Walks in the Woods

Saltwater has dominated my fishing for the last few months, yet something about the fall gives me the urge to stalk wild trout hiding in thin blue lines in the woods. It had been months since I last tied on a nymph pattern, but as I knelt down beside the stream a size #18 pheasant tail stuck out like a sore thumb in my fly box. I attached the fly to a short section of tippet and attached to the hook shank of a bushy Stimulator dry fly. That simple dry-dropper combo has become my all-time favorite small stream method over the years. It wouldn't disappoint on this day either. It is an awesome sight watching the dry fly get sucked below the surface from the pull of a native brookie or wild brown. While getting outside was the main goal, a few trout to the hand was a welcome bonus!

Just a few days later, our family took a hike along another beautiful small stream. No trout were caught this day, but we did encounter a few feisty fallfish. This native species readily takes nymphs and dry flies and can be fun to tangle with on light tackle. They also make great ice fishing bait for northern pike. Murphy, the family golden retriever, had the most fun of all on the hike, spoiling many a good pool by jumping in before I could get a cast off.

The Marathon

When water temperatures reach their peak in southern New England, we are payed a visit by a remarkable fish. Little tunny, also called false albacore or albies, show up like clockwork each September. When they do, many saltwater anglers put everything on hold to chase these speedsters with light tackle. A few years ago, I experienced my first and only dose of this type of fishing, but it was enough to instill a lasting memory and hunger for more. This fall I was fortunate to get another shot at them. 

Long-time fishing buddies Captain Blaine Anderson and Andrew Nichols partake in a weekly marathon of sorts during the fall season. Mondays are their common day off from fishing-related jobs. Naturally they spend this day fishing of course. Their excursions together cover a wide range of angling methods  and species from drifting eels for trophy stripers to jigging for golden pond shiners. Over the last few weeks, their focus has turned to the false albacore slashing through schools of bait in eastern Long Island Sound. The fishing was really good for a while; like double-digit-albies-per-person-good. They knew I was interested and invited me along for one of their Monday marathons. Of course the insane bite completely shut down just before our outing, but albies or not, we were determined to put some fish in the boat and have fun doing it. 

The three of us assembled well before sunup at the Niantic River launch and loaded enough gear in Blaine's boat to outfit an Inuit village. We were prepared for any kind of fish we could encounter throughout the day, especially since albie reports went cold. Through pea-soup fog, we crept across Long Island Sound with Montauk in mind. I had never been to the eastern-most point of Long Island, often referred to in surfcasting circles as "The End." It is considered a fishing Mecca to many and is often found boiling with migrating bait and fish this time of year. There were no wheeling birds and blitzes when we pulled up, yet there were still dozens of surfcasters dotting the shoreline and one lone wetsuit fisherman bobbing in the water a hundred yards off the beach. Several boats were also drifting for stripers along the rips well off the point. We joined them after searching the inshore area extensively with zero signs of the target species. After mustering a few half-hearted hits on eels, the fog began to lift and we headed for greener pastures. If nothing else, it was awesome to see Montauk for the first time and I look forward to spending time in the surf there someday.

"The End"

After leaving one famed fishing destination, we headed 13 miles east to another: Block Island. There we drifted along the western side of the Island and jigged for black sea bass and porgies while keeping our eyes peeled for false albacore. This area is well known for its ground fish and I could see why on the first drop of my offering. Fish were stacked like cordwood along the bottom in 40-feet of water and attacked our shiny metal lures known as Deadly Dicks like it was their last meal. The hits were explosive and easy to feel with our light rods and braided line. It was loads of fun and reminded me a lot like the vertical jigging I do for trout while ice fishing. A few dinner plate-sized porgies and respectable black sea bass came over the rail every couple minutes. We put a few on ice for dinner later that night and motored to a classic albie spot at the entrance to Block Island's New Harbor. Nno birds, no bait and no marks on the electronic fish-finder--the area appeared lifeless. So next up was the Block's North Rip, which usually has birds working over it, but this too looked like a dead sea. It was time for another big move and to Point Judith we went.  

Photo credit: Capt. Blaine Anderson

By this time, the sun had won the battle over the fog and it started feeling like a July day instead of a late September one. The water in Block Island Sound was flat-calm, which aided our travel time back to the mainland. The short trip felt like a wink of an eye compared to what it takes on the traditional Block Island ferry that I'm used to. The specific area in our sights was the West Wall; a rocky breakwall protecting Point Judith's Harbor of Refuge, which also serves as a desirable ambush spot for certain game fish. The West Wall is usually the first spot in Rhode Island that migrating schoolie stripers show up to every spring. It is also one of the Ocean State's most consistent false albacore spots for shore-bound anglers each fall. Things looked promising at first with millions of tiny bay anchovies milling about the area. They are sometimes called rain bait because that is what it looks like when they are balled up and dimpling the water's surface. The one lone splash we witnessed wasn't enough to keep us around. After 15 minutes of waiting around and casting blind to nothing in particular, we headed west hugging the shoreline.  

The inshore cruise along the South County coast was very cool to me as a surf angler. It allowed me to scope out some of the places that I fish at night from a different perspective during daylight. We passed a clan of surfers at Matunuck, then the three well-known breachways Charlestown, Quonochontaug, and Weekapaug, all of which were void of activity. Next up was Watch Hill Reef that had more than a dozen small boats drifting in the rip, each waiting for the same fish to show. One thing that got everyone's attention was a massive U.S. Coast Guard vessel that was smack dab in the middle of the Reef collecting, cleaning, and putting back buoys that serve as vital navigational markers. It was surprising to see how big the buoys were and how much of them we can't see resting under the surface of the water. The USCG personnel on deck looked tiny standing next to them.

When we left that circus, we poked around Wicopesset Passage off the eastern tip of Fisher's Island. The tide was ripping out way too fast to anchor or drift effectively, yet we managed a few more porgies before noticing a couple birds acting 'fishy'. Blaine hammered down the throttle and shot us around the south side of Fisher's Island where we spent the longest portion of the trip. It was a much more welcoming scene compared to what we left at Watch Hill, with just one or two boats working the area. Right away a few terns caught our attention hovering over the water a hundred yards off the Island. Under the birds was a subtle yet tell-tale splash of a false albacore, followed by another. It wasn't the large pod of fish we were hoping for, but it was the first we'd seen after 100 miles of searching.

Blaine put us in position and cut the engine far enough way not to spook them, but still within casting range.  What happened next was like a fire drill; the three of us rushed to put lures in front of the elusive fish before they sounded and popped up somewhere else. My two partners chose soft-plastic baits while I opted for the classic Deadly Dick. Blaine was ripping his bait in with slight twitches when it was pounced on. Witnessing the next few minutes, I finally understood what the allure of the albies is all about--the fight. These torpedoes make blistering runs and will test your drag in an instant. Their speed and strength for their size is unmatched by any fish that visits Long Island Sound. After the pod moved out of range, Andrew and I just watched Blaine play his fish and captured some footage and photographs. Since albies are not known for being good table fare, back in the drink it went and back to the chase we went. 

 

Photo credit: Andrew Nichols

The casting distance of a Deadly Dick was superior to any plastic bait on board, but what good was that if fish wanted nothing to do with it that day. So I switched to a new soft-plastic called Albie Snax that I picked up at a local tackle shop. The small Connecticut company, Long Cast Plastics, certainly lives up to its name with their dense, heavy offerings that help reach distant targets. With a quick retrieve and slight twitch from the rod tip, the slender baits make an erratic darting action, mimicking fleeing baitfish well.

After few more minutes of roaming the area, Blaine hooked a large bluefish on a Sebile Magic Swimmer right next to the boat. Meanwhile, Andrew and I kept casting to another small pod of little tunny that popped up within range. Finally, something exploded on my bait, which for a brief moment I thought could have been another bluefish. That notion was thrown right out the window when the false albacore kicked it up a notch and ripped crazy amounts of line from my spool in short order. An unforgettable scene soon unfolded on the deck with a big blue and an albie doing figure-eights around the boat. After a thrilling fight, I grabbed the skinny section above the albie's hard tail and hoisted it out of the water for a photo with a shit-eating grin.

Photo credit: Capt. Blaine Anderson

It seemed like there were small groups of albies doing laps in the general area, so instead of running them down we drifted along proven grounds and waited for them to come to us. While jigging for porgies and sea bass, we'd occasionally see little tunny breaking the surface in the distance, but it was never lock and load like the week before or, as I'd later find out, the week after. Eventually, Andrew latched on to one of the speedsters, completing the trifecta of each of us landing one of the target species. After killing a little more time behind Fisher's Island, the boat launch beckoned where more work awaited us. I give credit to boat owners on how much maintenance goes into it and sometimes goes unnoticed by clients and guests. Back in the lot, Blaine went to town filleting my dinner as Andrew and I scrubbed down the boat and rinsed all the gear. It was late in the afternoon by quitting time, nearly 12 hours after the trip started, and I was beat!  Hats off to those two who do a trip like every day or even once a week.

Overall it was indeed a marathon day and an overwhelming success even before we boated false albacore. I had seen and fished several places for the first time, I checked black sea bass off my species-to-catch list, I went home with a bag of delicious fillets that fed three households, I fished and learned from two knowledgeable anglers, and I got to scratch the itch again of the infamous little tunny--I'd call that a mission accomplished!

Photo credit: Capt. Blaine Anderson

The 208-foot Thomas Jefferson, a National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration ship, mapping the sea floor.

Daylight Delight

One of the best things about the 'fall run' is that it's actually worth surf fishing during the day again. Even just a couple weeks ago, I wouldn't have bothered testing the waters while the sun was out. Inshore water temperatures on summer days are usually too warm for striped bass to wander within casting range of surf anglers. That's why we forgo sleep on weeknights and look disheveled at the office. But now that fall is here and temps are dropping, stripers are dining in the shallows again.

This week a friend and I pricked several nice fish on live eels under bright skies in Long Island Sound. One of the fish that was hooked was in a class above all the rest. My fishing partner Kurt fought it for what felt like an eternity before the fish cut his 60-pound test leader on a boulder right in front of us. The bulldogging bass never showed itself, but we both knew it was something special--fish like that will keep us going back until there's ice in our guides. Thinking the night bite would be just as good if not better, we returned to the scene of the crime and were shut out two nights in a row. Then on the following day the action picked right up again...go figure.

I guess it is time to change up those summertime patterns. Striped bass and bluefish have only one thing on their minds and that's fattening up before they head to wherever they spend the winter months. That means that they will act and feed differently now than they did in July or August. That also means that surfcasters need to adjust their fishing tactics too.   

Photo credit: Kurt Daniello

The Longest Day

This story original was posted on CTFisherman.com in November 2007. It is an account of my final surfcasting trip of that season, which turned out to be very valuable in terms of knowledge and experience gained. Although written before the The Connecticut Yankee existed, I thought the piece was worth sharing here. 

The longest day began at 1:30 AM when Paul pulled into my driveway. He wouldn’t let me into the truck without a pair of Korkers, so I knew we were headed a serious fishing destination. We soon departed for Long Beach, NY, to pick up the third and final surfcaster. After loading Chris’s gear into the truck and awing over his Beach Master plug collection, we’re driving over sand in no time.

There was an hour of darkness and a few hours of flood tide left when we arrived at the widow-maker jetty at Breezy Point. I was told that too many good surfcasters have died here and to follow my partners closely. They weren’t kidding–this was by far the hairiest patch of rocks I had ever laid foot on. After a 10 minute white-knuckle walk, we were not greeted by the lone angler tossing plugs off the end. With the help of a full moon, I soon glanced at one of the strongest rips, within casting distance of shore, which I had ever seen. The three of us posted up on different rocks and began a rotation of tossing eels, letting line drift in the rip about 100 yards, and retrieving slowly.

As fishy as this place looked, it was slow going. I eventually landed an obese 26” striper, which little did we know it would be the only fish of the trip. At the first hints of daybreak, our live eels were replaced with bucktail jigs. There are stacks of books written on this style of fishing, yet I have just begun to wade into it. From what I could tell, these guys, with their hand-tied three and four-ounce bucktails and pork rind trailers, knew what they were doing. As good as the action at this spot was only a week before, it seemed the fish and bait moved offshore. Soon the rising sun revealed acres of birds working on the horizon in deeper water. The boatmen pouring out of the harbors must have had banner days as we could only watch with disgust.

The rest of the morning we had show-and-tell with our plug bags, made trades and test swam custom lures. I am sorry to say that after several seasons and many striped bass, my Team Daiwa surf rod snapped while making a routine cast with a pencil popper. Our educated guess was there was a hairline fracture in the blank and that particular cast was the straw that broke the camel's back. As horrible as the snapping sound was, the thought of a new hand-wrapped Lamiglas custom rod built by a fellow club member in the near future cheered me up.

After a few more fun but uneventful hours of running the beach looking for bass within casting range we called it a day. On our way home, we stopped in West End Bait & Tackle to poke around. We walked in on local sharpies swapping stories and smoking cigarettes. On the walls of this small shop hung what the owner claimed to be Long Island’s largest selection of custom plugs. Despite the overwhelming selection, I knew what my plug bag lacked and picked up my first Super Strike darter, a yellow over pearl tried and true fish-catcher.

Paul wanted more eels for his tank at home and we were hoping for a few monsters to skin as well. Sure enough with one scoop of the net, I saw Loch Ness stick her head out. She was not alone. In total we pulled out four huge eels, all over 20-inches long and thick as a brick. The young shop-hand said he would skin one for me, as I had never seen it done in person. He dropped in a few cigarettes into a bucket and the nicotine in the tobacco caused eels seizure and die within a few minutes. The sharpie-in-training then skinned the snake and put it into a Ziploc for my ride home.

After our skinning demo, an old timer with a handle bar mustache walked into the shop, sat down and started eating lunch. To no one in particular, he started spewing out knowledge that was hard to keep up with. For an hour we listened to this guy without realizing yet that it was Billy the Greek, one of Long Island’s most legendary striped bass anglers. Once I realized who we were listening to, I looked over my shoulder and saw his book on the shelf called “Night Tides.” That humbling experience was the trip’s icing on the cake and my only wish was to retain the information that was shared in that shop.

After battling choked New York highways and downing multiple Red Bulls to stay awake, I arrived back in my driveway at 8 PM, rinsed my gear and passed out to dreams about Long Island’s south shore. Although the actual fishing left much to be desired, I learned more valuable information in one day than some anglers do in several months.

The $25,000 Fish

In spirit of this weekend's WICC bluefish tournament, I felt motivated to put a few words and photographs together about the fish that so many anglers love to hate. Choppers, gators, gorilla blues, yellow-eyed demons; call them what you will, but pound-for-pound bluefish fight harder than any fish in Long Island Sound. Their famous acrobatics and drag-screaming runs help make up for the damage they inflict on terminal tackle and bait supplies. They can reach weights in excess of 20-pounds and are mean sons-of-bitches when it comes to removing hooks after capture. Bluefish are fierce predators that feed past the point of being full and puke up their last meal just to eat more.

In September of 2006, friends and I capitalized on a few-week span of great fishing for giant blues. There were fish ranging from 15 to 20-pounds gorging a large school of adult bunker pinned against a sandbar night after night. It was borderline stupid. Anything you tied on the end of your line was coming back battle-scarred, if it came back at all. The largest gator I caught during that stretch ripped two of three treble hooks off my Atom 40 plug and was puking up full bunker on shore. To this day it still ranks as the largest blue I've ever landed. That memorable chapter of fishing ingrained in me a deep respect for the mighty bluefish. 

This weekend's tournament kicks off at 12:01 AM Saturday morning and will come to a close at 5 PM on Sunday. All waters within Long Island Sound are open game and the heaviest bluefish caught on a hook and line will earn one lucky angler $25,000. Let me say that again--$25K for a bluefish! The tournament was originally scheduled when Hurricane Irene hit two weeks ago, so blues have had even more time to fatten up on the cornucopia of baitfish in the Sound right now. It would be nice to see some choppers on the leader board that rival the heydays of the tournament when 18-pounders were commonplace. I have never entered this tournament mostly because I don't own a boat and there is currently no surf division. I'm told a surfcasting category was given a shot a few years ago, but not again since. Perhaps the powers-at-be will try again in the future, especially if they looking for new blood.