I went fishing on Saturday

The seas were calm and it felt like fall. Always a little sad when the summer ends. Not a lot of life on the water. My brother in law caught an albie, and my dad caught a weakfish. The fishing wasn't all that great, but we drank Miller High Life's and caught sea bass under the boat while we waited for the fish to show. I'm pretty sure Poseidon smiled...

Lazy Sunday

I do not fish as often as I'd like to these days. But when I do, it's nice to catch something.

Yesterday I drove down to the cape to grab my fly rods out of the basement so that I could prep my gear for fall steelhead. I made the last minute decision to throw the waders and the Sage 3 weight in the car and to make a quick stop at the salt run brookie creek by my folks house. This turned out to be a good decision. I had only fished the creek once before during the month of April. It was productive, I think I landed three fish that day. Even then it was pretty overgrown though, so I wasn't sure exactly what I was getting myself into, now that summer growth was at its peak. But I figured what the hell.

It was 40 degrees when I walked out to the car in Arlington and started my trek to the cape. I decided fairly quickly that And One basketball shorts and flip flops might not have been a wise attire selection. After arriving at my destination I walked along a path that parallels the creek before finally swinging a right and bush-whacking into the woods. By the time I reached the water, I was covered in spider webs and various clumps of vegetation. Bank shrubs and overhanging trees and deadly sink hole mud greeted me along the 3-5 foot wide brook. After wrestling around with trying to cast from shore for several minutes, I had a feeling that I had bitten off more than I could chew. This creek was basically unfishable. Wading around along the edges produced a thick black mud that clouded  the water and invariably spooked anything down stream within casting range. Disappointed, I decided that my only chance was to work my way downstream until I could find an area with some space to cast.

I pushed through the brush alongside the creek for maybe 10 yards before I became completely mired in a mud pile caused by some sort of secondary water source flowing into the main body of the creek. Desperate, I worked my way back into the creek for no particular reason other than to escape the muck. With a desperate final push, I lept into the stream, with quite a splash I might add, happy to be free of a potentially debilitating situation. I found myself almost waist deep, and I paused to catch my breath, letting the mud run off my boots and waders... After about 20 seconds of standing there questioning my next move, I noticed that the bottom of the creek was pretty much pure sand, so I decided that I could make my way down stream by walking down the main body of the creek. When I found a more castable location, I'd pull out on the bank and fish it. Seems reasonable right?

So I began the highly atypical move of walking straight downstream in the middle of the creek I intended to fish. But I did notice that the sand bottom in the middle of the creek was fairly forgiving. After about ten yard I reached a spot where I could get a mediocre back cast in, enough to get the fly 4 yards away from me down current, and then I could let line out and roll cast it directly down stream. I kept stripping line to get the fly as far away from me as possible... When I finally had it 12 yards down current. I slowly stripped it back in. I got hit on my first cast. Unfortunately I missed him. But it didn't really matter because I now had a plan. I waded down the river fishing it from the dead center of the stream. Cast down current, let out line, retrieve, walk 3 yards downstream, repeat... I never left the river again, with the exception of scaling a couple fallen trees. In an hour and a half, I made it about a quarter mile down and landed 9 native brookies to 11 inches. I missed another 20, presumably because many were to small to eat my streamer, It was kind of lights out. I landed 2 males that were particularly handsome. They were definitely getting ready to spawn.

Quite satisfied with my morning, I drove down the street to my folks place. I decided to run the boat for a bit since she hadn't been off the dock in a couple weeks and I finished up trout fishing earlier than expected. As I was playing with the electronics out in Vineyard sound, I saw a few splashes out of the corner of my eye and low and behold there were albies to be had! First cast in and I got a bite....

It doesn't always happen like that, but it sure is nice when it does....

ROAD TRIP

10/14 - 10/17: Western North Carolina





10/18 - 10/20: Charleston, South Carolina
10/21 - 10/24: Atlantic Beach, North Carolina


10/28 - 10/31: Pulaski, New York


11/2 - 11/4: Southern Maine

NC Fishing Report

Brooklyn Fishing Derby - Should We Field A BFC Team?

Esteemed BFC colleagues, news of the First Annual Brooklyn Fishing Derby made it to my inbox this morning, take a look at the website here. A pretty great idea, and run by a couple organizations I'm sad I'm just now hearing about. I've got a bit of free time coming up, so if anyone is in NYC (or coming to NYC) and wants to get involved in some urban fishing let me know and we can field a BFC in Brooklyn team.

Also, apart from the safe assumption that nothing lives in the Gowanus Canal– one of the most polluted waterways in America, which I live next to–I know very little about fishing in the city, so if you know of any good resources send them my way.

Schooled by False Albacore

I arrived on the Cape on Thursday afternoon 9/11/08. After depositing my gear in Lane's place, we immediately stepped foot on the vessel and were underway in search of False Albacore. Jesse and I had fly casted until we were blue in the face at schools of Albies, with no luck, on our way home from a Bluefin skunk last year with Lane; this year I was dead set on getting one. With Robbins off to the midwest in search of cut throat, it was up to Lane and I to seek out these fish and put one on the fly. The first afternoon was more of a glorified booze cruise over to the Vineyard, with no Albies spotted; fine with me I had several days left.

If you're not familiar with the False Albacore, it is fish that all must hook on the fly at least once in their life. A fish that has been clocked up to 70 mph in the water, and a fish that once hooked, turns and runs just that fast directly away from the boat. A fish that can be on the surface one moment in a feeding frenzy, and subsurface two or three seconds later. A fish that can be leader shy and finiky when it comes to fly presentation and fly selection. A fish that when hooked is worth every one of the last 500 casts you made that day. A fish that rarely exceeds 32 inches but makes up for its size with pure power and intense drag screaming speed. A truely epic fish on the fly.....

Day two on the cape was spent chasing blue fin tuna, if you read Neil's post several days ago you all know how that turned out. Day three was dedicated to chasing the Albies once more on the fly. We showed up at the mouth of Waquoit Bay at 7 a.m, eyes keen, senses elevated, looking for the slightest blitz. Soon enough we saw it, it was quick, but they were there. Other boats began descending on our find, and it wasn't long until a dozen boats were honing in on each tiny blitz of False Albacore. The fish seemed to be moving in very small schools of 3 or 4 fish and it was difficult to not only be the first boat to arrive at a blitz, but to also get a fly into such a small school of fish. Often these fish are traveling in much larger schools, that when blitzing the surface, make an easy target to land a fly within; not on this day however.

After a near altercation with another boat who was angry with our movements within the fleet, we decided to seek another area down the shore. Several hours passed with continued frustrations: spot a school, chase them with the boat, arrive to a school that was just about done feeding, cast into the school, miss the school by a matter of seconds.......over and over we continued this cycle. Maybe once per hour I would get a fly into a small school that was still feeding, only to be snubbed. 5-6 hours passed, my arm was in agony after casting an intermediate line all day with heavy weighted flies at the end of my 12 lb leader.

Then it happened, a small school rose, we moved in slowly and the fish continued to slam the surface except this time they were coming toward the boat. One cast in front of the rapidly approaching school was all it took and BAM! I yelled "fish on" and Lane responded, "don't fight him with the line, go to the reel". A split second later this fish was off to the races and I realized that I had a massive knot in my line that I had been stripping feverishly and dropping at my feet. I could do nothing, and no sooner could I even recognize the issue before the knot was torn through every guide on my 9wt. rod; line continued to tear off the reel, problem temporarily bypassed. I was out of my mind stoked!

The fish ran, and ran, and continued to haul off line. 240 yards of backing are on my reel and I can attest, as can the Captain Lane, that a good 3/4 of that backing departed from my reel in a mind numbing straight away run. Then it happened, the line went slack. I hadn't touched the reel, moved the rod, or adjusted the drag. The knot hadn't pulled; it was a clean break on a straight away run on the most insane fish I've ever hooked on a fly rod. That was the only fish on the fly that any of us managed to hook after that, but no matter, my Albie addiction had just begun!

(Below is a video of my initial hookup after fruitless hours, and the line screaming from the reel)