditions were ideal with a light southwest breeze and a low outgoing tide. We cut up the crunchy bunker and each took a most-coveted head section.  All was quiet for over an hour until dead low tide. What at first felt like bunker lightly tapping my line, was really a striped bass mouthing then dropping my bait. The fish came back not 10 seconds later, this time making its presence known by peeling several yards of braided line from my Baitrunner. The bass soon thrashed on the surface in the shallow water, with the sound of the displaced water giving us an idea how large she was. A short and memorable battle ensued and I was shaking with adrenaline as my largest surf-caught striper slid into my lap. After cooperating for a quick photo, the fish swam off strong, leaving a lasting impression for one happy angler.  

Strike While The Iron's Hot

Our local waters are loaded with life and fishing very well at the moment. Fresh with sea lice, migratory striped bass have returned to the area and are corralling pods of Atlantic menhaden in the shallows. Like clockwork, bluefish have also joined the party. In addition, thousands of alewives and blueback herring are dropping out of tidal rivers while schools of silversides and sand eels round out the baitfish smorgasbord.

Now would be a good time to log some hours on the water before summer sets in. Water temperatures remain cool enough for nice bass to be taken close to shore in broad daylight. As long as all this food sticks around, the shallow water all-you-can-eat buffet will continue. And as the water warms up, it will be time to start playing the night game a little more. Bottom line: go fish!

The Old Guard

You can almost hear the surf and smell the air in this photo. John Lambert, my grandfather, a WWII vet, and a Purple Heart recipient twice over, grew up with salt in his veins. Thankfully he passed his passion for surf fishing on to his son, my uncle Derrick, who in turn passed it on to me. 

The photograph above shows my grandfather cleaning his conventional reel along the pounding surf of Block Island. Images like this one from the 'glory days' of surfcasting really strike a chord for many anglers, myself included. It was a different time back then; before the moratorium of the 80's, before mass closures of public access and before $20 wooden plugs. Surf fishing was phenomenal at legendary spots like Block Island's Southwest Point and Cape Cod's Race Point. I'm glad he got to experience a taste of those times. 

The Cape

Cape Cod will forever hold a dear place in my heart. For many years our family spent summer vacations there. We stayed on Long Pond in Harwich usually in the mid July. By day we would lounge at the lake or make the short ride to Nauset Beach or Chatham Light. On early mornings and late nights we fished all over the spit of sand jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean like a flexing arm. 

The Cape has long been one of the most fabled fishing grounds for striped bass in the surf. With endless amounts of sandy beaches, Bay-side flats, and a canal that acts as a super highway for fish, Cape Cod hosts a wide array of habitat and forage to draw in the largest of stripers.

A memorable sunrise over the Cape's Herring Cove



Sand eels are the predominant bait found in Cape waters

While the outer Cape has taken a hit in recent years thanks to the incredible influx of grey seals, it will always be known as one of the birthplaces of modern day surf fishing. During the glory days of the outer beaches, 50-pound class fish from shore were a common occurrence. The biggest bass of them all was a 73-pound behemoth taken in the Nauset surf on a teaser fly by Tony Stetzko in 1981. The expansive flats in Cape Cod Bay are another world class fishery, one I love to take advantage of with friends and family when the tides line up for us. The Canal is amazing too and probably the best of all in terms of quality of striped bass fishing as of late. It has miles paved access roads lining either side making it one of the more easily accessible spots in New England. Bottom line, if you love surf fishing then you have to love Cape Cod--it has it all.  

 

The Cape's bay-side flats offer excellent sight-fishing opportunties