Artificial Intelligence

I love everything about American eels. They are arguably the most effective and versatile bait when targeting striped bass. Many a book chapter, magazine article, and blog post have been written about their ability to entice stripers into gulping them down like candy. An eel was responsible for my largest bass ever landed and I’m sure the same can be said by countless anglers up and down the Striper Coast. 

For a long time now, lure makers have been trying to, with varying levels of success, duplicate the American eel’s shape, suppleness, and action. I have been fishing eels in nearly every fashion possible for as long as I can remember and don’t plan on giving them up entirely anytime soon. All that said, they are expensive, can be a pain to deal with, and are sadly becoming scarcer as the years tick by.  

Companies like Lunker City, Hogy, RonZ, Al Gag’s, Berkley were some of the OGs of my early days of fishing eel imitations, and they still make great baits today. However, it’s been intriguing to witness the arms race of long, slender soft-plastics come to market over the last 20 years. By names like Got Stryper, Game On!, Fish Snax Lures, JoeBaggs, Zinger Baits, and Gravity Tackle to name a few. There are limitless combinations of size, color, and rigging options available to today’s angler for nearly any situation they could encounter. So much so the choices can be overwhelming.

Over time, I have been building up my arsenal of soft-plastics and my confidence in using them. I am starting to find more consistency in my success and part of that can be attributed to selecting the right bait and rigging style to match the spot and its conditions on a given outing. Like in every kind of fishing that I do, it has been a fun, never ending journey of learning. The farther down this rabbit hole I go, the more I realize how much there is still to learn, explore, and experiment.

We’re on a loop. Enjoy the ride.

The author with a healthy striped bass that fell for a 13.5" GT eel rigged on a 1/2 oz. jig head. 

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!

Time Of The Season

Family, friends, fishing, fireflies, beach days, Wiffle ball, shish kabobs, steamers, cold beer; these are just a handful of things I look forward to every summer. And, as usual, summer is cruising along at warp speed, so I recommend sitting back and soaking it all in before autumn is at our doorstep. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing; part of the allure of New England is the changing of the seasons and I can rattle of a dozen things I love about fall in short order. 

Nothing screams summer like a delicious bowl of freshly dug steamers.

As far as fishing goes, the story of the summer so far, at least locally, has been bunker; lots and lots of bunker. Many old salts around here say this is the most they've seen in a long time, which is great to hear. Unfortunately, for the most part, striped bass and bluefish haven't got the memo, yet that is, as big pods of the baitfish are milling around Long Island Sound virtually unnoticed by predators. Maybe it's because there are so many bunker schools that bass and blues can pick and choose which ones they want to harass. However, large gator blues are now starting to show up in better numbers and I think that's just what we need to concentrate these various bait schools and jump start the all-you-can-eat bunker buffet. Hopefully they stick around for a while and, barring a mass die-off, we could be in for one interesting fall... 

Dark, nervous patches of water amidst a sea blue are sure signs of schools of menhaden.

The stealthiness of a kayak allows one to more easily sneak up on pods of bait being harassed by bass and blues.

 

A midday striper plucked from underneath a bunker school.

One lazy Sunday in early July, I launched a kayak alone in western Long Island Sound. With zero wind or chop, the Sound looked more like a pond that afternoon, which made it easier spotting the dozens of different bait balls churning the water like butter. I paddled passed a few smaller pods until I saw the mother lode drifting towards me with the incoming tide. Within the middle of this dark patch of water I could hear welcomed signs of predators feeding. Thousands of menhaden rapidly jolting in unison as bluefish slashed through made loud, piercing "WHOOOSH" sounds. It was music to my ears.

I quickly let loose my weighted treble hook into the fray, took one crank of the reel and reared back my rod, instantly snagging an unlucky bunker. With a now-bleeding baitfish doing the work for me, I drifted with the slowly moving school until the unmistakable machine gun tap of a bluefish vibrated through my braided line. I set the hook and was happily treated to a brief Long Island Sound version of a "Nantucket Sleigh Ride," as my kayak was towed by the bulldog of a blue.The rest of the outing was rather anticlimactic with a keeper-sized striped bass fighting like a wet sock in comparison to the yellow-eyed demon. Predominantly a surfcaster, it's always fun for me to get in a yak and access normally hard-to-reach areas or to action that is out of casting range from shore.

Menhaden so densely packed that their yellow forked tails are breaching the water's surface.

Chunking with a fresh bunker head can be the ticket when live-lining is not getting the job done.

The influx of bunker locally has also made for a few good nights of chunking from shore. Not everyone is a fan of waiting for a fish to pick-up a cut piece of bait off bottom, but this isn't your father's way of chunking either. There is no spiking the rod, swilling beers or sitting down; the rod is always held in your hand and every little bump is felt, from spider crabs latching on your offering to a passing bunker brushing your line. When it comes to bait, it pays to be fresh. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a bait snob - if it's not same-day caught and stored on ice, I don't want it on the end of my line. You know when you have fresh bunker because it will retain its slime coat and have a distinct crunch when cut with a knife. The head with an inch or so of meat hanging of the back is the preferred piece; the rest is either used for chum or saved for reserves.

Put a fresh bunker head on your hook and hold on.

My biggest striped bass of the year so far was hooked and lost while chunking one night in the western Sound. Two friends and I went a few hours without a bite before I blurted out "well, tonight's not our night." As soon as the words left my lips, a fish picked-up my head piece and the Baitrunner let out a sound we all love to hear "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!" I engaged the reel and laid back on something heavy on the other end. It took a few slow runs straight out before heading left towards trouble. Looking back, I think I could have horsed her in a little more with the setup I was using, but hindsight is always 20/20. It was dead high tide and the bass went directly over a rocky point that is exposed during low tide. I know exactly what erratic boulder sliced my braid like hot butter and left me wondering how big the fish I lost really was. They didn't all get away. My buddy Jason landed and released some nice stripers over the last few weeks, which was fun to be a part of. 

Jason reaping the results.

Releasing to be caught another night.

If' I'm not using bunker on hot summer nights then it's another form of bait, American eels. I own more artificial lures than I care to count, but it's a rare outing when I don't have an eel, live or dead, on my person. Simply put, our quarry have a hard time resisting them. It's pretty damn cool trapping eels in harbors and tidal creeks, but I also get my kicks off cherry-picking them from local bait shops. They are like slimy confidence in a black bucket. While it's been far from a banner season size-wise for our crew up to this point, most of the decent fish we have taken have come on eels.

This 28-pound bass sucked down an eel on the first cast of the night (Photo credit: Aaron Swanson)

Kurt with a beautiful 33-pounder  (Photo credit: Derrick Kirkpatrick)

A short swim enabled a shot at this late-night bass (Photo credit: Derrick Kirkpatrick).

Derrick releasing another nice eel-caught bass

This 15-pound blue fought nearly as good as it tasted  (Photo credit: Derrick Kirkpatrick)

A nice first-light striper before heading to work.

A rare boat-caught bass from a local reef (Photo credit: Curt Johnson)

As the saying goes, if fishing was just about catching fish, I would have stopped going a long time ago. It's not hard seeing the positive in a fishless outing when we put ourselves in such awesome situations. Whether fishing at daybreak, sundown or in the heart of darkness, there is always something that stops me in my tracks while retrieving a cast and reaffirms my love for this sport and the great outdoors.

Mosey showing off her casting skills on a local sandbar.

A spectacular sunset over Milford harbor.

October Blues

It may not have been our target species, but this big bluefish kept us from going home with the smell of skunk on a crisp October night. Conditions were ideal and our confidence high, yet no striped bass wanted to cooperate. The lone blue hit right at my feet, serving as a stern reminder to always fish my offerings all the way in. I basically gave up on that retrieve while my live eel was still 10 yards away from me and started reeling quickly to get another cast off. The gator blue exploded on my bait a rod's length from me and a wild fight was underway with a mighty foe against a strong current. 

There are still few solid weeks left of the so-called "fall run" in these parts, although they will fly by fast. With any luck I will get to hear the sweet sound of a screaming drag a couple more times before the surf season is all said and done for another year. 

Photo credit: Derrick Kirkpatrick

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 Pickpocket

American eels, rocky areas and late tides continue to add up for large striped bass in Long Island Sound.  The spots may have changed, yet the tactics and results remain the same.  After a recent honey hole dried up, it was time to dipstick neglected haunts for a pulse.  Early this week, at a locale much closer to home, one lone 14-pound bass was caught between four anglers.  Not the results we had hoped for, but a keeper-sized striper from shore in August can be a small victory in itself.

Last night, we hatched a different game plan.  Will, Aaron and I focused on two areas in the eastern Sound that I hadn't fished in two seasons.  These were known 'big fish' spots that had flexed their muscles to us in the past.  The tide was turning from slack to ebb when we arrived to the first location.  The moon was so bright that we didn't need headlamps to light our path along the rocks.  Despite the well-lit sky, we could still make out the occasional shooting star thanks to the Perseid Meteor Shower.

Confidence was high at first, but it slowly waned after drifting eels for a few hours with not one hit to show for it.  Aaron switched to a soft-plastic bait on a wobble-head tin that looked very sexy in the current.  Will ventured off to try other spots within the spot.  I added a small egg sinker above my offering to get down a little deeper.  None of the adjustments helped the cause.  The decision was made to cut our losses.  We arrived at spot number two about half way down in the outgoing tide.  Will donned the wetsuit while Aaron and I chose waders.  The wetsuit let Will get out a little farther than us, but on this night it wouldn't matter. 

After he waded through neck-deep water and found his perch, Aaron and I flanked his left and right.  I clambered up on a giant boulder, not giving much thought about how I would land fish from it.  On just my third drift, something heavy inhaled my eel and I drove the hook home hard.  Instantly, it tail-slapped the surface and took off like a banshee.  I didn't call for assistance until the fish pushed water for the second time and really showed her size.  Will couldn't hear me between the wind and water, but Aaron made his way over to lend a hand.  When the bass came close, I used the roost to my advantage and steered the fish into a crevice between boulders.  Aaron risked water going over his waders as he clutched the lip of a 44-inch striped bass.

Photo credit: Aaron Swanson

The fish that lay across my lap was the second longest striper I had ever landed.  If it wasn't my heaviest, it was very close.  Except for a notch in the caudal fin, it was in perfect shape.  The warm water and lengthy fight had taken its toll though.  There were a few moments where I thought I would be lugging out the hefty bass back to my truck.  However, I didn't give up on her and cradled the bass in current as I felt life slowly creeping back in.  It took a full 15 minutes for me to comfortably let go of the fish in the shallows for a trial run.  After passing, I brought her out to deeper water where she kicked from my hands.  As awesome of a feeling it is to land a nice fish, releasing one is that much more rewarding.

Aaron climbed on the rock where I had hooked the bass and started bombarding the area with casts.  After getting my act together, I fished off a rock to his left.  Will, unaware of what just went down, continued working the water to our west.  For another hour, we covered every inch of the place without another touch.  Just one one bump, one fish; right after waltzing in.  And as we were walking out, Will finally heard the story and turned right back around for more.  With the alarm clock sounding in just a few hours, Aaron and I hit the road after another memorable night.

Photo credit: Aaron Swanson

Potential World Record

Late in the night of Thursday, August 4, 2011, a potential world record striped bass was caught in my home waters of Long Island Sound. On Friday morning, On The Water called and asked me to cover the story for them. This is what happened:  Potential World Record Striper

Dialed In

As much as surfcasting is in my blood, it's always a treat fishing productive stretches of shoreline from a boat.  Not dealing with taxing walks over rocks is one of the bigger perks.  Another is the amount of ground that can be covered efficiently.  Some dyed-in-the-wool surf fisherman may claim that catching striped bass from a boat is 'cheating', but I bet my best rigged eel that none of them would have turned down this trip. 

After working late one recent evening, I met Mike & Derrick at the boat launch just before 10 PM.  We had to hurry to catch the last of the low-incoming tide, which had been fishing well lately.  It was a beautiful, calm night and the dark sky was littered with stars.  There wasn't another boat in sight and the shoreline was devoid of headlamps.  Things happened fast and furious when Mike cut the engine.  My second cast produced the first hookup of the night.  Unfortunately, it turned out to be a bluefish that severed my leader.  Not a big deal I originally thought, but before I had time to tie another rig on, a wave of large striped bass moved in and the melee began.

The captain struck first and by the sound of his screaming drag we knew it was a better fish.  After a couple good runs, it surfaced boat side and Derrick lipped her as I snapped away with a camera that usually doesn't see saltwater action.  It was also nice having Mike's 60-pound Boga onboard, so we didn't have to ponder the weights of our fish.  This one was a clean 32-pounder and a great way to start the night.  

Immediately after that bass was released, I went back to tying a Uni-knot when Derrick hooked up on his next drift.  The fish pushed a good amount of water on the surface giving us a hint to its size.  The blistering runs that ensued gripped our attention as she sped away from the boat.  Eventually, as the bass tired and drew closer to us, we were treated to amazing trails of bioluminesence in its wake.  Mike soon corralled the leader and buried his hand in the maw of the 37-pound bass, which the tape revealed at just around 46-inches long.  The trip wasn't 30-minutes old before two bass over 30-pounds were caught and released.

 

After some photos and a successful release, I finally had a chance to finish retying my rig.  Of course by then things had quieted down, at least in terms of size of the fish eating our eels.  The good thing was that a slow and steady pick of smaller bass, ranging from 22-pounds to schoolies, remained for the rest of the incoming tide.  All the while, a lack of wind allowed us to make real nice drifts tight to shore without having to jockey the boat around much.  After a lull, the captain decided to make one final pass in front of an erratic boulder before moving west a few miles.  On cue, my eel was slowly taken by a heavy fish right in the money zone.  She was all business right from the hook set and took off like a bat out of hell.  My 8-foot rod was bitched and braided line was pouring off the reel at a dizzying rate.  Not able to do much other than hold on, my heart sank to my stomach as the 40-pound main line went slack.  There was no rubbing or chaffing, the braid was sliced by a rock like a hot knife through butter.  As difficult as it is to judge, I still believe that it was one of the larger bass I'd ever come in contact with.  Oh well, that's fishing!

Rightfully so, the lost fish kept us around a bit longer before the decision was made to hightail it for a dipstick at another one of Mike's haunts.  If nothing else, it would give a rest to the water we had hammered for a few hours.  So we left fish to find fish and you may be able to guess what happened next; we came up empty at spot number two.  After about a half hour with only a cigar'd eel to show, we floored it back to the original location for the beginning of the outgoing tide.  The bass were right where we left them and some larger ones seemed to be around again.  I hooked up on what felt like a decent fish, but it didn't really put on the afterburners until it got up to the boat.  A close-quarters battle ensued before Mike lipped the bass and I joined the 30-pound club for the night.

Not long after the fish kicked away from my hands, Derrick came tight to another.  And again, the noise his reel's drag was making suggested it was a quality bass.  Mike and I held off casting to avoid any trouble while Derrick fought her to the boat.  After the Boga disclosed that it was 31-pounds, he revived it as I got some photos of the release.  That made the fourth and final bass over the 30-pound mark for the night.

 

I wish the second wave of large lasted longer, but it was over as quickly as it started.  After Derrick's last fish, we were running low on eels and the clock showed 2 AM.  It was a weeknight and unfortunately, some of us had a thing called work in the morning.  Energy drinks were cracked and a few last casts were made before heading back to the launch.  It had been a hell of a night with some real nice fish and good laughs.  Hopefully it won't be too long before we're back out there again, pitching eels and waiting for a bump.

Good Predictions

Editor's note:  This is the first guest post on The Connecticut Yankee, written by my long-time friend and fishing partner Aaron Swanson.

My fishing partners have been making good on their predictions this year. Right around the time of the herring run this spring, while fishing a tidal river, Derrick proclaimed to Kierran and me that one of us would be getting a new personal best (PB) from one our rocky locales out east as the summer progressed. Last week, Kierran said that before long it would be him on the other side of the camera, documenting rather than experiencing, another personal best. They both turned out to be right.

The July new moon occurred on the 30th this year, but our mid-summer surf schedule has generally carried our nighttime efforts through two calendar days. In this case, the turn from the 30th to the 31st marked my 28th birthday. I caught my first striped bass, a keeper nonetheless, on my 22nd six years ago (after trying for nearly a year) and have tried to make it a point to fish the date with each passing year. While I haven’t caught every year on that outing, I managed the best present I could ask for this time around.

Strategy in the dog days is usually the same. While fishing in the western Sound can be good, the somewhat cooler waters of the east have historically provided better action for us. Proximity to deep water, prominent rocks, current, eels, and foregone sleep are generally the keys to finding some fish in Long Island Sound from shore in August.

The long walk to this spot can be a bit of a drain, but after a quick breather we were in action. My lack of a wetsuit wasn’t as important this time as it was the prior week because the full tide had us pushed up against the shoreline. Kierran continued his hot hand, hooking landing and releasing two fish, one in the near 20-pound range before the tide started to crank, moving the current seam we were plying out of our casting distance and taking the action with it. To this point, all Derrick and I could manage were bumps and missed hook-ups. A break for a Red Bull and some discussion of a short walk led us to move a few hundred yards west, where we were able to reconnect with the current that had moved out of our reach.

Photo credit: Aaron Swanson

We were immediately tuned to the presence of fish as we each had bumps in our first couple of casts. I was first to hook up and land a mid-teen fish before Kierran kept us going with a near clone of his first. This fish was hooked deep and went home to his table. He landed another smaller fish, and I dropped a bluefish before a bit of a lull had us thinking about heading back where we started. We decided we’d take a couple more casts and then move again. Kierran fortuitously told me to “make them count”.

I had a subtle take on my next cast and hauled back but didn’t make great contact. Figuring the fish was coming at me I caught up, felt more pressure and set again for good measure. It’s probably a good thing I did because the fight that ensued would test my tackle. The fish sulked for a while and had me thinking it was probably similar in size to the others we had taken thus far. Then my rod flattened out and line dumped off my spool. The new moon current aided the fish in its attempt to head for Long Island and my rod and braid groaned under the pressure. I managed to turn the fish and we had a standoff before I finally started to move her toward me before trading line back and forth; I don’t know how long it lasted but it seemed like forever. She moved some water in tight and our lights shown on a gaping bucket-mouth. My partners grabbed and subdued her and as we went about getting ready to get a couple pictures I went to wipe what I thought was some weed off of the fish’s flank and found a tag. It was the first time I had seen one of those in person – pretty cool and I’m looking forward to finding out where and when she was tagged. Like a week before, the 30-pound Boga on Derrick’s belt wouldn’t do any good reading this fish so I’ll be happy to stick with the 43-inch measurement we got. She bested my old PB by only a half inch but being as thick as she was I’d venture to guess she had a few pounds over her predecessor.

Photo credit: Kierran Broatch

Photo credit: Kierran Broatch

After a successful release, we probed the area for another hour or so before we lost the tide and depth we needed and we called it a night. After I reached my front door around five in the morning, I realized I didn't drive home so much as float. I couldn’t have been more thankful to take my turn at a new best, under the circumstances, another year, good friends, enjoying myself in the best way I know how.

Editor's note:  I usually release most of my striped bass and it's not because I don't like to eat them. Much of the decision is with conservation in mind; the other part is because it's not fun walking with a heavy bass after fishing all night, then filleting it when the sun is coming up. However, cooking and eating a fish that I just harvested from the sea is a cool feeling once in a while. Having family and friends enjoy it with me only adds to the experience. 

One of the fun things after keeping a fish is checking its stomach contents. When I reached into the belly of this bass and felt a large snack in there, I was guessing in my mind what it could be. It turns out it was a partially digested summer summer flounder about a foot long. It was awesome to see the food chain at work--a striped bass sucks down a fluke off the bottom, then falls for my eel, then ends up on my dinner table. The striper steaks were covered in red onion, garlic, butter, and olive oil, then wrapped in tinfoil and essentially baked on the grill until the thick fillets were cooked through. It was delicious. 

Night of Nights

Anyone who has targeted striped bass in the surf for a long time knows that the word "fishing" is better suited than "catching" because the latter usually makes up such a small part of our obsession. The hours spent reading, prepping, driving, walking, and casting far outweigh the time spent hooking, fighting, photographing, and releasing our quarry. The many fish-less nights make those few nights when we do very well that much better. For me, last Saturday was one of the more memorable nights of standing on a rock in Long Island Sound. 

The ferocious heat wave that had been gripping the Northeast showed no signs of letting up. Surf fishing the coolest part of the night made the most sense, yet the thermometer still read 80 degrees as we began our long walk from the vehicle. Wetsuits and water bottles were carried in backpacks and 15 good-sized eels, live but subdued from bags of ice, were brought along in two small buckets. It is no secret that fishing eels after dark is a proven summertime tactic and the wetsuits put us at an advantage for reaching deeper rock platforms that traditional waders won't allow.

Three of us were soaked with sweat head to toe upon arrival to the spot for the night. After a short breather and swigs of cold water, we located suitable perches and began casting eels and slowly crawling them back in. The tide was in its final stages of going out and a light breeze was blowing out of the west. The conditions were perfect for a light wetsuit and the water felt refreshing on the hot summer night. It didn't take long for the first signs of life. It was a hit from a small bass but there were fish around. It being Derrick's birthday, I fully expected him to hook a pig at any minute. Instead, a wave of bluefish soon showed up and sawed off half of our eel supply in mere minutes. The decision was made for a powwow on shore to let the tide turn and wait out the blues. 

The break turned out to be a good  move. After the switch to flood tide, we waded back out and the melee started. The next take of my eel felt like any other bass, but when I lowered the 10-foot rod and drove the hook home I knew it was a good fish. Her initial run almost peeled my footing from the rock as the braided line was dumping from my reel in long bursts. It was an excellent fight in shallow water and the few short minutes it lasted felt like eons. The bass made some last ditch runs and thrashes before tiring out and then Derrick put a kung fu grip on her jaw. Aaron was landing a teen-sized bass at the same time and came over to snap a photo for me after his release. There was no scale between us, yet a measuring tape let us know she was 42.5-inches long. Even without an official weight, I knew I had just safely beat my previous best surf-caught bass by a few pounds.

       

(Photo credit: Aaron Swanson)

Other than a small chunk missing from one its dorsal fins, the bass was in perfect shape with great color, thick shoulders and a nice belly. After a few photos, I walked her out to deeper water and started the revival process. Not surprisingly, the fight in warm water did a number on the bass. It took a couple minutes of cradling the fish in current before she kicked away with vigor. My partners went back to their rocks and I collected myself and put on a new eel. We all knew there could be more and bigger bass where that one came from.

Not much time passed before another amazing specimen found my offering. The foot-long eel had just hit the water when it was immediately picked up by a bass. Without hesitation I wailed back driving the hook home. Having just fought a nice bass, I knew this one was in the same league or better. Mist was shooting off my peeling line and it looked almost like smoke in the dark night. My rod was flattened out under the blistering runs of the fish and she finally surfaced out of sight, dispersing enough water to let us know she was huge. After gaining the upper hand, we put the beams of our headlamps on her to get a good look at my new personal best striped bass. Derrick grabbed the leader, lipped the bass and walked it to shore as I trailed behind in awe. The tape read 44.5-inches long and she felt noticeably heavier than the previous fish. She was even bigger than my best striper caught from a boat three years earlier. 

After a brief photo shoot, I walked the fish out to cooler water and gently rocked it back and forth, forcing water through her gills. Once again, it took several minutes before this fish regained strength and tail-slapped out of my hands. I would have paid serious money right then and there to have had a 60-pound Boga-Grip to know her true weight, but it didn't really matter in the end--I had just fought, landed and released a trophy striped bass in the surf. And it felt so damn good!

You'd have a crazy look on your face too...    (Photo credit: Aaron Swanson)

Floored is probably the best word to describe how I was feeling at that moment. I had just caught two of the best fish of my life within 30-minutes of each other with my best friends there to witness and assist. Now knowing a school of nice fish was in the vicinity, they hurriedly returned to their platforms and got back at it. I took some deep breaths and soaked it all in before returning to the rock that produced all the excitement. It was the birthday boy who hooked up next to my right in short order. Wanting to return the favor of landing a fish, I waded over and waited as he played a 39-inch bass to his feet. I lipped the healthy bass and we went about taking a photo and releasing her. It was a very respectable fish from shore in late July and on many nights for us it would have easily been the high-hook. 

Derrick added a 39-incher afterwards for good measure.

By this point of the night we were down to our last few eels and, as quickly as they left, another wave of bluefish moved through and ended our night sooner than we would have liked. The blues were so hungry that after being left with half of an eel, I tossed it back out, hooked up and was broken off on the very next cast.  After the last eel in the bucket had been used, Derrick resorted to his lone Slug-Go, which soon fell victim to the teeth of another yellow-eyed demon. He and I retreated to shore and watched Aaron stick it out for a while longer hoping for another cow to swim by. That proved to be it for the night, but what a night of fishing it was; one I will never forget! As always, it was a great team effort and it wouldn't have gone down the way it did without my buddies there that night. I know it won't be long before it will be one of their turns again with me behind the camera. 

Eel Karma

For the last five years, I have been fortunate to work for an organization that is devoted to protecting and improving one of my favorite places: Long Island Sound. My position revolves around outreach and volunteer coordination, which, from time to time, requires public speaking and education about Sound-related topics. For example, last Saturday I staffed a small festival in New Haven. It was a celebration of the local West River and an opportunity for kids in an urban environment to learn about their watershed through various organizations and activities. 

Save the Sound, a program of CT Fund for the Environment, is working on a major habitat restoration project along this river, which entails replacing three of 12 aging tide gates that will greatly increase tidal flow and fish passage. To help explain how this this project is tied to fish passage, I purchased eels from a bait shop and brought them with me to the festival. The vast majority of the kids present had never seen an American eel up close before. They got to learn all about these resilient creatures and named each eel before releasing them into the river with a second lease on life. It was a cool moment on a hot day for all those involved, especially the eels. 

Later on that day, I made plans with friends Derrick and Kurt for a Connecticut surfcasting trip. Captain Mike from Reel Cast Charters fished the same piece of eastern Sound shoreline by boat the previous night and was rewarded with a 35-pound striper on none other than a live eel. We picked up a stash of the striper candy and drove east with a bright moon overhead. It was a warm night and after a good walk in waders we were drenched with sweat. The three of us set up shop in close proximity, casting and retrieving for an hour without a hit. I eventually broke from the pack and got my first bump of the night, which turned out to be a small bass. Another 20 minutes went by before my next strike, but this time it felt like a better fish. After a decent fight and a few peels of drag, an 18-pound striper lay at my feet. She kicked off strong after a couple minutes of revival time in the warm water.

A few drifts later with a fresh eel, I felt a nice take, but not a lot of pull. The fight was rather uneventful until the fish got very close to me and kicked it up a few notches. She was pushing much more water than the other two bass I had landed already, so I had a feeling it was bigger in size and and it was. A healthy striped bass somewhere in the low 20-pound range was hooked deeper than I would have liked, which explained the poor fight. I cut the line and she kicked off stronger than any other fish that night. The way hooks rust in a saltwater environment, I'm pretty confident that bass will be hook-free in the near future. 

That proved to be the last bit of action for the night and I was flying high the for the long walk then drive home. I was lucky to have the hot hand that night and I think the eel karma from earlier in the day payed off! 

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.