Saquish Journal 2007

It is 2008 now...

2008-05-06T21:17:00.000-04:00

Go to my 2008 blog: http://saquish2008.blogspot.com/

2007-12-26T22:28:00.001-05:00

A Flounder

2007-12-26T22:17:00.001-05:00

Today I pulled up a nice sized winter flounder in my oyster dredge. It was probably a keeper. But I let it go back into the cold water. Made me remember early spring fishing on Saugatuck Harbor (CT) with my father. Those dinners were the best.

Along with me today was my friend Eric C. We were roomies in college and continue to be very good friends. He lives in maine. Today was a nice opportunity for us to catch up while pulling up oysters. Then a few beers on land.

Today I also caught up with Terry Thomas from Wales. He is now writing for a fishing magazine over there called Total Sea Magazine:

http://www.totalseamagazine.com/

His photography and writing were applied to me, Chip, and Joel a couple years ago and published in some UK mags. Clive Gammon also wrote Chip up in Ireland of the Welcomes magazine...a nice piece with some great shots by Terry.

If only we could live forever.

More next year.

J.

It's December

2007-12-09T21:02:00.000-05:00

Well, I didn't end up filling in the spaces towards the end of the fishing season. It ended well with several days floating peacefully around the bay in the fog with my flyrod, hooking up almost every cast. Then it ended.

But so busy doing other things that I was secretly happy to see the fish go away. You see, when they are around I am anxious and feel that I am always missing something if I am not casting a line. So, naturally, when they leave I feel focused on whatever else I am doing. And these days it is basically surviving.

The oysters and other endeavors are going well and it still feels good to be spending just about every day on the water here in Duxbury. The season never ends when you are on the water all the time. Really. I can't explain it, but the time...it warps, and the gradual change in season is almost imperceptible on the daily basis. It flows so seemlessly but goes much faster. I am already feeling behind for my spring time tasks.

Tonight there is a new moon and it is dark as ink out there. It is 32 degrees and raining. I hear the rain on the roof right now. Supposed to change to sleet off and on. Sleet, yay. Nothing like an inch or two of sleet. But no matter, only the wind screws me up.

Not sure where this is going, so more later.

J

Interim, but near the end

2007-10-10T21:29:00.000-04:00

I owe a couple weeks of reports and stories, and I will get these done and posted soon. But for now, just a few things from today.

Today (10/10) was spent half in my home office working on this computer and this was probably the longest stint at a desk since my departure from my day job (in May). I did get a lot done and that was rewarding. The other half of my day was spent down at Bennett's and on the water. It was a gray day, with intermittent mist and sprinkles. Cool, but not raw. Not yet anyway. My task on the water was to work on some scallops that I am growing for the fall market. Most of them are looking fine and about ready to go. Others are small and runted and need more space. These were late comers and that is why I needed to get out there and split them into smaller batches; to allow them to grow faster.

But before doing all this I scouted around the bay looking for fish. My first stop was at a rip along the main channel that usually produced fish. But autumn fishing is different from the rest of the season; the rips don't necessarily hold the fish anymore and they're usually in schools in skinny water. And this was true today. The fish weren't far off along a stretch of mixed eelgrass and sand. Almost every cast of my Meunier Green Bug produced at least two massive explosions and fish were landed every other cast. These guys were mixed from 18 to 22 inches long, but I noted several larger fish that proved elusive.

After a while fishing this one spot that was truly remarkable, I moved onto my lobster pots -- lots of lobsters just shy of keeping size, but three still in the fridge from earlier this week. Then to the scallops.

The fish were all around me as I worked. The sound was comforting but also alarming as my instinct was to throw a line out at the busting schools of stripers...but I dealt with the things at hand and now and then my cell phone ringer would distract me from the beckoning fish sounds.

Finally done on the farm and I moved along Two Rock channel to give it a try. The fish were going ballistic at the Green Bug and I managed to land a couple. The water was skinny (3 ft) and the fish were nuts. The sky was turning redish-gray and the light was slowly vanishing. Gregg Morris, a fellow aquaculturist and next-door neighbor out there, came cruising in to tend to something on his farm. We waved to one-another as usual and then, after taking in the tranquility and amazing sights and sounds around me, I throttled up and pointed the boat toward the harbor.

Nothing beats this.

Billingsgate

2007-09-30T06:55:00.001-04:00

Sunday, September 16, 2007

I awoke to a clear day. The living room floor wasn’t feeling any better with time, so an early start was in the cards for me. I was in Chip’s family’s Wellfleet house and it was full of family visitors. I stepped over a couple of them on the way to the stairway to wake up Chip and get the day started. While he got ready I drove down to “Cumby’s” and grabbed a couple of coffees and then we were really off.

We took Chip’s family boat (Saltina) out of Wellfleet Harbor and out to Billingsgate Shoals. We had just enough water to make a short cut between the shoals and the now-extinct Billingsgate Island. And through this cut we ran into hundreds of feeding blues. But we didn’t want to stop here and get stuck on the low, so we moved on to slightly deeper water. I was reminded of how vast these shallow flats are as we travelled a good half-mile until the engine could be trimmed back down a little.

Anyway, we decided to stop and drift. First cast was with my spinning rod to sniff out any potentials and on the second crank I had several blues attack and one of them hooked. “Ah, they’re right here Chip,” I said as I reeled in the feisty fish. We then rigged our fly rods with some wire leader and the contest began. Chip was using a small popper and I was throwing a clouser. It took a little while on the drift, but we had some action – not as much as we expected, however. A few blues and one 20” striper. As the morning progressed the wind picked up from the N and the fish stopped their bite. We moved around to several areas in the shoals, then to Sunken Meadow, but the action simply died. Most of the other boats out there with us disappeared too. Then after Chip’s phone began to pipe up (mine got toasted on yesterday’s tuna trip) we realized it would be best to head in. We had a large family dinner to prepare down in Chatham and early would be better than late.

The Billingsgate area is an amazing place to be – fish or no fish.

Pop Goes the Tuna

2007-09-25T20:36:00.000-04:00

Saturday, September 15, 2007

My trusty cell phone alarm sounded at 4:45. Through the sound of the rain, I reached for it, not realizing where I was, and turned it off. My right arm was asleep. After about a minute my eyes adjusted and I was able to coordinate my thoughts and remember where I was: the Chatham rental. And it was time to get up and head up the road to Wellfleet to pick up Chip for our trip with Jeff (Fin Addiction).

I was the first one up, but I heard them stir around as I walked down the soaked path to my truck. The guys (Joel, Gary, Scott, and Brian) were all due to get up at five and head out for more false albacore or big bass; their plan had not been hatched yet. But I was out before seeing any of them and soon on Route 6 towards the lower Cape. The rain worried me, primarily because I was expecting to get wet and uncomfortable. I had not brought proper foul weather gear and instead had my chest waders and a winter gore tex jacket (only one left with working zippers due to the salt water). I had shellfish surveys to possibly conduct on Monday in Truro and Provincetown which explains the waders.

When I was almost to Wellfleet I pulled over to the Dunkin Donuts for fuel. The phone rang as I turned off the truck and it was Jeff. He was confirming my wish to fish, despite the weather. I understood how he felt but I was also keen on getting out for some bluefin. Last month our trip with Jeff was cancelled due to a strong SW blow. This time the wind was not an issue, but the endless small rain squalls were problematic. I called Chip and within seconds I heard myself say, “Fuck it, we’re going, and if it sucks out there then we’ll head in early.” And this is because it would be more sufferable to spend the day wondering whether we would have hooked into fish had we just gone out. Chip complied to my order and soon we were on the way to Pamet to meet Jeff.

On the way out we agreed that if conditions worsened or it was just not worth the effort, that we’d hang it up early, say ten or so. There was no pressure, we simply wanted the opportunity to be in the right spots, with the right boat, and get the chance to cast to some fish. And this we did.

As Jeff took us up along his preferred route our eyes focused on the water. We were keen on finding birds and busts. It only took ten or fifteen minutes before the first school was spotted and it was this school that produced Chip’s first hookup. His cast, a Yo-Zuri hydro pencil, produced a bust, a flash, and a “weeeeeezzzzz” that lasted longer than I expected. He held on to the fish and managed, over the next twenty minutes, to inch it closer to the boat.
Finally it was within sight and Jeff readied himself with his hockey stick gaff. And then…when the fish was just finishing a circle by the boat…it happened. Snap. The line parted somewhere between the rod’s tip and the leader knot. No explanation was possible and the fish was gone. I leaked out a loud obscenity as I watched Chip bend over in exhaustion and relief.

We weren’t done by a long shot. We moved on and soon we were upon another school. This time I was on and man, this fish was a bitch to retrieve. It took my Yo-Zuri, fitted with a single hook in the tail end, a treble in the front. Line went out, and I got most of it back before we started the game where the fish comes close, did a few circles, then dove fifty feet. Repeated five or six times. By the fourth time I was almost spent. My back, which has a history of dysfunction and pain, began to burn like the Yule log. Arms were free of glycogen reserves and I couldn’t feel my hands. Jeff, of course, made fun of me: “Did I tell you about the 63 year-old woman client I had last week who landed a fish larger than this in only half the time?” Chip almost offered to take the rod…I was close to being humiliated, yet this fucking fish would not give up.
After two or three attempts with the goalie-gaff I was beginning to wonder if this fish would come aboard at all. But finally Jeff prevailed over the bluefin and it was up over the rail and in the boat. Yay.

As I rejuvenated myself, Jeff bled and prepped the fish in the stern. “Head us into the wind John,” he ordered. I complied and upon seeing another school not far away, asked the captain’s permission to put Chip on this school. “Go for it,” he returned. So I did and within a few minutes I ordered Chip to cast his line and within a crank or two a decent tuna came out of the confused water and back down on Chip’s popper (intentionally) and again he was on. The reel screamed and we were excited. Jeff and I high-fived and watched intently as Chip played the fish. In the rain, we waited only half the time it took me to land mine and soon the gaff took the fish to the boat, but after confirming the length and making sure it was legal sized. It was 49” and a decent one.

After Jeff got this one into the box we decided to try some on the fly. Chip was keen on this and I relinquished the bow to him for most of the remainder of the charter. But it was hard to cast the fly in these conditions, at least for Chip, and also for me by the time I had my chance. We were both in a trance from the action – just seeing the hundreds of amazing bluefin coming out of the water within feet of the boat was overwhelming. So, no hookups on the fly, and this seemed to frustrate Jeff. Had I been more attentive and clear-headed I would have insisted he take a while on the bow to hook up. But I wasn’t and I regret this now.

We agreed to head in about five times and each time we found more fish along the way home. But soon a final, convincing squall line appeared from the NW and was rushing in fast. Boats in our view were quickly disappearing within a shroud of fog, rain, and wind. We hustled back in, passing schools of busting fish, and finally made it to the dock and then to the dry confines of my truck.

“That was fucking amazing!” Exclaimed Chip. “Yeah,” I said. “What a trip.” Jeff cleaned one and later I cleaned the other on the tailgate of my truck, surrounded by our extended family. We then ate the fish both Sat. and Sun. nights among family and friends. It was perfect.

All for now.

More Shore Fishing and Albies

2007-09-20T16:52:00.000-04:00

September 11, 2007

So today I had to work. I have a job to work with some shellfish constables around the Cape to assess shellfish densities and growth. Afterwards I had some time and decided to head to Chatham to check Morris Island for albies. The public access area down on Morris Island is one of my favorite spots on the Cape. It is a place I visited as a child (before much of the current riprap and buildings were constructed) and where I continue to go when I want a relatively short walk or to fish from shore. Today I wore my chest waders and lugged myself down to the point facing North Monomoy Island where I immediately found loads of albies breaking in two or three schools. One school was close in, but I would have to wade to the brim.

First cast: a take. Then lots of line peeled off. I phoned Joel to let him hear the screaming reel and then the fish shook the hook. “Man, that was a nice false albacore!” And I could hear Joel telling his office mates what was going on…I was making them squirm in their cubicles (fattening pens).

Then the fish moved out a ways and I was out of luck. I stayed for an hour and the fish did come close again, but not close enough. When I was about to turn back to shore I noticed a few surface busts in the shallows not far away. I threw my deadly dick over to them and had a feisty blue on the first crank of the reel. I took him in with me for dinner.

A quick, late lunch at the Squire and then home. Two for two.

Albies

2007-09-20T16:48:00.000-04:00

September 10, 2007

After an early morning on the water, gathering and bagging oysters for our buyer, I decided that I wanted to get out of town. The day was young and I was done working by 9:00. It would be either Boston or Woods Hole. I decided to hit Woods Hole and I am glad I did.

Joel Meunier, who you may have heard of by now, had planned to be somewhere on Buzzards Bay with his kayak to seek out false albacore, a species he had not mastered yet. I, of course, couldn’t resist throwing a rod into the back of the truck on my way out but my kayak remained at home. Really, I didn’t feel like fishing or being on the water. I wanted to visit the library, check in with some old friends, and then have a good meal at Captain Kidd’s. But only part of my plan would come to fruition.

As I passed the road to Little Sippewissett my mind immediately thought of Joel – “Man, maybe he’s down there on the bay.” And he was. His was the only car in the lot. I couldn’t see him for a while, but then my phone rang and I told Joel that I was there on the beach and, as a good friend would do, he came in to loan me his kayak to head out for albies. He had already landed two nice false albacore…his first. I enthusiastically took this opportunity and paddled out – not far – and found the fish in a series of shit shows. My first cast: hookup. This was a nice one. It took me at least 20 minutes to land him and he must have been at least 10 lbs. The kayak was relatively small and the fish turned me around and pulled me along many meters of distance. It was a good experience. He hit a popper: a chugbug.

Next try: almost. But close.

Then I felt guilty and returned the kayak to Joel. And he went right back out.

Next message on my cell phone: “Fuckjickidus dude, my rod just broke on one!” Joel went through lots of tackle (a tackle busting time) but I think he managed a couple more fish.

Man.

On the Fly

2007-09-20T16:44:00.000-04:00

September 9, 2007

Well the pressure was on: Brooke and I decided to throw a dinner party tonight and I got up early to catch it. There was no guarantee of course. But I made my way out to the bay and found it alive with about a million fish. I wanted striper, of course, but a few blues would be good too. My plan was striper on the grill and bluefish cakes for an appetizer…along with oysters. But all the fish were stripers and to my dismay, they wouldn’t hit any of my Joel Meunier custom sluggos. And these suckers were hooking stripers on each cast over the past month. Hmmn…good thing I brought along my 9-wt Temple Fork flyrod. First cast and I was on. Not too huge, but a good fighter. Second cast: blam and that was it. After a few minutes a nice 30” striper was in my boat and man, was I happy. Dinner was caught. But I still wanted a few blues.

But I couldn’t find the blues. However, the party went well and everyone was happy to eat fresh fish from the bay. The oysters proved successful as well.

Live life deliberately.

A Birthday

2007-09-19T21:36:00.000-04:00

September 8, 2007
Arthur Leslie Brawley – my dad.

This would have been his 91st birthday. He was 50 by the time I was born and our time together was short (he died in 1993). Anyway, he was a true fisherman and an excellent writer, though he hated to write. He was an editor instead.

Here’s to you Dad!

Solo Days

2007-09-19T14:03:00.000-04:00

September 6-7, 2007

I had two days working the oyster/scallop farm and hitting the rips right after for some action. On both occasions I didn’t need to go far. After wrapping up the shellfish duties I hit the same big rip and man, the fish were there and inside the Cow Yard in big numbers. Lots of fun. One keeper came out of the mix and many good, aggressive fish. Casting a fly or a plug or a sluggo into moving water and having a hookup is awesome. The fish are typically energetic and mad and the action in the rolling, standing wave is a sight that excites all. These two days were spent fishing the rips quite casually and hooking up quite well. These were experiences that would have been nice to share.

The Auction

2007-09-18T21:21:00.000-04:00

Monday, September 3, 2007
Labor Day.

Today’s charter was really not a true charter but a donation to the Duxbury Art’s Association – a very worthy cause. I had offered a charter in their silent auction and it raised some money and that is great. I attended the party one cool evening in August and, of course, knew one of my auction winners: Brian M. His friend, Bern, offered the highest bid and the two of them were on me for the date of our excursion. I knew Brian, faintly, from our college years. He and I lived in the same dorm during freshman year at UVM – back in 1984 (he was on Patterson 2nd and I was on Patterson 4th). And although we weren’t friends back then, we shared the same friends and as a result, as adults, there was a kindred connection of sorts.

But Brian and Bern knew the bay and knew it well. And this was a mental challenge for me because many of the spots I took them to were ones already familiar to them. So, we met up nice and early at the town dock (I required 15 minutes to clean the oyster mud off the boat) and off we went. I knew it might be a hard morning because the weather had just changed. It was cool and the wind was forecast to pick up from the west/southwest. And it did, and this pushed the fish down. But not before we hit some nice rips that held some decent sized stripers. Brian’s largest was 28” and he released it. Bern and Brian both hooked up on several Saquish-area rips but then as the day wore on the fish thinned out and the wind picked up.

It wasn’t the best day of fishing, but also not the worst. The three of us did have fun with stories; new and old. And I scored some extra coffee as Bern’s Dunkin Donuts clerk accidentally doubled his order. Brian is a big, newly converted, live pogy man and he impressed me with his accounts of hooking into large fish in the channel and other parts of the bay. I see him regularly out there netting the baitfish and on one occasion (see a future post) he scooted up to offer a live one to me as a gift. Great guys and skilled fishermen.

Revisiting P32

2007-09-07T07:03:00.000-04:00

Sunday, September 2, 2007

Ah yes, Labor Day weekend and parties and such. A few of us spent some of yesterday afternoon at the Lojko’s who live not far away and there the plan was made: Joe would join me this morning in pursuit of the infamous P32 bass. The P32s were the ones I have found to be in residence at a certain time and place every year. So, after a few beers and a margarita (perhaps in reverse order), and a few trips down Joe and Cheryl’s amazing “zip line” which runs a good distance down their yard…through massive oaks…Joe and I agreed to meet, if possible, at 5:15 AM. The confirmation came a few hours later over the phone and I should have gone to bed right then, but we had guests for the weekend and we carried on later than necessary.

4:45 AM – Ugh, not again. I need to change that phone alarm ringtone as it is completely ridiculous. Up I was and out the door within minutes. Joe and I took off from Mattakeesett in near darkness and bolted right to the spot. A few casts yielded nothing. Then, as the light increased slightly, the action began. The rip formed quite well and we both hooked up several times. But out of the two of us Joe had the mojo. His third or fourth fish took lots of line and I could tell by his expression that he might have a significant fish on. And it was. It took a while (he didn’t want to lose it) but when the fish was finally landed it gave us a good shot of adrenalin. It was 36” and very fat; one of the heftiest fish I had seen all year. Joe smiled and we continued. The wind became a bit of a menace. North and increasing to 10-15 kts. But the fish were still on and soon Joe had a 28 incher on and I offered to keep it for him (dinner plans).

We tried another spot and were successful. It was fun. But I had to head in to work. Of course, I was already in my office (the boat) but I needed to drop Joe off and pick up my business partner for shellfish chores. So, we ran back to Snug Harbor.

I know that if I had gone to bed an hour or two earlier last night then I would have landed a couple of keepers too. I was out of it. It has been a long week/10 days of very early mornings and lots of physical activity. To make things worse, another dinner party tonight and an early morning charter tomorrow. Pooped.

Yar.

2007-09-06T19:36:00.000-04:00

Friday, August 31, 2007

Again a morning out with Joel. Hooked a bunch of sublegal stripers at some usual spots. Then cruised into the Cow Yard and got into some nice blues with bass mixed in. A few drifts over the rip produced some good action and finally, with a 5” Fin-S I hooked a keeper bass – and this was good luck because we were counting on this for dinner.

Overall the morning was great. Lots of laughing and some good hookups. The fish were challenging but we managed success when we needed it. All this in preparation for the evening event: the Marshfield Fair Crash-Up Derby. A first for me and for Joel. Took the all the kids, met up with Alex and friends, and hit the fair. A scene it was and perhaps hard on the eyes and the nerves. We left early to head home to cook that striper. We prepared it in the fennel, endive, onion, and thyme style that Chip demonstrated just a couple weeks ago. It was awesome…even absolutely magnificent. Some great wines and stories made it a great night.

Cranky Corker Tackle Buster

2007-08-22T21:36:00.000-04:00

Friday, August 17, 2007

Again, the plan was hatched the night before. “So, I pretty much have tomorrow off. What are you thinking, Daddio?” Since changing my career setting I had more flexibility and, therefore, Daddio was set and ready to fish the early AM on Friday. So we did. And here’s the story.

I met Joel around 5 at Howland’s. Remarkably, the indicator lights at the Dunkin Donuts gleamed and life seemed to be in existence there. So, despite my pledge to avoid that place, I caved and entered to order my medium coffee. But my wishes were smashed when the server had to actually brew a whole pot just to serve me. Ah, no one’s fault but mine. I was ten minutes late meeting Joel at the landing. And ten minutes were important on this trip.

We set off through the channel. The mid tide was ebbing and the good rips were just now forming. First stop yielded nothing. I was somewhat surprised, but took it well. We were on fly rods. We had decided to fly fish for a while before going for the big bass on our secret weapons. I suggested we move and Joel agreed. We traveled for only a few minutes to our next spot and immediately some guy in a Boston Whaler sped nonchalantly over our rip….hmmn. Can’t prevent those things. So we set up a drift over one of my cherished spots and within seconds the fish were showing. I was the first to hook up: a 28 incher on a fly that actually lasted through the latter half of the “one-fly” tournament a few days back. This was sweet. At that time, however, Jon Nash and Eoin showed up in Jon’s boat which was presenting a high pitched alarm every time he ran it (explained later). And this was OK. It was nice fishing among friends. We took turns through the rip and had luck through each one.

My next fish was a wee bit larger (29) and was caught on one of Joel’s famous double-hooked sluggos. Joel, at this point, had several near misses and was getting pissed. Not at me, of course, but at the situation; there were lots of big fish flailing about in front of us and they were hard to catch.

But Joel’s luck turned in rapid fashion. After I unhooked my second keeper he threw out a white sluggo and muttered a bit until *KLASHLURRRP!* an explosion good enough for the books occurred over his lure. Then the reel screamed like a frightened girl, and kept screaming. “Daddio, I think that I have a good one here,” warned Joel. At that instant I noticed several very large fish surfacing within casting distance. I was alternating between fly and spin, trying to satisfy my need to hook into a decent sized fish. I was probably somewhat rude as a result; Joel had to net his fish himself. But I knew that this is a fun accomplishment and let it ride. It was a good one. He was quite happy and we moved on to the next drift.

Next drift (or one soon after)….. *KLASHLURRRP!*. Joel was on again and this one was a bit larger. “Doooooooo-ooooood,” cried the crazy-haired maniac. Meters of line peeled off his reel and this was getting exciting. We landed the fish together (this time I offered to be net boy) and rejoiced loudly enough for Jon and Eoin (who were actually only 15 meters away) to notice.

“Hey, nice fish!” yelled Jon. But I couldn’t resist. “Yeah man, we’ve a corker here. Corker on board…on rubber cranks!” Then the classic reply, “We’re having some tackle-busting action here.”

It was a nice fish. About the same length, but larger in other dimensions. I kept telling Joel that I knew of another spot to try and we’d better go as our time was limited. But his expression was telling me to stay and I felt the same way. And so we did, for a while, and hooked a few more, including keeper sized bass that were released. Don Mac. showed up and joined us all in a couple of drifts, then moved on. And after a while the phone rang and it was my business partner, and friend, Alex. We were to pick him up on shore and then get to work on our oyster farm. But I gauged the time delay between his departure and our arrival and insisted that we hit this other spot that I had been thinking about. So we did…for about 9 minutes.

We arrived. I told Joel about where to cast and when, etc. And it worked. We went through this drift about 4 times and each time we were doubled up with decent sized bass. And these guys were somersaulting over the standing waves after our lures. It was good enough to stay, but we couldn’t. We hit the road and met Alex as he arrive at the landing.

But some things worth noting:

(1) The gut contents were primarily small, stunted squid (see photo). These squid didn't seem to be juveniles, but perhaps a small species? Not sure...looking into it.

(2) Got back to shore and thought this guy (photo below)was dead in his car. Turns out he wasn't. Joel was diligent in taking a photo for posterity.

The rest of the day was cool. We worked for a bit, checked lobster pots (one keeper), and then had a good lunch at a local restaurant. We took home four fish (our limit) and Joel managed to pay for lunch on account of a curious, eager onlooker at Howland’s.

The One-Fly Tournament

2007-08-20T20:16:00.001-04:00

August 11, 2007

I’ve never fished in a tournament. Something I have always not been really that interested in. To me, tournaments bring out the lesser qualities in the sport of fishing in most people. Yes, I will agree with the proponents that they are fun for most involved. But the risk is that the outcomes of these tournaments include lots of dead fish (and sharks) that get killed for no reason other than gorilla dust. I’ve seen pounds upon pounds of dead fish thrown away and these fish would never have won any contests anywhere.

But here I am, reporting on the tournament that I joined. It was a fly fishing tournament. This doesn’t mean that it is above all else, but I tend to think that the chances of by-catch are lower than other methods and that the focus is on sport over success. Jon Nash emailed me the rules and gave me a nudge of encouragement, and so I called my sister’s husband, Chip Cornell, and we were in. Being so busy on the water these days I didn’t pay too much attention to Jon’s detailed messages (belated readings of them were actually quite helpful in the understanding of things). So the deal was to meet up at a specified location for instructions and the divvying up of team partners and boat partners (not to be the same). And so we did and off we went. The contest would occur on a very bright, cloudless, early August Saturday afternoon which, if you fish, means that the odds of good fishing were nil.

Chip turned out to be my team mate and, through lottery, he was matched up with Sam Davenport. My boat partner was Scott and right now I cannot remember his last name..so “Scott” will have to suffice. Off we went at 12:00 from Howland’s. First stop was nearby, along the Kingston channel to check out some birds and begin rigging up. We were both unprepared and clumsy. This was probably because there was pressure on us not only to win the first prize, but also to impress one another. Jon, of course, ruined things for me by stating quite loudly to everyone that I was a local guide and probably should be disqualified. And this stunned me and perhaps made me worry more than I should about performing successfully. But Scott was no stranger to these waters and he confidently suggested that we first head outside the bay and try some areas close to the Pilgrim Power Plant. This was actually a fishy spot and quite nice, but no fish. Not even after some attempts with a black sluggo.

We motioned back towards land and came across a couple of schools of bluefish. This, we found out, through Scott’s retrieval of a half-a-sluggo. Hmmn. Bungling around I put on a wire leader and awkwardly attempted at throwing some homemade fly poppers (untested) around. And I skunked out at this attempt. Scott landed one blue and we kept him (for me). I worried about fuel. I mistakenly remembered the fuel tank being full and brought only a few extra gallons in a jerry can. But the tank was near empty and, of course, our first spot was a good haul and this consumed half our day’s fuel. Hmmn.

The sun was high and lots of boats around. It was odd fishing in these conditions. We headed in to the Bug/Saquish area and that is where we started to get back into the groove of things. I took Scott to a small rip that I had been successful with almost 100% on incoming tides. And, to my pleasure, we were. We hooked a few, nothing too big, but enough to get us into the game. I can’t remember exactly where Scott hooked his longest fish of the day (only 26”) but I think it was here or right nearby.

We then moved on to Clark’s Island and had some fun with midsized fish in very skinny water. And after that played out we hit a familiar rip where, in a matter of seconds, most of the other tournament boats showed up and here began the banter. But then other boats, surely attracted by our six boats, showed up and man, were there some classics. People trolling umbrella rigs through our drifts, hooking down and throwing seven baited rigs out, almost consuming the entire rip…etc. To each his own, but Scott and I grew tired of this scene. We both recalled the scene from Jaws where the whole town marina sets off to find Bruce the shark….”They’re all gonna die.” So I offered a new spot for us and I am glad that Scott agreed. This was a skinny, long rip that has been producing fish for me all year. We hit it and, quite honestly, on every pass we were doubled up on good fish. It was exciting because these fish were coming clear out of the water as they devoured our flies. We hooked many, no keepers, but close. Realizing there was only a half hour left of the tournament we switched to a new spot. By this time I had lost both of my tournament flies (allowed two of the same pattern for the day to compete). So we drifted, told stories, then motored in at 5:00.

Jon was smart and put lots of beer on ice at noon. By 5:30 we were ready. And then the Island Creek oysters, and then the Mt. Gay rum and tonics, and dark-n-stormys…and the big gathering that ensued. We had fun meeting one another (20 of us) and recounting the day. Later we feasted on striped bass and a nice surprise of bluefin tuna that was landed by Jack Kent the day before. First raw, then seared, the tuna was absolutely magnificent. Some loony business ensued and I would normally describe these events in detail, but I reckon that the folks involved would frown on me…so later perhaps.

A nice tournament. I actually won one award with my boat mate, Scott. We went home with a couple of nice fly boxes. The overall winner (biggest fish) was Sam Davenport. Good for him.

Next up: another amazing morning in Duxbury Bay with Joel Meunier – we were on.

Major Higgins

2007-08-10T08:44:00.000-04:00

Monday, August 6, 2007

Chip was back and ready for action. He took a short flight from White Plains to Boston, rented a car, and by 9:00 AM was in my driveway pulling out his fly gear and proudly exhibiting his apparel. A decent resemblance to Major Higgins, Chip was all suited up and anxious to get out on the water. And this we did. The plan was: fish, eat, drink, sleep, fish.

As usual, and consistent with most of Chip’s visits, the wind was up and the weather unsettled. But this didn’t deter us. When we set off it was partly cloudy with a SSW breeze of 10 – 15 kts. I was on spinning gear (easier from the stern) and Chip on his 9-wt flyrod. And there were fish immediately found on the surface. We found several schools of stripers under crazy terns and I got us close enough, but they were apparently full and hesitant to bite. I landed three or four, largest was 27.9” (yes, he went back in) whereas Chip had difficulty hooking up. This was because the wind increased in steady increments and messed the whole thing up for him.

We broke for a late lunch and a stop at Atlantic Angler to seek some new, local flies. At 3:00 we returned to the bay and found it much worse. Again, undeterred, we move forth to the Cow Yard, where we left them earlier. And yes, they were there. By this time the wind was 20 kts and quickly increased by 3:30 to 30 kts. A thick front of black clouds approached from behind Cordage Park and the rain began whipping us. “I think we ought to head in,” Chip offered. “Hmmn, maybe you’re right,” I said. But I was not going to give up that easily. There were hundreds of breaking fish, unfortunately finicky fish, and Chip had put a lot into getting up here to hook them on his fly gear. I began the journey back toward Howland’s, the weather really becoming a threat, and on the way passed an acre of fish froth. “Listen Higgins, we’re not heading back to shore until you catch a goddamn fish, got it?” But this was not to happen today; it was simply not smart to be out there much longer and we gave up within a couple minutes. The fish, although plentiful were up then down and so full of food that they just weren’t hitting artificials.

We returned to Howland’s under the watchful eye of the Harbormaster and, soaked, retreated to the house to prepare for the evening’s festivities. A jaunt to the shops was followed by perhaps the best meal of the summer: grilled striper (thawed from Dave Yozzo’s recent visit) and tautog (blackfish) in an amazing mixture of caramelized fennel bulb, endive, sweet onion, pernod, and fresh thyme. Good wines too.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

The alarm sounded at 4:30. No coffee or food, just straight to the boat. The fog was as thick as it gets and stayed that way all morning. Good thing I had just replaced my broken GPS. On our way out my neighbor, Ned, was preparing to head out too. I found our way to some good tidal rips first and then Ned phoned me. “Hey neighbor, I’m onto some fish right here at Howland’s and landed a keeper on my second cast.” Shit. I mean, good for Ned as he was due for some good luck on the water. But we had already invested a good deal of time navigating out into the bay and to turn around based on this report was not really a desirable action. We were socked by the fog, heard birds in the distance, and Chip had still not hooked up with anything on this trip. But I was confident. We continued out to Clark’s Island, then south to Saquish Neck and it was there where we found acres upon acres of feeding stripers. This delighted Chip and within minutes he was landing as many as he could cast to. Me too. We stayed there, taking multiple drifts, for a good hour or so. Ned called several times trying to convince us to head back to Kingston Bay. “But we’re onto acres of them man,” I countered. We did, however, eventually head back to see what Ned was talking about and yes, we found pretty much the same picture as Saquish. These schools were not necessarily showing on the surface but every second or third cast produced a striper. The water was green and clear, like pernod. The fog continued to be fog and never lifted. No keepers this morning but lots of mid-sized stripers. No blues, which surprised me.

By 10:30 I stated that I had to head in. I was due back out on the water around 11:00 to work on the oyster farm. A few more casts, then we went in. Chip had some time to kill before his flight out of Boston. I pointed him to a flyfishing shop nearby and he was off, but not before he proudly displayed his "striper thumb". I have a busy week on the water ahead, then Chip will return on Saturday as we'd been invited to a small flyfish tournament this weekend. Stay tuned.

A Full Day

2007-08-06T08:04:00.001-04:00

Thursday, August 2, 2007 (Morning)

Joe and Cheryl were a few minutes late arriving at the landing, but I was glad about this because I needed some time to sort things out and the boat needed at least some cleaning from the previous day’s work on the oyster farm. It was a great morning; slight haze, warm, and calm. We sped out to spot number one, took a few casts and watched the sun rise over Saquish Head. Not much luck there, so we moved to number two and had a few interesting hookups, but unfortunately nothing of any great size (although I knew that some cows were in there). The spring tides were responsible for the masses of floating eelgrass and these fouled our lines consistently. As a result I had to maneuver the boat, changing our position, to open areas within. So I did this and they kept casting and overall, within spot numbers two and three, several fish were hooked, including some small bluefish.

The tide, which was ebbing, would turn within the hour and this would likely cause a short lull in the action (likely, but not guaranteed). “How about we head north to the beach channel and see what’s happening up there?” I asked them. They happily agreed and so we moved north. I was explaining that there were a couple spots along the beach channel that would produce fish fairly consistently. The first one was obvious because there were about a thousand birds working the surface and the fish were exploding almost beyond belief. We stopped and fished there for a while and soon had a good number of blues and bass pulling the drag out. Still, nothing too big, but Joe and Cheryl were happy to keep a few blues learn some of the choice areas.

We explored a few more areas in Duxbury Bay, showed them how the boat handles when the prop grinds the sand (it was quite low and murky), then after the tide switched over we headed back to the Saquish area for more bass. We did find more at some of the same spots and some new ones. It was hot and the air was still. No keeper bass today, but plenty of fish. A great time.

Thursday, August 2, 2007 (Afternoon)

It was hard to schedule, but once Stacey nailed both her husband (Dave) and me down on an open timeslot, we worked the trip out. The purpose of the trip was primarily to put a fish on Davey Junior’s rod. Davey Jr., an excitable three year-old, was eager to see some fish. Also on board was Davey’s cousin Edmund, an experienced, award-winning fisherman.

I had seen some surface action in the Cow Yard on my way out to Saquish, but when I returned with my party the fish had vanished and now the bay was full of chop and wake as it was peak return time for all the daytrippers and the SW wind was up to about 15 knots. There were still lots of weed in the water from the spring tides and it was still hot out there. But it was a beautiful evening and we decided, of course, to make the best of it. To ensure that some fish would be hooked (“Anything, even a dogfish,” Dave stated to me.) I picked up a couple of fresh menhaden (called “pogies” in this part of the world) to provide some chunk fishing while we drifted through some of my favorite locations.

First, however, I was keen on finding surface action because this would be the most exciting thing for the young, future angler. A trip up the beach channel – nothing. Further up to the bridge – nothing. Even some little spots that I felt surely would hold some fish, but nothing. Hmmn. This is the part of being a fishing guide that gets a little uncomfortable – when the strikeouts clearly exceed the hits. But we just needed some more time. The sun was still high and the boat traffic needed to die down a bit.

We returned to the Saquish area and quite gladly, I spotted birds working a small school of fish. We sped over to the spot, Dave threw the untouched chunk of pogie over as Edmund and I began casting swimming Yo-Zuri minnows into the school. I hooked up, winked at Dave, we switched rods and soon young Davey Jr. had his first striper. He and his dad reeled it in: about 18 – 20”. Davey was thrilled. Edmund watched happily as he continued to pull eelgrass off his hooks.

Within a few minutes we had another one, but this time on the chunk. Father and son excitedly reeled the fish which required a bit more energy and time then the last one. For effect, I netted this fish. It measured 27”….just shy of keeper size. Again, Davey marveled at the striper and watched in fascination as it swam down into the dark water upon its release.

A few more rips produced some surface explosions but we failed to hookup. It was getting late and time to head back to the beach. I dropped the men off after we all watched the sun set over Kingston Bay. The trip home was fast and beautiful.

Playing Tag

2007-07-23T18:38:00.000-04:00

Monday, July 23, 2007

The first thing I heard at 4:15 this morning was the wind. Soothing, yes, but once I reached a 51% level of consciousness the sudden shock hit me hard. I had been gambling on the weather over the weekend in attempts to schedule a trip with Scot L. He was out on Saquish Head for several days with family members and we finally put the trip off until today. The forecast was a mixed bag of NE breezes, some 50% chance of rain, and probably worsening throughout the day. Saturday and Sunday were perfect weather wise. But other priorities prevailed and we were eventually stuck with today, Monday.

I met Scot and his father, Rich, down at the town dock at 6. On the way I stopped to for 5 minutes at one of my usual locations. I found birds going berserk and lots of stripers. I quickly sampled the school for size, etc., and landed two in the mid/upper 20s (inches). Hmmn, good sign. I was worried that the ENE wind would be putting them down. So far, no rain.

I told Scot and Rich about the fish I had found and we all agreed it would be a good idea to return to where we knew the fish were. We acquainted ourselves along the way and upon arriving we did indeed find the fish, still up on the surface and not another boat seemed to be fishing the bay. Perfect.

Rich took a rod that had a double-hooked white 9” Sluggo that my friend Joel Meunier rigged for me a couple weeks ago. This Sluggo had already hooked about 10 fish, including a 36” striper last week. Before casting, both Rich and Scot marveled at the rubber bait and firmly decided that these were to be their lure of choice. I needed to rig another one for Scot, so he started off with a Yo-Zuri popper (also, a keeper veteran, but in much better shape).

Rich’s first cast into the school of busting fish: KABLAM! (obligatory caps and exclamation point….I’ll ease off on these from here on). Line peeled from the reel, we all watched in anticipation, and yes, a fish that measured 28 inches. Nice one. But upon further inspection we noticed a USFW tag in its belly. I had never come across one of these, nor had the guys. I took my pliers and gave the bubblegum-colored plastic tubing a pull but only managed to break it off at the scales. We set it aside for later.

Soon both Scot and Rich were landing fish, and this continued for some time. I was happy about having a keeper on board on the first cast of the day. For a while there were big follows, mid-sized landings, and then Rich hooked into a larger striper that, again, peeled away. This one was about 32 inches and the happiness continued.

Then we moved to another area not too far away. I told the tales of how I’d hooked many large bass in this spot and if they were in then they’d be appreciable in size. Within one minute of the first drift we had a major double hookup (see photo). Scot’s fish I saw. It was a biggie and took lots of line off his reel. But Rich seemed to be huffing and puffing too, and his reached the boat first. A quick dip of the net and it was in. However, this story has a sad ending: while unhooking Rich’s fish the same happened to Scot’s and his fish unhooked at the boat. I didn’t get to see it up close (Scot did, of course) and we all sulked a bit when this happened. I, like a dolt, left my tape at home (next to my broken GPS) so we couldn’t get an exact measurement of Rich’s new friend, but I estimated about 36”. He was fat too. We all agreed that Scot’s was larger, but we’ll never know.

The action continued for some time. Scot kept pulling in 27 inchers while Rich, taking full advantage of his lucky (and skillful) streak, pulled in one more keeper back along the original rips we fished. We sampled three or four more spots. The weather was tough to take and we decided that the 50% chance of rain the NOAA site predicted really meant that 50% of the time we were getting soaked. The small NE squalls hit with a consistent period, about every 15 minutes we would get some wind and a good soaking, then 15 minutes of mild air and brighter skies (but no sun).

While the guys fished I decided to poke around into the tagged fish and finally found the tag. “Reward” was the first word I recognized. It had an 800 number to call and a “fish number.” I dialed up the USFW and a woman promptly answered. I answered questions, then she asked to speak to Rich. He answered questions too…more personal questions. He responded to the announcement of the reward with glee and I immediately imagined some cash coming his way. But alas, no cash, but rather a USFW baseball cap. It was either that or a lapel pin, and I commend Rich for choosing the former. Hmmmn. Well, they’d also be sending some info on the fish as well.

We finally quit and I got both wet men back to the dock in time for lunch. Their tally came out to approximately (judging from the condition of my left thumb) 15 to 20 fat stripers each, including four nice keepers. We parted with smiles.

But the day wasn’t over for me. I checked my lobster pots (nada) then decided to fish for a little while myself. The fog thickened appreciably and I had to rely on my internal magnetic sensing system, which actually worked quite well today. I returned to Keeper Hole. First cast and (sorry), KABLAM!! I massive striper was now on my new Joel Meunier cherry popper (newly fitted with a larger VMC hook). But something was wrong. This hookup seemed totally odd. And yes, it was. The fish was not foul hooked but had hit with such vigor that it managed to wedge the thing sideways and upside-down in its mouth. When I got it close up to the boat (with net in hand), I was rendered aghast by the sight of the hook which was hanging freely out of the fish’s mouth. The horrified creature had the plug, as mentioned earlier, wedged in the most unnatural position. Ooh, I thought. Then I slid the net into place, but of course…yes, of course, removing the tension from the fish’s mouth for even the microsecond that I allowed it to do resulted in the gentle release of the dowel dam and the fish, ever so nonchalantly, swam over the net and out of reach into the dark water.

Good for him!

I called it quits for the day and somehow found home.

Twelve hours, no injuries.

2007-07-18T21:24:00.000-04:00

Tuesday/Wednesday, July 17/18, 2007

One of the last times Dave Y. departed from Duxbury it was with a deep 3” gash across one of his knees. This wound was the result of a freak accident; he stumbled and sank beneath the boat as he generously attempted to shove us off to a fishing trip of high expectations. An oyster shell, perhaps, shuttled a piece of Dave’s knee material to the crabs, but he didn’t complain, and in fact, he went through the next 27 hours before seeing a doctor. The doctor cussed him out, of course, and it was after that I learned how serious his little scrape was. But he survived.

So this year’s challenge was to keep Dave Y. blood-free and happy on the water.

It was Tuesday evening, about 4:00, and we were off from Howland’s Landing. Dave quickly revisited the accident scene and displayed the scar on his knee, but soon we were off onto the calm bay. My expectations didn’t match my hopes. The past few days on the bay were good, but not tremendously good. I had fished the past few mornings and had several nice fish as a result, but nothing to brag about. Evening fishing was something I hadn’t done in several weeks, mainly due to my early mornings and being dead-tired by 6 PM. But my friend was in town and I needed to see him succeed.

First, a sure thing: bluefish near the Powder Point Bridge. These were small ones, but fun to catch and good eating (I’ll eat any bluefish, anytime). The bridge area produced several (dozens) small blues. We kept five – the perfect number for dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast. This was a good warm up because Dave got the skunk off immediately and got to test out some of his freshwater tackle on these guys. He seemed confused when I doubled over in a laughing fit when these aggressive blues attacked, with vigor, his little Tiny Torpedo (a Heddon product) which was about an inch long – it chattered like a nervous Nelly, and had a little propeller stuck in its rear. I marveled at the way the small blues busted at this little thing. I could hear the “brrrrbbbbrrrr” of the little prop and then the unforgiving strike of the bluefish, turning this little thing into a piece of rubble.

So we had fun, and after about 10 drifts through our spot we decided to switch gears and head for some stripers.

Again, my expectations were modest. I scanned the usual spots and, to my surprise, my first choice was boat-free. Dave and I gabbed on about frustrations at work places and the unimaginable level of inefficiency associated with legal and administrative processes (*yawn*) while I set us up on our first drift. Within a few seconds we had ballistic stripers after our sorry lures. I explained all my thoughts about how to hook fish in this particular place to Dave. He seemed half interested because the trip through the rip only lasted about a minute or two, and he didn’t want to miss anything. And he didn’t. Within a seconds I was onto a bunch of stripers – wildly attacking my plug. But only a few fish in the low 20s were hooked. Then I switched to a Fin-S, and Dave to a swimming Yo-Zuri, and immediately we were doubling up on good fish. I landed a 28-incher and things got going. But Dave struggled to find hookups. I decided to try to find another rip to fish. So I did.

We moved on. Within seconds Dave had a large fish on. This fish would turn out to be his largest striped bass to date: a 29-inch keeper. Man, was he happy. A few pictures and laughs and in seconds I had another keeper on the line. This guy was hooked on the first cast of one of Joel Meunier’s third-edition cherry poppers: the fish took to the home made plug within 2 seconds – amazing. We ended up taking home three stripers and five small blues. We were happy. Another stint in the morning was agreed upon over beers and broiled bluefish at the house. I was worried, however, as I felt completely bushed out and lethargic. I started to think: what would influence me more, fishing or sex? But I promptly fell asleep.

Wed.

4:10 – here is what I hear: “Dalalalaladada, Dalalalalaladada – boom-ding-dong…boom-ding-ding….(pause)…[repeat]”. My cell phone alarm is reminding me that Dave Y. has already risen from the loft and is preparing for his morning trip on the bay. I hear water running, I feel like shit. Basically, I am tired…too tired, but within a couple minutes I rally up and decide it is no use to fight. Plus, I want to hook a fish or two.

The mornings are getting later. A couple weeks ago I would have seen some light on the horizon, but this morning it was pitch-black. We stumbled with some aquaculture materials that were necessary for our mid-morning project, then finally got our act together and got on the water.

The morning was spectacular: awesome colors and FAC (which is an acronym for “flat ass calm”). First stop and – boom – fish! Good fish. They were nestled into a small area, but very consistent. Jon Nash showed up with his friend Sam and we all took turns over the rip and did well. Dave quickly landed a keeper and released it. He was excited about the action, as was I. But after several drifts the action diminished and my mind drifted elsewhere. The sun broke through the morning clouds over Clark’s Island and this created an amazing scene. Some photos were taken and soon we decided to move on.
Closer to Saquish, the rips were roaring and within seconds the cold air arrived, followed by the fog, and then socked in. But within a drift or two we were on. I switched from a surface plug to a 9” white Sluggo that Joel Meunier had fitted with a nifty hook assemblage and after two cranks of the reel – SCHLURPT! – a good hookup. Lots of line peeled off – drifting through lobster pots – maneuvering the best we could, and finally the landing: 36” and fat. Next drift: Dave did the same on his Yo-Zuri swimmer and landed a fat 36 incher. Eyes bulging, Dave stated clearly that now, this, was his largest striper.

The fog wisped around us then finally socked us. “Dave, what do you think about heading in a bit early, putting these guys on ice, then getting our shit together for our oyster work?” [we had oyster work ahead]. “Sure,” said Dave, blinking excitedly, still recovering from his fine fish.

In sum: fishing was excellent. Lots of bait in the bay, large fish in the right spots, and fun catching them.

Dave left intact. No stitches or whatever.

Mr. Barnacles

2007-07-13T20:09:00.001-04:00

Friday, July 13, 2007

Another early solo trip, but this time with Dog. It took a little longer to find the fish, but they were there again. Not as many large fish – mainly in the mid-20s. One near-keeper was fat and strong and peeled dozens of yards off my reel. Hopes up, ending in dampened expectations.

One odd thing did happen this morning. While drifting through the rip where yesterday I had snapped off my beloved Cherry Popper, I reflected on this event and even marveled at the idea of being surprised by finding it still floating around. Within seconds I spotted some line, weed, and…and…a popper. The mess drifted right past me in the exact location I lost yesterday’s lure…at exactly the same time. I snatched it up. It was not Cherry (that would have sent me to the bell tower). But it was a nice, old, barnacle-covered popper – Mr. Barnacles. I cleaned him up a little, leaving the barnacles intact, and stowed it away, where Cherry would have been resting. His test will come up soon.

In all, about a dozen nice stripers this morning – one just a quarter inch from dinner. The dog’s ass, black from sitting in the boat muck, shivered on the way in.

July 12

2007-07-12T09:06:00.000-04:00

Out alone this morning. Low tide, coming in. Big fish in the rips - going completely ballistic after my lures. So wild that they would often send the plugs several feet up (vertical) and hookups were difficult. A large Sluggo? Devoured and destroyed in short order.

Lost my cherished Cherry Popper this morning to a (typical) Penn reel malfunction. SNAP - @#$%!

AM fishing continues to be great. PM has been less so.

...And Then The Rod Broke.

2007-07-10T08:14:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

The dog came along this morning. Pea soup, like totally thick. GPS worked out well. Found the fish in short order and soon was into a group of feisty stripers that ranged from 25 to 35 inches. Landed one on a surface jumping minnow (Cherry Popper), then switched to a massive white sluggo that Joel Meunier assembled with a double hook gig. First cast and the water erupted around the sluggo and a 26” was on. Nice. Second cast, more eruptions but no hookups. Third cast - *SNAP*! The lightweight Temple Fork busted off at the first ferrule. WTF?! The dog stared worriedly at me as I retrieved the entrails of the rod back into the boat and swore at it a couple of times. But the morning was not over. I switched over to my flyrod. I continued to work this area for a little while before deciding to move to a different spot. One nice strike out there that looked like a blue, but the weed was bad and another boat decided to troll in circles around me. I returned to the original spot and immediately hooked into a couple of near-keepers on the fly. Fun indeed, but what with the busted rod? Most likely it went because the ferrule connection had loosened up and I was enthusiastically heaving a heavy sluggo - woops. I’ve heard that these rods, which are quite nice, need some candle wax in the ferrules to ensure complete connections. I’ve learned my lesson.

"That's What She Said."

2007-07-07T10:43:00.001-04:00

Wednesday (7/4)

I almost rolled the car over Joel. Returning late from a game at Fenway Park, my son and I discovered a lump in my front yard, and it was, in fact, Joel Meunier wrapped up in his sleeping bag, titsup, and dead to the world. He had participated in the Marshfield fireworks chaos earlier in the evening and at some point we decided over the phone that an early trip out on the bay was warranted. I had also called John Daly (who was still in town) and the plan was firm – 4:30 at the boat.

This we did. The day looked amazing: calm winds, clear skies, and an ebb tide about halfway out. The first couple of spots we tried only produced one fish for Joel and this worried me. No luck in these areas meant we might have to really work hard to find whatever was in the bay. But I was confident and after about 45 minutes we found them along a very nice, picturesque plateau of smooth water that was quickly rushing over a bar. The fish were limited within a very narrow zone, but there were large numbers of them and between drifts we would see them surface after whatever baitfish flowed over the rip.

Immediately we were into them. Joel and I reserved ourselves the stern of the boat to throw jumping minnows, swimmers, and Fin-S baits on light spinning gear while John worked his flies from the bow. Each drift produced some feisty stripers – most measuring out in the mid to upper 20s. Joel’s first fish attacked his popper, “Ah, nice…now that's a big one!” Joel exclaimed in a stern tone. The joking ensued (see Subject Header, above).

The action continued until we simply ran out of time. We were all short on time; John was scheduled for a holiday road race and Joel had to drive north to NH. So, we ended the morning by quickly checking my lobster pots and poking around a few more rips. No lobsters or additional action. But the morning was a success.

To the Flatlands

2007-07-05T09:51:00.000-04:00

Monday (7/2) - A decent westerly breeze, turned northwest over the hours this morning. Best action found early along rips in the central areas of the bay. Very small blues were biting along the Bug Light whirlpools.

Today my guest was John Daly from Burlington, Vermont. An avid flyfisherman, John was totally and completely psyched to have a morning out on the bay. In all we did pretty well, but would have liked it just a little better. A few fish in the low 20s, and a few small blues. But John lost a couple of beauties...one was certainly a keeper. We watched the fish follow the fly over the dense eelgrass meadows, open wide, and clamp down on his sorry fly. But alas, the hook didn't set right and the fish soon turned and ran. This event produced immediate spasms of frustration and jumping fits, but with big grins. Oh well.

The new tide brought crystal clear water into the bay and the flats looked amazing as usual. But today the fishing required some hard work as the bass were tight in specific rips under a bright sun.

John’s philosophy was simple and admirable: he was fishing not just for the fish, but for the opportunity to fish. Just knowing that they were there and he was there too made him the happiest man in town.

Last Week

2007-06-29T07:40:00.000-04:00

Monday (6/18) – 10 stripers, 3 shad.

Thursday (6/21) – out with Eric Poreda. A few stripers.

Friday (6/22) PM – with Don Gunster. Four small bluefish.

Monday (6/25) – solo trip. A nice morning: several stipers, including one amazing fighter (35”). Several blues in the mix. Fish were hitting the surface throughout the morning.

Water Like Chocolate

2007-06-23T07:31:00.000-04:00

Friday, June 15

I was worried about the wind. On Thursday night it was blowing and I didn’t pay enough attention to the weather because, like a dolt, I read the extended forecast a few days earlier and it was for nice weather. I was nervous because my Friday morning charter was to be predominantly on flies and the wind would louse that up. The wind in the trees usually makes for good sleeping, but not this night. It continued, out of the north, even as I left the boat ramp at 4:30. But then, miraculously, it laid down to 5 – 10 and in an instant my hopes were up.

I picked up Dave and John at the town dock just before 5:00. John was running a few minutes late – he was driving down from his hotel in Boston. From Pennsylvania, John was in town for business and had been up late with Dave at Fenway Park to watch the Sox lose terribly. These guys were tired. We began out of the harbor and as we passed Captain’s Flats the wind became an issue again. The tide was draining out – a minus tide at 6:15 or so. So, between the wind and tide, our options narrowed significantly. But we attempted some open spots first in case the wind was indeed manageable. It wasn’t. Although the fetch of the bay was temporarily reduced by the surrounding sand flats it was making a mess of the lines and frustrating all of us.

We finally opted to find some shade from the north wind and that is hard to do in this bay. Behind Clark’s Island was the nearest choice and we fished it for a while. It was calm along the southern point but as we drifted south the wind and chop would slowly increase. We ran numerous drifts through here and on the second or third one John suddenly had a screaming reel. His flyrod, a nice Loomis, was bent hard and he had to work hard to get this one in. It was a fine keeper sized striper – and fat too. He was happy about this. I was happy about this too. If my memory serves, despite a lifetime of fishing all over the world for all kinds of species, I think this was his first striper.

Dave took the bow next. We repeated the drift several times and soon enough he had one on. The fight lasted only a short time, however, because the fish was small. John took a few photos of Dave with the fish, which made Dave laugh. But it wasn’t ludicrous at all because on days like this it takes a lot of time, patience, and skill to hook up on the fly.

Next we moved to some structure, a little more into the path of the wind (which just got worse). Dave took a few casts with some light spinning gear with a storm shad. Almost instantly he was onto a nice one. The reel screeched a little bit and a smile emerged on his face. The fish was 22” or so and had provided a nice fight.

We tried a few more drifts along this area but had no more luck. I then took the guys into Kingston Bay, to the vicinity of the Jones River where the wind was a bit less intrusive. The water was quite murky and we skunked there. John entertained us with several good stories of fishing in Chile and other locales. But I was preoccupied with finding more fish for these guys. We ended up trying several more areas, including a return to the one spot that proved successful earlier. But by this hour several other fishermen had arrived on the bay and were in the same situation - also seeking out the wind shade below Clark’s. We spent a couple more hours fishing and storytelling. The weather was curious but beautiful; the maritime low out over Nova Scotia was pumping rows of low clouds from north to south, but brilliant sunshine would alternate with the cloud cover every few minutes.

Despite all further efforts no additional fish were hooked. It was a marginal day, but this is fishing. I’ll refrain from quoting that bozo, Forest Gump, but still, you never know what to expect out there.

Good Luck

2007-06-19T06:22:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, June 12

It was an interesting morning. Flat calm at first light. First cast and first fish: 33". This was taken on the surface on a homemade jumping minnow – the same one that has been described in many of my posts…I am wondering when it will finally succumb to a broken line or poorly applied knot. My first stop proved to be a good choice. Not only because I landed a beauty on the first cast, but also these guys were going ballistic (out of water) on every other retrieve. Eventually I moved to another spot only a few hundred meters away and within a few casts I landed another keeper at 29". There were a few smaller fish in the mix, but mostly large fish. But the weather changed abruptly and amazingly. Right after landing the first fish the wind went from 0 to 20 out of the NNW and this occurred within a mere 10 seconds. Minutes later the bay was capping. I took a break from fishing to check my lobster pots (7 keepers). Then on the way in I found a big, dense school of hickory shad and had some fun with them for a half hour before heading in. Driving to CT this morning with a cooler of fish and lobsters.

Man Gets Morning Shower From Fleeing Fish

2007-06-19T06:14:00.000-04:00

Saturday 6/9

Early up and out. I almost bagged out thinking that the wind and fog might not work out well. But Joel, who crashed out on the futon, was fired up. So we went out. It was a bit misty but calm. The tide was still rising for a 6:15 high which meant that we could have some action for an hour, then it might slack off at high tide for a little while. But the action was fairly consistent throughout the morning. The usual spots around Saquish and the Bug produced some nice explosions on the surface and we also had luck on rubber shads and Fin-S lures. No keepers landed but a couple were hooked and subsequently lost. One fish grabbed my surface plug just a few feet from the boat, turned, and B-lined out and away at a tremendous speed, sending an explosion of water everywhere. This one was big too. I only enjoyed the fight for 10 seconds as the hook was not well placed. The event entertained Joel thoroughly of course, and I am sure his voice was heard in Snug Harbor.

Afternoon Drifting

2007-06-08T18:12:00.000-04:00

Friday, Part II

By 11:30 we were back on the water. First some aquaculture work, then checking and baiting the pots (with the morning’s racks), and ultimately some fishing. Friday afternoon resembled a typical weekend out there. The weather was prime and lots of folks took the afternoon off to take advantage of the day. Alex, Joel, and I fished a few of our favorite spots and the action was cyclical. Almost immediately Joel hooked a keeper over some eelgrass meadows. This made him quite happy. Eventually we rolled into a school of small bass with hickory shad mixed in. These were in skinny water along some of the sand flats. We changed over to small lures (yellow wiggle tails) to enhance our chances of landing a shad. Within minutes Joel had one on. These shad are acrobats and they often cartwheel out of the water on the both the hookup and the retrieve. Joel’s fish, about 20 inches long, leapt out of the water right next to us but Joel’s attempt to cowboy the fish into the boat failed as the fish shook the hook and dropped freely into the bay. We continued finding fish here and there for a couple of hours and eventually, after frustratingly failing to snag even one of the ubiquitous menhaden, we went in. We breaded and fried up a softshell green crab that was collected from one of the pots – it was great. Striper was on the dinner menu and fishing tomorrow’s first light was on the calendar.

Wrong Spot?

2007-06-08T06:08:00.000-04:00

Friday, Part I.

On Thursday night I shucked oysters at a small party and on the return trip Cappa told me he had plans to fish with Donnie in the morning. “Yeah man, I’m meeting him at the ramp at 4:45,” he said. I was tired and the thought of an early rise didn’t appeal to me at the time. But when I hit the sack I set the alarm for 4:30 just in case. I woke at four and couldn’t sleep. So I went out.

It was as nice morning. I was a rosy sunrise with enough clouds along the east to keep the first bite going a little longer. The water was calm. I was early and feeling good and relaxed about that. My first spot lasted all morning. Within a couple of minutes some large fish began exploding at my custom jumping minnow (Joel’s Cherry Popper). And soon the first keeper of the day was landed on this magical lure: a 32 incher. By the way, the dog was with me on this trip and he was happy until this fish, which was larger than he, arrived and immediately outranked him. I continued to fish the same drift and continued to catch nice ones. The second keeper (29) was produced on a gray and white Fin-S. At this point the fish were best hooked by dropping several feet into the water column and surface plugs were only marginally successful.

When the sun broke the clouds I looked east and thought I saw Donnie and Cappa. Having a phone on me, I rang up Donnie and indeed, that was them out near Clark’s Island. “Dude, nothing all morning…how you doing?” asked Donnie. “Come over to where I am – there are tons of fish here!” I exclaimed to him, indicating which boat was I. Soon Donnie and Cappa were among me, my companions, and a school of midsized bass which were on the top.

But something happened. The fish almost immediately vanished and didn’t return. Hmmn. I felt bad for the guys – they had skunked so far. We chatted for a bit, then I decided to head in on the early side – last day of school for the kids and I didn’t want to miss the morning’s excitement. So, in I went. Plans were already in the works for a midday stint of fishing with Alex and Joel.

Solo (with dog)

2007-06-04T21:47:00.001-04:00

Sat/Sun June 2nd and 3rd, 2007

It’s time for lobsters and on Saturday I prepared a few of my pots for deployment. The day was hot but quite muggy so the paint on the buoys took some time to dry. Regardless, I geared up three pots and told everyone I had to put them out while the going was good. So I did this and it was fun. I tossed them pretty much in the same place I did last year – a resulting 25 lobsters on 3 pots last summer made it worthwhile. This year I’ll be setting closer to 10 pots, but I doubt I’ll acquire 250 lobsters…maybe.

But the story is about fishing. On my return home I decided to try a few spots that typically held fish throughout the summer months. But this weekend was the first typical summer weekend with lots of pleasure boaters speeding through the best fishing areas. Of course, no one can blame people for cruising around in their boats. But these activities don’t mix well with fishing. Or so I thought. I was sure that my luck would be poor. But upon setting up on a drift over a spot that would produce big fish in the early morning hours, I soon discovered that the fish were there and were eager to chase and hit my Yo Zuri swimmer. Boats intermittently sped by at alarmingly close ranges, but the fish were there and striking my lures quite diligently. I landed a couple of feisty 26” bass before a couple of boats became curious and swarmed the area. This made me decide to move on. So I did, to my next spot, which yielded the same. The thing is that there were some big fish on many of the follows. They were cautious this afternoon and were more apt to follow than strike. But they revealed themselves quite clearly, and I reckoned that we might now be into a pattern of good sized (into the 40s”) fish. We’ll see.

On Sunday the weather forecast did not look good: a series of thunderstorms to precede the arrival of the remnants of tropical storm Barry. Monday was to be crap-on-a-stick. I told everyone that I’d better check the pots as I wouldn’t be on the water for a couple of soggy days. Permission granted. I took the dog, Oliver, and we departed Howlands only to find some hints of fish along one of my favorite stretches. The incoming tide and north wind played into my drift plan and within a minute or so of positioning time, I was into them. First cast produced a fish of about 25 inches. Then another. But my drift was swift and I had to reposition quickly. I was the only boat out there and I am sure this was due to the weather. The wind was picking up and rain was increasing in its consistency. My second drift was full of surprise. I was rigged with a dark 6” Fin-S but changed over to Joel’s “cherry popper”. This was a good move because the result was a spectacular series of retrieves that consisted of close to a dozen large stripers charging and striking the plug. With sighs of frustration, I could not manage a decent hookup. Lots of these fish were well into their 30s (length) if not 40s. But they were not able to set the hook. (I had removed the forward treble – makes life easier for everyone).

Then a familiar boat joined up to the area. It was Reb. I’ve known Reb for about a month. He lives at the outermost house on Goose Point (Standish) where I’ve been digging steamers. Each day he’d walk out and say hello and perhaps we’d share a story or two. His boat, a dark green V-hulled aluminum, has menacing eyes painted on its bow in the fashion of a corsair fighter plane. I’ve forgotten the name of the boat, but Reb told me and it is a long name….the Charles Emerson Winchester III, or similar. I was glad to see Reb out there with me along this drift. I had trouble seeing whether he was hooking up on anything, but he continued moving up, drifting down, and moving up again.

But I was about to go crazy. The fish were all over and there were big ones in there. They were quite aggressive too. I should have had several in the boat already. However, the plug, as popular as it was, could not hook into any of the fish. Finally, I focused a bit more keenly on my retrieve and then did I get the reward of a 30” on the line. I landed him without any problems and continued on for a spell. Oliver the dog was nervous about the fish and began pacing about. But overall he kept his cool.

The wind picked up even more and I had not even checked the pots yet. I decided, quite wisely, to move on and pull the pots and get home. The ride to them was into the wind and waves and I worried about my fuel supply. Upon arrival I found them devoid of lobsters yet full of spider and sand crabs. The sand crabs, also known as rock crabs and pinky-toes, are good eating so I collected about a dozen good sized ones and released everyone else. Back home we went – a striper and a dozen crabs. The storm continued its approach and within an hour of returning home the bay was socked in pea soup fog.

Here We Are Again

2007-06-03T08:21:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

I thought I’d be the first one there, but Donnie was already creeping around the shoreline and came out of nowhere with the coffee he promised me. His energy level was high and I could tell we were in for some gut busting over the next couple of hours. Eric was also early, so we got on the water ahead of schedule and followed the outgoing tide to the Bug Light to assess the morning’s situation. It was a cool, calm morning. The fish, however, were not in their usual placement or numbers. We drifted over some areas that were historical hot spots but these produced only a few small guys. But as the sun rose the action turned on and we were amidst a good sized school.

A number of boats arrived which produced a kind of conveyor system around these schools: set up the drift, run through it, then get back in line behind the others. Some guys don’t do this, but rather they fish the bottom of the drift and continually motor back up to the edge. This is less efficient and usually, depending on the number of boats out there, tangles things up and increases the likelihood of spooking the fish.

Anyway, we did this for a while and had some nice hookups. Surface poppers, swimmers, and rubber shads all worked well. After some time the fish thinned out and rather than chase them around the bay we all agreed to try some shallow eelgrass meadows that held some nice rips. So we did, and it worked well. The tide had changed and was now flooding the bay with first the dirty, unmixed ebb water, then the clear, cool offshore water. We drifted past some small rips and found the spot that held them and ran several passes which resulted in a bunch of ballistic popper-chasing events. Some of the follows and misses were big ones – I saw a couple of 35to 40” bass approach the boat but was not lucky enough to actually hook any of these.

The temperature warmed significantly as we moved along the shoals and many comments to that effect were heard. But time was marching on and we all had to get to work at some point, and as such, we started in toward the landing. And of course, we saw more fish on the way in. In fact, there was a large blitz of surface action along Captains Flats and plenty of room for another boat or two to get in on the game there. So we did, and it worked well. These were mainly small fish; however, it was almost every cast that the rod would bend and “Oh, yeah!” would emit from Donnie’s cakehole. It was here that Eric made up for some poor luck earlier in the morning and Donnie peaked with his trademark antics that cracked us up and probably, unfortunately, made us the loudest boat out there for a few minutes. But there’s nothing wrong with that.

We were just a few minutes behind schedule when we returned to shore. All safe.

The Greyhounding Pogy

2007-05-31T21:19:00.001-04:00

Saturday, May 26, 2007

This was a beautiful morning, but I was worried about the wind. It was forecast to blow a bit from the west later in the day, but it seemed to be getting a head start by the time I rounded Standish Shores to pick up my party. My journey to the town pier was uneventful; I didn’t see much action, but it was still early and fairly dark still. This morning’s charter was a hire for another guide in town and I was unclear about the plan. I found Ian and his father, Bruce, waiting at the town dock, eager to get out on the water. We waited for a few minutes for their friend, Dave, to show up. And he did. Three guys, and I only anticipated one. But this was hardly a problem.

We greeted one another and soon I could sense that these guys were experienced fishermen. On our way out we stopped briefly at a rip along the channel as birds were working the water. But this immediately dissipated and I felt it would be better to head out toward the light. Upon arrival we found lots of fish. They were breaking the surface and the schools stretched, as they had in previous days, from the Saquish rip toward Goose Point channel in Plymouth. The guys applied storm shads for the most part and after several landings Bruce hooked into a keeper, and this was somewhat lucky as it was hooked in the gills and might not have survived the event anyway. Spirits heightened and after some time the interest changed to exploring other areas of the bay.

I took them to Clark’s Island, and behind, to seek the odd holding spots. They produced a few fish. Then up north toward the beach and by this time the wind was picking up significantly. A few drifts produced a few fish, and feeling the need to get them into some calm conditions, I proposed a trip to the Jones River area. They heartily accepted. The trip was against the wind and chop and as such, no one muttered a word the whole way over. A busted seam in the boat’s forward deck platform made an uncomforting sound as the bow nailed each wave….a sound that probably only annoyed me.

The lee was only slightly calmer. And the fish of choice were not striped bass. We noticed a series of surface movements and my mind read hickory shad. The wind was gusty in this cove and after a little while I managed to improve our position to fall upon these busting fish. Ian was keen on the idea of hooking a shad, as was Dave. Bruce decided to take a rest.

We rigged two rods with small wiggly lures and within seconds Dave had a fish on. He rose it to his hands and alas, it was no hickory shad but a fine menhaden, or “pogy” as we say here. We marveled at this poor fish before Dave plopped it back into the drink. But Ian was still keen on landing one. And he did.

But this wasn’t going to be a good spot to hang around. A bunch of women and a pack of dogs were making a ruckus on the near shore of Bay Farm and we were only feet away. I thought about following the leeward shoreline and we did this for a few minutes, but I saw nothing in terms of schooling fish. So I recommended a high probability spot for the dropping tide. We arrived through building seas and the guys landed several nice sized stripers. But the chop was bouncing us around and soon I felt the need to move onward, particularly as time was now limiting.

Another go at High Pines and a few more fish were hooked. Then Ian looked up at me and signaled that we might as well head in. By this time Dave was telling some good stories that made us all laugh a bit. The ride in was a bit bouncy, the stories suddenly ceased, and in a flash the party was over. Not a bad morning – lots of fish early, then we had to hunt around and work. A keeper and some greyhounding menhaden….not bad.

2007-05-26T14:09:00.000-04:00

Thursday, May 24, 2007

My first charter. Charles and Tim met me at 5:45 at the landing and within minutes we were off into the early dawn light. We hit it off immediately. Tim lives in Duxbury and it turns out we both have several common friends and acquaintances. But this is a fishing story. We found a very large school of breaking bass along the margin of the channel leading from Bug Light towards Clarks Island. Charles manned his flyrod, a nice Orvis 9 wt. that he bought in Europe. Tim was on his own light gear. The fishing was great: these two guys were landing fish on almost every cast for a good two hours. We used storm shads and Fin-S rubber baits, along with the Charles’ blueback herring fly. Soon Tim had a keeper on board and, with our spirits quite high, continued on many drifts through the busting fish until Charles looked at me and said, “John, I am sated.” Whereupon he simply sat down and smiled.

We all decided that even though there were plenty of fish around this spot, the remainder of the morning would be best spent exploring. I took them to some spots along Saquish and Clarks Island and neither of these produced anything. Then when we reached a hot area of the beach channel the fishing picked up again and each short drift resulted in numerous hookups. The stories continued and became more colorful. We were having fun.

After an hour or so we moved on towards the middle of Duxbury Bay where a line of birds and fish extended about a half mile. Again, almost every cast was met with at least a chase or hit. The guys landed numerous fish, mostly mid-sized (15 to 25 inches). Charles insisted I demo his fly gear and so I did and this was fun. I hooked a few and Charles took the helm to guide us to new drifts through the large school. We thought we spotted hickory shad, and they may have indeed been in the mix, but we didn’t hook any.

Again, sated and feeling full, the guys indicated that they’d had their fill, Charles and Tim stated that we should begin toward shore and maybe stop if they appear along the way. I toured them through Captain’s Flats, explained what the bathymetry was like there and how one can sight fish for stripers throughout the summer months there. Then, as we passed one of my favorite rips, I said, “Guys, do you want to stop here for a few minutes and give it a whirl – conditions are just right for some good sized bass right here.” Sure, that would be fine. I tossed out a Fin-S to demonstrate what I believed was the best way to fish the rip, and after three cranks of the reel I had a 31” striper on the line. This activity rejuvenated their interest and we ended up going through the rip 5 or 6 times, hooking many large bass (almost keepers) and seeing several follows that made our eyes bug out.

Then the time came to leave and get back to shore. We had a fantastic morning – couldn’t have asked for a better first charter.

Gunster's Winter Fantasies

2007-05-26T14:06:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, May 22, 2007
The call came late as I was delivering a shipment of clams to Wareham – Don Gunster was in Mackerel mode and he needed a partner. I was under some time pressure to do some work on the skiff and prepare for Thursday morning’s charter. But the draw was too strong, and after a decent morning of digging and feeling that I had accomplished something significant for the day, I felt a reward was in order. The plan was to jig up a few macs and then liveline them at a spot we both knew would produce.

There was some wind, a stiff SW breeze. When we arrived outside along the mackerel drifts we positioned the boat along a line formed by at least 15 others. Within a few minutes we hit into them. The hookups were impressive – many times we had 4 or 5 fish on at once. The thing about jigging for macs is that it is so simple, but dangerous at the same time. These little Sabiki jigs have little sharp hooks that always seem to find fingers, pants, and boat furnishings. This time we were lucky – no blood. But the image is silly: two grown men, nervously smiling as they dance to avoid hooks while collecting spasmodic fish off the deck to deliver to the livewell. We did this for a half hour and then sped into bay.

We anchored and dropped a mac and then threw some plugs and swimmers around. We hooked several small bass on lures. Then Don’s liveline began to scream and, of course, he was on. The first fish was about 29”, Don’s first keeper of the season. We then put out two macs – mine kept dying on the vine, which is why the next two keepers came off of Don’s rig. These both measured 30 and 31” and weighed in around 8 to 10 lbs.

We quit before the sunset and motored in. The fridge is full of fish.

That's Bad

2007-05-26T14:04:00.000-04:00

Monday, May 21, 2007

Out early with A. and the C-man. A great day, but some chop on the water. The fish were up on the surface and we hooked several. But nothing of any great size. Time was limiting our total enjoyment I think. A. and I had to get in early to work – he at the office and me along the intertidal zone. But we had some good action along a well known rip on the dropping tide. It produced some heavy mid-sized specimens and made the C-man happy; particularly when I told him his rig was “bad” and within two seconds, he hooked into a big bass. This situation comedy amused the man for a good 15 minutes, and that is good.

Jane's Day

2007-05-26T14:01:00.000-04:00

Sunday, May 20, 2007

After taking Jane to lunch I decided to risk the question: So, do you want to go fishing with your dad? Her answer: Yeah!

We grabbed our little dog, drove down to the ramp, and set off on an early afternoon fishing trip. The weather was iffy. Small mini-squalls that sprinkled us every 10 minutes were alternating with short-lived sunshine. The wind was from the west at about 10 knots which provided some chop. But this did not deter Jane from smiling ear to ear when I cranked up the throttle and we sped off to the mid-bay region. Immediately we found some fish on the surface and we were the only boat on them. First cast with Joel’s Cherry Popper produced a short fish. Then I place several casts into the school and helped Jane reel in. She didn’t hook up, but had lots of follows and strikes. She then said, “Dad, I want to watch *you* fish.” So I did. A couple casts later and I had a 31” striper on the line. The fish flopped around on the deck for a while and this seemed to keep Jane and the dog alert.

We cut inside of Clarks Island, pulled one of our lobster pots, collected 3 sand crabs (pinkey toe crabs) which Jane loves to eat, and then went in. The rain became more steady and we laughed in pain as it hit our faces at full speed. The dog seemed unamused.

Cherry Popper Returneth

2007-05-14T21:40:00.000-04:00

Monday, May 14

The call last night to Joel was not intended to be about getting together to fish. But within minutes our plan materialized and he was committed to meeting me at the boat at 5:00 a.m. This was good because Joel and I had not fished together yet this year (except for a January night in Fairhaven which was unsuccessful).

So this morning: an amazing crescent waxing moon was brilliantly cast across the eastern sky as I drove up the road towards the landing. No time for coffee…the DD showed no signs of life anyway. I was glad, actually. I promised myself not to return to that DD again after one of its regular workers proceeded to wipe the largest oozing booger out of her nose as she prepared my coffee – I fell ill a day later. As promised, Joel was waiting at the ramp and within a few minutes we were underway. He offered me coffee, but I declined. The tide was low but had turned an hour or so prior. We ran out to the mid-bay region and cut the engine to assess what was going on. We exchanged a couple of funny stories but our usual gut-busting laughing fits were not to be today – I don’t know why. The air was cold but the bay was flat calm and so, I felt, the conditions were perfect. And they were. In 30 seconds I spotted the fish out where the channels all meet in front of Bug Light. We were the first boat to arrive and within seconds Joel had his first bass of 2007 on. Then immediately I hooked up, and so this continued for about 15 minutes until more boats arrived, including a large lobster boat that uncharacteristically stopped to cast for bass.

The sun eventually rose up and more boats arrived, but the schools of fish were spread out along a half-mile stretch of water and there was ample room to pick and choose productive areas. I hooked a keeper on a surface plug (one of Joel’s homemade jumping minnows – the infamous “cherry popper” – produced in his basement in early 2006). This time the net was on board and Joel dutifully helped me land the fish. Within minutes he was onto his first keeper of the year and we reversed roles and I netted the thing.

It was nonstop action and fun. We each landed at least 25 fish, many good sized and good fighters. By 7:15 I said that I’d better return home to help get the kids off to school, which was something I was looking forward to. So, in we went, the wind was then just picking up from the north. Bright sunshine, warm.

I went in, but Joel had brought along his kayak and returned to the bay to fish the rest of the morning. He produced several, but they were scarce and spread out. He met me for lunch (striped bass sandwiches – with red onion and some hot sauce) and after hammering out some of my aquaculture nursery racks, we returned to the water. He went fishing off his yak while I flipped mud for steamers – not a bad day.

Mother's Day

2007-05-13T11:07:00.000-04:00

Sunday, May 13, 2007

The thing about Mother’s Day is that it doesn’t often mix well with fishing for most of us. My mother-in-law is in town too, so this would not be the best day to head out on the water. But it also happens to be my birthday, so I figured I was on equal ground and managed to get out for a little while. I slept late and almost abandoned the idea of fishing. But when, lying in bed, hearing no wind and seeing overcast skies, I figured it still wasn’t too late for catching the morning bite. I grabbed our new little dog, Oliver, and out we went.

Basically the mid-bay was full of fish and it was FAC, like a silver mirror. About four or five loose schools were up and down and as many boats were following them around. I chose one school without boats and began. These guys were not biting, similar to the way Friday began. I tried everything, including the fly, but nothing. I reckoned that it was almost slack high and we just needed the tide to turn for the fish to turn on. And I reckon that this was the case because thirty minutes later the fish got hungry. The other boats began to converge in my little area so I took off to find a new school. I found them closer to Cordage channel and began to hook them on rubber shads and on the flyrod. The fish were smallish with a few big ones mixed in. I could see the big ones finning and swirling, and on one occasion I managed to cast right to one which measured 27”. But for the most part these guys averaged 18 to 20” in length. I am not complaining.

The dog, after taking his morning constitutional right in the middle of the boat, began to take interest in the fish and the birds. He peered over the deck and patiently watched the action. When I landed fish, he calmly watched me unhook and release. He seemed to be having fun, but what do I know about these things?

Everything was great until some jackass in a Lund arrived and decided to follow my each and every drift. This is the same guy who last year had aggravated me by following me right into skinny water and spooked away the fish I was onto. The entire bay was full of fish and here he has to park right next to me. I stared at him with an expression of “WTF?” and after a minute or so he seemed to understand my position on the matter.

But this was far from tainting my morning on the water. I found another school on the way in and had some fun for another fifteen minutes then quit for the day. The sun was coming out and Ollie and I were getting hungry. The tide changed and the wind was picking up from the north – they’d probably start getting more aggressive, but I was done. Time for Mother’s Day.

First Keeper

2007-05-13T11:00:00.000-04:00

Friday, May 11

The alarm went off at 4:45 and I jumped right out of bed to get out to the fish. By 5:00 I was moving rapidly out toward the Bug Light which was shrouded in dense fog; only its tip showing. The fog was interesting. There were two layers: from the sea surface to about 30’, then a gap and a layer a couple hundred feet up. Only the midsection of the Cordage stack was visible and that was weird.

I zigged around a bit and cut the engine at my regular recon position to listen. A few large bait fish (or squid?) surfaced near the boat and I took a couple casts, but nothing. The fog was moving around me and I decided to inch toward shore a bit to keep the coast in my view. A few more casts where I thought I saw some swirls, but nothing. Then back out, then back in, then…I heard the terns through the fog, lots of crazy birds, and splashes. I followed my ears to the source of this noise until I was right up on about an acre of action.

The fish were difficult to hook at first. They were finicky and choosy. Slurping and rolling. And this is not always a good sign. When they do this they are either sipping on very small bait, such as polychaetes (worms), or amphipods, or they are just being lazy and playful. In either case, it is hard to hook a fish under these conditions and it is frustrating because you’ll see them all around the boat, smiling and gloating. Would the net be sportsmanlike?

But they eventually began to bite and within ten minutes their aggressiveness had increased to a pleasurable level. For a little while most of the fish I hooked were in the mid-20s in length and there were a few small guys in the mix. I experimented with several lures (the flyrod, left sitting in the garage, would have been best on this morning) and ultimately found the silver/white storm shad to work best. On one retrieve, the shad was quite visible and nearing the hull, when a large striper suddenly appeared, sucked the shad in, and turned on its run. “Wow!” or something similar came forth from my mouth while the line screamed down and out from the boat. The fight lasted a few minutes until I could see him – definitely a keeper. Oh yeah, no net – it was left next to the flyrod. Hmmn. Well, for a second or two I was envisioning filets on the grill on Saturday night – then realizing I had forgotten the net, I convinced myself not to think that way until he was in the boat. I tired him for a while, leaned down, drew my fingers around the line to guide the fish closer (and this is where most unlucky experiences occur) and tailed him (grabbed his tail) to get him in. He got in and I was happy about that. I was certain he was a keeper, but the tape….oh yeah, left that on my tool bench in the garage with fellow flyrod and net….no tape so I used best professional judgment.

I stayed another half hour and landed my last seven or eight on a surface plug – kind of a modified jumping minnow (white). This was cool because the bass went after this thing like they were pissed off that it existed. Often, the fish would simply hit the thing and send it flying with no clear intention of actually biting it. That sound is what its all about, kind of a pop and slurp mixed together: a “purp”. “Hey Bob, did you hear that fish purp?” Yeah man, wicked purpage.

I headed in around 6:45 to get the kids ready for school. They, of course, found it amusing to touch its eyes as I prepared to filet it. I measured him first – 31”. Anyway, the gut analysis was somewhat dissatisfying. It revealed mostly empty but a few small polychaetes. This guy was hungry.

So, two good filets for the grill and a rack for the lobster pots which will get more attention in about a month.

First Ones

2007-05-13T10:59:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, May 9

Bright, sunny, and warm. I spent a couple hours working on my friend’s oyster farm – hand picking oysters for the market. The southwest breeze and clear skies made the flats look tropical due to the contrasting colors of the sand and water. When the flats finally submerged under the flood tide we all parted from the sand bar and I motored back around Captain’s Flats. And this is where I found the fish. Birds were working the water and fish were boiling. A team of four stripers playfully chased a squid next to the boat as I tossed my first cast which produced a striper in the low 20s. A couple casts later, another, but larger. The action only lasted 10 minutes. The schools relaxed and either stopped feeding or moved on.

Later that day I returned with friends A. and C. By this time (5:00), the southwest wind had increased significantly and this resulted in large seas in the middle section of the bay. We decided to hug the leeward coast, beginning at the mouth of the Jones River. Two follows and a couple strikes there, but the water was brown and murky and the fishing was somewhat uneventful. We traveled east along Kingston Shores and found a couple of small schools on the surface. Follows but no hookups. They disappeared quickly. Then I noticed a cloud of birds out near the Nummet and as soon as we arrived A. was into a large fish. It measured 26” or so, and after some spring testing of C.’s Bogo-grip pneumatic gismo gear, the fish was safely released to J. and A.’s relief.

We cashed it in there and slowly motored back to the landing under rose hued skies.

January Fishing

2007-01-27T18:32:00.000-05:00

Matt Fitzpatrick intercepted me in the parking lot of our workplace. "So, you feel like fishing tomorrow night?" "Sure," I replied. "Think we'll hook anything?" His answer was "yeah, probably" and that was all I needed.

We met in Plymouth on this cold, windy night and drove together in Matt's truck to our destination of winter fishing which was only a few miles south. It was fun to be back in action on the water, but odd at the same time. Walking around with a fishing rod on January 9th in Massachusetts just felt weird.

But that wore off almost as soon as we arrived at Matt's "secret" destination. This was a place I was actually quite familiar with already, but didn't realize it held winter stripers. We pulled our gear out of the back of the truck and finished the coffees that we grabbed on the way. Then we opened a couple of beers to make it an event.

Matt had his first fish on his second cast. I soon followed with two in a row. Then Matt pulled ahead and hauled in a total of 7 stripers. These were all surprisingly fat and fiesty. I had a couple of additional fish on but lost them, as did Matt.

After some time we decided to quit and head home. It was a thrill to hookup in January. I'll be back.