Sashimi Season 2019

Carp Fishing in Tokyo

I recently returned from a business trip to Japan where I spent several days in Tokyo.  We had a couple days off to explore, so with our friend Daisuke as chauffeur, we made our way to a neighborhood whose name I can't remember, where there is a public carp fishery.

For the reasonable price of 1,000円 (~$10) per hour, you are granted angling access to this vibrant fishery, plus the use of a one-piece fiberglass pole, a net of your choosing plus a softball-sized wad of bait that I believe was cat food. 

The game is simple:  construct an almond-sized bait-ball around your hook, adjust your float to the desired depth, 'cast' your bait in, take seat on the provided milk crates and commence fishing.  And when I say 'fishing,' I mean take part in any one, or combination of the following: staring at your bobber; talking shit to your buddies; drinking warm, canned Japanese coffee (Black Boss being my preferred flavor); observe the talented locals land six fish before you get a bite; stare off into space and contemplate life; talk about life with your buddies; forget about your bait completely then check it, to reveal that it has been stolen; borrow your buddy's polarized glasses to see four carp swimming around your bait; smell your bait-stained fingers, cringe and try not to scratch your itching forehead; hoot and holler when your buddy hooks one; laugh when he loses it; applaud when he lands the next one; forget the time completely and then when you've used up a half hour more than your hour, fish your way back to the cash register trying to get one more bite.

Now that's some fishin' I'd like to do again!

 

Spearfishing Firsts, 2.0

There is no saltwater record in the State of Maine for Tautog. They are so uncommon North of Massachusetts that there just isn't a category for them. So on Sunday, when I saw this filthy critter staring up at me from its boulder cave near Harpswell, I was pretty shocked. I was shocked because this fish was at least 70 miles further North than any Tog I'd seen while spearfishing, it was by far the biggest I have tangled with anywhere at 25.75 inches, and it bore a closer resemblance to Slimer from Ghostbusters than anything you'd expect to see swimming around here.

After digging around a bit, I found the next closest thing to a Maine Tautog record for reference, a current New Hampshire record of 21.25 inches and 9 lbs..... Just sayin'

Hex

I set up a drift boat trip on Sunday with a guide friend of ours. I had a favor to repay to my friend Nate and I could think of no better way than a day on the water.

We fished with Boz from Maine River Guides, if you are in the area you would be smart to call.

We floated the West Branch in the comfort of a custom Boulder Boatworks drifter and caught many salmonoids. I have photos of none of them. We had huge steaks and cold Budweisers for a shore lunch with not a photo to prove it. I do not have a photo of the dry fly dropper I was fishing that whilst trying to land a small salmon become lodged in my index finger. Nor does there exist a photo of our guide removing it.

The one photo I do have of the trip is below. You will have to take my word that it was an awesome day.

We were really just killing time.

Waiting for nightfall and a potential hatch of sailboat sized mayflys.

We drove north and left our custom boat behind for an old tin jobber stashed on the side of a lonely pond. The three of us climbed in and waited.

We did not have to wait long to see the signs of what was to come.



Soon we did a lot of this

I was three hours late to work on Monday.
Thank you ,

"Stripahs"

"Hey!  I've got an idea!  Let's go fishing together!"

"Sounds good to me, ties some flies with this feather!"

"I will, I'll make them look like squids."

"Good. I'll pick you up at the airport and we'll giggle like kids!"

"Get Wik down there too, he likes striped bass."

"No doubt, he'll be there when we arrive, likely half-drunk and on his ass!"

"Roger that.  Here's a picture of my box.  My fly box, that is."

"I like the looks of your box, sir.  Looks tasty to me.  A fine looking box it is!"

"Look at her!  I haven't seen her in years!"

"She's gorgeous, ain't she.  Almost brings me to tears!"

"There's a man casting down there; he looks to have a beard."

"Indeed he does.  I hear while fly fishing, he is to be feared."

"I can confirm such a claim, I have seen it first-hand."

"Same here.  Hey, what would you think if Darius and Ray combined and made a band?"



"Which one should I tie on?"
"I don't know, try this one.  It's made with hair from a fawn."
"Right on!  They should be able to see it, at the least."
"Oh they'll see it, and upon it they will feast!"
"I'll cast on this side, you take the other!"
"Oh shit, you hooked one!  Good one!  Now I'll catch his big brother!"

"There's one!  Did you see that?!"
"Oh my soul, it just destroyed fly, flat!"
"Let it run!  Keep it tight!  Pull on that thing!"
"I'm pulling!  Yeeeeeeaaaaaaa boy, listen to that reel sing!"

"First one to catch one gets a beer, eh!"
"I'm on sir, I'll take a cold IPA!"
"Ah, you've won, OK.  But look, I'm on now and I think mine's bigger!"
"I'm not so sure.  See if you can land that and then we'll figure!"

"Do you think that chick is hot?"
"Yes.  Do you or do you not?"
"I do not.  Ask me again in three beers."
"I'll ask you again in three years!"

"Hang on to your britches, big wave on its way."
"Move us thirty yards that way, wha'd'ya say?"
"10-4, here's your shot, make it count."
"On!  Y'know, I was thinking of someday getting a fish mount..."

"That's a good one, wha'd'ya say we bring one back for the boys?"
"Great idea, put him in the box and then hand me that fly box of toys."
"We should get some jalapenos for the ceviche tonight."
"Yea, that, and another thirty beers should make it just right!"

"Seen any?"
"A few, mostly going away.  Not many."
"They're in there though, eh?"
"For sure, tricky guys on the flat today."
"Well, at least it's not as windy as it was."
"Yup, casting into the wind blowin' right at ya, just 'cause."

"Well, we all got one, that's not bad."
"We usually do, I think.  Let's get back to the pad."
"Right on, time to settle into some dinner."
"To be sure, with all this good eats, I'm not getting thinner."

"We should do that again, captain."
"I agree, we tend to have a good time when we fish together, it's certain."
"Where to next?  BC?  OP?  NY?  Lots of places to see."
"All in due time, next up, the STP!"

Rabbits

I made an impromptu decision to head up to the SR last week. Nathalia was out of town for work and I thought it would be relatively quiet around the office so figured this was as good a chance as any to cash in on some steele. Plan was to leave Wednesday after work and fish Thursday and a half day Friday. Unfortunately, I ended up with a work dinner Wednesday night that would significantly delay my departure. My options were to leave early Thursday morning and not get to the SR at first light or sack up and pull an overnight drive to NY and fish on no sleep. Being a veteran of the sleepless nights when canyon fishing I decided to move forward with the latter. At roughly 11PM Wednesday night, I left my dinner in Burlington Mass for rivers filled with seagoing trout.

Well, about a half hour into the drive I decided it would be a prudent time to confirm the SR flow. To my great dismay the river had blown up to 1100cfs at Pineville. While not unfishable, this flow was much higher than what I was expecting and not ideal for my plan to wade around and cover a lot of territory in the lower river. What to do, what to do... After about 20 minutes of deliberation, I decided to take a gamble and fish one of the creeks nearby the SR. Friends Kyle and Miles had recently fished a creek about 40 minutes from the SR (to remain nameless) and reported that it held a good mix of browns and steelhead. The men had given me some good intel on access points and fishy water. Why not, I figured. It wouldn't hurt to get away from the crowds anyhow. With that decision made, I rolled west into the dark night. 

I got to the Oswego area an hour before light and found a MacDonalds to provide healthy morning sustenance. After the long drive I was exhausted, excited, and very much up to speed on the status of current events from listening to about 2 hours of CNN on Sirius. I waited until grey light to head down to the river since I didn't exactly know where I was going or which spots would hold fish. I had brought my six weight, which I rigged up with a small shallow water bead presentation, and my 8 weight, which would be rigged for deeper water presentations should I encounter any likely looking spots. 

As the sun cape up I found myself looking at very small water, narrower and shallower than the Swift river in many spots. I worked my way up river scanning the river for likely looking holding spots and firing a few casts with the bead where I thought there might be potential. I came upon a small riffle that dumped into a pool that looked to be a couple feet deep. I fired the bead into the riffle and just as my rig entered the pool the indicator when down and I was tight to my first small water fish.

 While it wasn't a slob by any standards I found myself a short while later staring at a 5lb rainbow. Was it a steelhead or a native trout? I'm still not certain. I released the fish and took another cast and wouldn't you know it I got another one, this one a hair smaller than the first but darker in color. Three casts after that I found a third trout in this little pool. This fish was a hair larger at maybe 6 pounds with a nice big stomach on it. My guess was that these were small steele. After a dozen of so more casts I pushed on finding the river slower and a little bit deeper. I came upon a slow shallow tail out and noticed a couple large v wakes. Did I spook those fish? Maybe. I could get any takes on my bead, although the water was so slow the presentation really didn't look right. I continued to fish up stream with no action. Hours passed and I worried my early morning flurry would be the last action I would see. Finally I found myself in a spot with a little current. After a handful of cast through this shallow run I watched a brown trout move out of the current and take my bead only a few feet from my rod tip. A short battle later and I had a four pound brown up on the gravel bar. This silver looking fish was clearly of the lake run variety. After a quick release I pounded the spot for another hour before giving up on this stretch of water.

I hiked back up to the car to try another access point further upstream. While having landed a handful during the morning, the action still felt slow. I had managed only 4 bites and was lucky to have landed all four fish. It was windy and cold and I was a tired man after pulling the all nighter. I hoped that the move might be a productive one. I parked by a bridge maybe a mile up river and hiked by some shallow looking water to find a nice deep pool. It looked like the prefect steelhead spot and I decided to pound it out here and hope for an evening bite. An hour passed with no action. I met a couple other fisherman in this section of river and neither angler had touched a fish. One claimed it might be the weather that was shutting off the bite, with the cold front coming through. I soldiered on fishing this deep pool, adjusting my indicator depth and about a half hour before dark I picked up another steelhead. This one fought better that the first 3 despite being no bigger. I was able to pull it up on the bank and release it. A short time later I retired for the evening.

On my way to the hotel I exchanged texts with both Miles and Kyle. I told them the day was slow despite having landed a handful, and that the bites were few and far between. The men suggested stripping a streamer, something with a nice zonker strip to give it action. Rabbit fur huh? It flew in the face of all the lake run trout fishing I had done in this area. But nonetheless it was worth a shot. The bead bite had been ok but not good. I bought a 6 pack of Labatt Blues and passed out in my hotel room around 7PM wondering deliriously if the Mayan Apocalypse would occur while I slept.

I woke up at a leisurely 6AM feeling much more refreshed than the day before. No apocalypse, just trout to be caught. I returned to the river near the first spot I fished the day before, planning to try out some streamers in the area where I saw the v wakes the day prior. My fly selection for this endeavor would be limitted. I had a bunch of weighted buggers but my unweighted rabbit fur streamer supply was only a couple of flies.  I began casting across to the far side of the river with my 8 weight. A dozen casts but nothing to show for it. Then, all of a sudden, it turned on. As I stripped my fly across the surface a large v wake appeared behind it, following my fly back to my feet before turning away. The next cast, nothing. Then another cast and another follow. Then a short strike that I missed as a large fish blew out of the water attempting to eat the rabbit. More follows. More misses. Then finally a big take. My tippet parted as I set the hook. Fuck.

Down to my last rabbit fur fly, a black zonker strip about 4 inches long. I went up to 8 pound tippet figuring I couldn't lose this fly. Would the fish take on 8 as opposed to 4? Yes they would. The fish wanted it. Finally I came tight on a fish and stayed tight on it. A brown colored rabbit eating beast.

Over the next hour and a half I would bring 4 browns in the 5 lb class to the bank on the rabbit fur. No slobs, but all healthy fish, and all on epic surface strikes worthy of video that I did not have. For the 4 that I landed, there were twice as many short strikes and twice as many follows as misses. The action was hot, even if the catching was average.

Then it slowed down. I fished for 45 minutes without a follow. It seemed like the hole needed a rest. I pushed down stream about 80 yards finding a similar looking hole on the far bank. First cast in with my now beaten up rabbit and I was tight again. This time a small steele. Steele eating rabbits? Who would have thought...

In summary, this next hole was on fire. I pulled five browns out of this hole including the one I was looking for. He came up like an alligator inhaling my fly down to the back of his throat and battling me all over the hole. He would tape out at 28.5 inches, my guess is somewhere between 8 and 9 lbs. Long, but skinny and mean. The surface strike was savage.

 

The rain that had been pounding me all morning was turning to sleet and I knew my time on the river was coming to an end. I decided to make one last cast before heading out. I placed my beaten up piece of rabbit on the far bank and  two strips later a fat fish exploded out of the water in a monstrous take. When I saw the fish breach it left no doubt that I was dealing with steele. A fat 7 lb fish with decent chrome coloration.

With 11 fish landed for the morning including my personal best brown I headed back to my car. I left New York fully satisfied, with a little more respect for the rabbit...

Beneath the Mangroves

After several months of phone call conversations and planning, I was very fortunate to spend the last four days fishing with my good friend and former Head Guide Andy Lee of Grassroots Guides, Beneath the Mangroves. Andy recently relocated to Chokoloskee, Florida, where he has been fishing the Everglades backcountry for redfish, snook, and most recently, tarpon. We had quite a trip.
Andy runs a 18' Hell's Bay and it's the perfect rig for fishing the backcountry flats, weaving through the creeks and poling across the big bays of the Everglades.
We spend the first three days sight fishing to reds and snook. The redfish were a little easier to see: more out in the open, along vegetated flats or among oyster beds. The snook were trickier business, as we poled countless banks trying to spot these fish lying in ambush beneath the mangroves.
We had a good number of shots for snook, but they are a wiley fish. Many times we would see one and before we could drop a cast in front of it, the fish had retreated to cover beneath the trees. We would often pole by a fishy looking spot, unable to see a fish only to see the fish bolt from underneath us or the trees to explode as the fish took off. When we did see one and get a good cast in front of it, the fish would either immediately bolt or destroy the fly. We had some great takes and were able to land a few.
We also found a good number of redfish. A little easier to see, but often just as fickle, we brought a few of these to the boat as well. Enticing the reds to strike was a little more sensitive as we teased them to strike by pulling flies away and then letting them catch up. A great game to play.
At some point during our third second or third day we started seeing some black drum cruising amongst the reds. A fast sinking crab pattern was the trick for these odd looking fellars.
We had a slightly nervous moment as we noticed a gator approaching while Paul landed one particular drum. Andy made us second guess ourselves when he joked that gators always travel in pairs, one under the surface.
For our last day on the water, we fished for reds in the morning and then decided it was time to try and see some tarpon. We were surprised and instantly excited as we poled down our first bay and a heron spooked one and then we started seeing tails and wakes.

I was first up and had a good shot at a happy fish about a foot under the surface. I made two casts and on the second had an eat, but it didn't stick. We were pumped though as our first good shot resulted in a take. On we went.

Paul took some shots at some fish to no avail and then it was my turn on the bow again. The fish were hard to see given the muddy, murky water of the everglades but we soon found ourselves right upon a very large shadow under the surface. Wind at the moment almost blew us over the fish, but Andy circled us around to where I could take some good shots. My first four casts were no good, but on the last, it looked as though the fish was interested. I was lucky the fish hadn't bolted. I took another cast and this one was on the money, a few inches in front of the fish. Not even six inches into my retrive and the water exploded, the fish coming out of the water to crush the fly, a tan, deer-hair head slider. And then it was on. Into the backing within seconds, leaping in the distance, the line cleared and I remained tight. It was looking good.

I had some good shots at tarpon last spring but wasn't able to coax any to eat. We joked later that this fish chose me, allowing for my first nervous casts to pass until I put the fly where he wanted it.
The fight lasted about 40 minutes, the last 30 or so within 30 feet of the boat, the hardest part of the whole ordeal.
Finally the fish rolled over and with a hand on its lip, the fish boatside, Andy grabbed the leader and it gave. Away the fish went. High fives and laughs filled the boat as we recounted the battle and charted the boat's course as the leviathan towed us around the bay.

It would be our last fish of the day and of the trip, a perfect way to go out. It didn't take long before we started scheming our return. An easy, two and a half hour drive from Miami International Airport, I recommend anyone looking to get into some Everglades tarpon action get in touch with Andy, and hang on for the ride.