The One-Fly Tournament

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

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

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

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.

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.