Reservoir R&R

Saltwater fishing is over and done with for me and ice fishing is still another cold spell away. So while waiting for hardwater, friends and I have been logging hours at a local reservoir with our sights set on trophy trout and walleye. The big fish have eluded us so far, but as the saying goes, if it was just about catching we would have stopped going long ago...

 

 

Autumn Action

With fall flying by and Christmas commercials already airing, the time is now to make those last saltwater trips before another winter sets in. As a devout Red Sox fan, much of my October was spent glued to a television set instead of on the water, but I managed to sneak in a few outings in the midst of an unforgettable MLB postseason. A couple of weeks ago, my friend Captain Mike Roy of Reel Cast Charters invited me on a predawn excursion in western Long Island Sound. Usually our trips together involve late nights out east, so getting up early and staying local was a nice change of pace. The plan was to take his boat to some spots we typically surf fish from and throw eels until sun up, which would signal the time to switch over to lures for a chance at surface action. But you know what they say about best laid plans...

Right after launching the boat, we were treated to telltale signs of bunker slapping the surface and snagged a half dozen to put in Mike's live well for good measure. We then motored out of the harbor and stuck to our game plan, but little did we know that we'd be back to the same spot an hour later desperately searching for more of the oily baitfish. After casting eels and top-water lures came up fruitless, Mike threw out a lively bunker to see what was what. It didn't take long for his bait to do a nervous dance on the surface, followed by the unmistakable crash of a striped bass engulfing it. That was all I needed to make the switch over to live bunker and the same sequence of events happened to me only moments later. It was lock and load for the next half hour with stripers up to 23-pounds making short work of our limited bait supply. After running out of bunker, we changed back over to eels trying to duplicate the results, but the fish were keyed in on something we didn't have anymore. So the executive decision was made to hurry back to the harbor, snag more bait and pray the bite was still going upon our return. 

By now the sun was high in the sky and boat traffic had increased significantly, so the bunker were much harder to find the second time around. We were lucky to snag six more for the live well, returned to the scene as fast as we could and immediately experienced the same results, except the bass were exchanged for giant bluefish, the biggest we both had caught in years. They were incredibly thick and strong, putting up amazing fights and pulling the scale down to the 15-pound mark! After the wave of blues, a few bass toyed with the last of our bunker and when the tide died the bite died, and it was finally time to switch gears.

It's hard to admit, but I had never fished for blackfish from a boat before so a trip of this kind was way overdue. Mike had a bucket of Asian grabs that he collected at low tide a few days earlier and we anchored at one of his favorite shallow water rock piles and it was lights out action until we had our fill. There were plenty of short fish mixed in, but we managed our limit of keepers and had a blast doing it. Tautog fight like bulldogs and you really have to horse them off the rocky bottom before getting broken off or snagged. I can only imagine what catching a double digit-sized one must feel like after the fights these "small" four and five pounders put up. Mike already had enough meat in his freezer, so I took all the fillets home for the family and cooked it the next night to the delight of everyone at the table. It was a delicious meal that was fun and relatively easy to catch. The combination of landing striped bass and giant bluefish on live bunker followed by a hot blackfish bite made for an incredibly memorable fall day on the water--one that I'll surely look back on when I'm sitting in an ice hut this winter waiting for flags to pop. 

CARPe diem

One of my buddies is a hardcore carp angler and recently invited me to join him for a day on the Connecticut River, a known big carp Mecca in New England. He and a couple friends stayed on private land for a week with sights set on hauling in serious amounts of fish. For the first part of their trip, weather was rather inconsistent and the carp bite suffered because of it. As the week wore on however, Mother Nature strung together a few days of stable conditions and action picked up the night before I showed up.

On a picture-perfect autumn day in Connecticut, I watched and learned from some of the best carp fishermen around. The bite grew hot at times, especially during slack low tide when we had four lines go off at once. Over the course of the day, I had an absolute ball hooking four common carp and landing three of them--all over the 10-pound mark. The cherry on top was witnessing a beautiful 33-pounder that was caught and released by Connecticut's current state record holder. And, as in many forms of angling, the downtime between fish was full of stories, laughs and swigs of beer and brandy.

Even though it had been nearly two years since I had last targeted carp, this trip reaffirmed my respect for the species, as well as my appreciation for the knowledge, time and money that goes into doing it right. I guarantee it won't be another two years before I do it again.

A trail like this always leads to something good. 

Carp fishing is made up of a good mix of preparation and relaxation with a sprinkle of utter chaos. 

Not your father's carp rig; these guys don't mess around. 

My first carp of the day was also my prettiest, with great coloration on its fins and tail. 

A phenomenal backdrop added to a good day of fishing. 

Mike hoisting up a common carp of 33.1-pounds.

The Cindy Crawford of carp?

Another look at the gorgeous fish before its release.

Ethan tallying the catch totals, which were closing in on 1,000-pounds at this point.

My third carp of the day, each one fought as hard as the next. 

All About The Bait

Below is a letter of mine that was published in today's Connecticut Post about strengthening protections of important forage fish like menhaden and river herring.

Rebuilding fish population a long-term project

As a recreational angler who grew up on Long Island Sound, I appreciate and count on responsible management of our fish populations. So I tip my cap to Leah Schmalz of Save the Sound for her recent op-ed about reauthorizing the Magnuson-Stevens Fishery Conservation and Management Act ("A federal opportunity to rebuild New England's fisheries," Sept. 28). The MSA's efforts to end overfishing and rebuild depleted fish populations are beginning to work, but much more needs to be done.

What really strikes a chord with me as an angler is the MSA's emphasis on protecting our forage fish, which are the little fish that big fish depend on for food. It doesn't take a marine biologist to correlate good fishing in Long Island Sound with a strong presence of important forage fish like menhaden and river herring. If things like overfishing, bycatch and habitat destruction keep depleting the ocean's forage fish, then the fishing here in the Sound for our game fish that rely on them for food -- including favorite quarry like striped bass, bluefish, weakfish and fluke -- will suffer greatly.

Rebuilding fish populations is a marathon, not a sprint. It may take years or even decades to undo the harm we have done, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't act now. I hope to someday see my children and grandchildren experience the tug of a big striped bass in Long Island Sound just like I've been fortunate to have had. That's why I urge Connecticut's U.S. senators and representatives to lead efforts to reauthorize and strengthen the Magnuson-Stevens Act.

Kierran Broatch
Milford, CT

Blue Crab Bonanza

Late summer is peak season for Atlantic blue crabs in the tidal rivers and creeks around Long Island Sound. According to most reports, we're experiencing a decent of run of crabs this year so far, especially east of New Haven. Friends and I have been getting in on the action and turning out some delicious meals too. Over the last few weeks, I've been fortunate to crab at night and during the day, on shore and by boat, and in a variety of ways from setting hand-lines and traps to scoop-netting along pilings and mud banks.

Crabbing is a fun family-friendly activity that peaks during a time of year when other types of fishing slow down due to warm water temps. One of my favorite parts of crabbing is the camaraderie--there are always lots of laughs, teamwork and cold beer involved. But make no mistake; catching, cooking and picking blue crabs is a ton of work, yet the thrill of the hunt and the tasty finished product make all the effort worthwhile.

While the act of capturing big blue claws is a rush, the end result on the dinner table is the main draw for many crabbers. There are an endless amount of ways to prepare these crustaceans and so far this season we have stuck to classic crab cakes and a Portuguese stuffed-crab dish called Sapateira. Our friends that introduced us to the latter recipe recently made crab-filled raviolis from scratch, which sound amazing. Of course, there is always the option to keep it simple and get dirty with a mallet and Old Bay seasoning right after steaming.

In the end, there is no wrong way to catch or cook a blue crab--just get while the gettin's good!

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).

Confidence

Every angler has certain offerings that he or she is partial to; the first ones out of their box, bag or bucket on any given outing. Plain and simple, fishermen catch more fish when they're confident in what's on the business end of their line. Whether it's a live eel, a favorite fly or a plug dripping with mojo, it pays to believe in what you're casting. To build up that confidence, anglers must experiment. After all, you'll never catch fish on something if you don't give it the old college try once in a while.

A popular artificial lure that I have always lacked confidence in is the bucktail. Simple in design, it consists of a lead jig head with a single hook and ample deer hair tied around it. For added action and to lengthen the profile, it's usually tipped with a strip of pork rind or soft plastic. One of the cool things about the bucktail is that it can be used to target a wide array of species in both fresh and saltwater, but I'm most interested in their deception of striped bass. Despite the fact that there have been countless articles and books written about the art of jigging, and that bucktails have most likely accounted for more stripers than any other lure out there,  they still haven't played a prominent role in my surf game. Thankfully, I'm slowly starting to change that.

I wish I had a good reason as to why I haven't utilized bucktails more in my local fishing. It's mostly because the surfcasters I learned from on my home waters of Long Island Sound just didn't fish them all that much. Yet as soon as I branched out to places like the Cape Cod Canal, Rhode Island breachways, or the south shore of Long Island, I began to see how standard they were among surf fishermen, and for good reason too. All the aforementioned destinations have at least one thing in common, strong current. Bucktail jigs excel in places with current and any surfcaster worth their weight in salt will tell you that striped bass love moving water; it's like a conveyor belt for their meals.

While I've always carried various sizes and colors of jigs in my plug bag, in the last few seasons I've made a point of actually using them. The spring herring run in Connecticut tidal rivers provides optimal jigging opportunities as bucktails offer a close representation to this slender baitfish and there is no shortage of current to work them in. Sort of like nymphing in a trout stream, an angler must match the speed of the water with a properly weighted jig. In one highwater instance this past spring, a half ounce made all the difference between a skunking and a decent outing. That day I only had jigs in my bag up to two ounces, yet two and half to three ounce jigs were scoring the stripers stacked in a rip like cordwood. Thankfully a friend lent me a bucktail in the magic size that put me on the board. I still owe Paul a cold beer.

 

There was another time this spring when I was lucky to find a popular jigging spot nearly void of other anglers. The fact that it was a rainy weekday helped thin the crowd. I held down a prime position with another caster and we worked in tandem tossing our bucktails upstream in the whitewater, then letting the current swing them downstream with occasional twitches of our rod tips. The first hit I got was unmistakable, almost ripping the rod right out of my hands as the ripping current made this 16-pound bass feel twice its weight. After a quick photo and release, my very next cast was met with an identical fate, a jarring hit from another teen-sized striper almost as soon as the bucktail hit the water. It's outings like these that quickly build confidence in angler's offerings and presentations. Now I have to take my newly acquired jigging confidence and apply it outside of tidal rivers into the open surf. Baby steps, people.



Spring On The Farm

For a fly angler and trout bum, it is hard to beat springtime on Connecticut's Farmington River. I'll let the photos do the talking...