Putting on some mileage

One of the functions of having a bigger inshore boat is the ability to handle some rougher water and longer distances.  2fly, our Yellowfin 24, cruises nicely between 35-40mph while burning about 10 -11 gph-- pretty solid numbers considering the load of anglers and fishing gear we normally have aboard.

After a long summer with slower fishing activity in local waters, the brief window of early fall when false albacore make their appearance is thrilling. They don't call it "albie fever" for nothing! These little speeders can maddening, and light tackle anglers develop a love hate relationship with them.  Often challenging to locate and then finicky to hook, success attaches you to one of the more thrilling inshore species the Mudhole and surrounding waters have to offer.

We heard the first reports of 'hard tails' trickling in from waters east of us. Rhode Island first, followed by the New York waters of Montauk and Fishers Island, and then the eastern Connecticut shoreline. Like a nervous tick, the brain jumps back to chasing albies, distracting you from whatever task is at hand. finally, it's too much.  Despite busy schedules, we freed a Sunday and started prepping for the trip. Gear was laid out days in advance. We just needed to put the boat on the trailer.

The weather was the big uncertainty. As the weekend approached, east winds blew strong. That's rarely a good sign for good fishing. The forecast changed by Friday, and on Saturday it showed that Sunday would see rain progressively clearing eastward and then light southeasterly wind.

Having a plan in important. Adapting the plan to the situation is more important. We changed gears. Instead of trailering to Niantic (Plan A), we launched from the Mudhole in the late morning after the rain cleared. Plan B was to drive east and stop either when we found birds and fish or when we hit the rain line.

So we drove. The seas were confused but not big, and 2fly loped easily along at 35mph. We slowed to sight see in the Thimble Islands and poke around a few rips. We paused in Clinton to throw flies at a brief surface blitz of bluefish. We passed Niantic in fog and a brief sprinkle.  In front of the old Seaside Sanatorium we found birds and small blues blitzing-- along withe a blitz of boats! We paused and fished with the herd for a while hoping for albies. They may have been there, but we didn't see them. We chatted with some friendly folks as we tossed flies in a slowly increasing wind and then moved on.

We passed New London and continued down the shore. With no real action to speak of, it was time for a game change. "Let's run over to the Race," I suggested. By now it was noon, so we enjoyed a light lunch and cool beer as we reached the eastern end of Fisher's Island.

Immediately we saw fish on the surface.  Lunch was on hold as we cast into small 1-2 lb bluefish. It was entertaining, but these weren't the fish we'd driven all this way for. We moved south toward the The Race.

And then we found them.  Pods of albies up on the surface, here, there, gone, then back. Tucked into the lee of the island made the fly rods the best and most fun tool for the job. With Allie on the bow and me at the stern, we cast epoxy flies into the busting fish.

Laying it out

The of a tug on the line in your hand travels up your arm and down your spine like electricity.  Drags set tight seem to hardly slow these little speeders, which run as hard as anything pound for pound.

We boated a couple, broke one off, cursed at a few that nipped our flies but didn't connect, and laughed when our cast landed right in the boil on the water without success.  Albie fever indeed!

50mph does wonders for your hair

Three smiles for the camera

Meanwhile the weather was changing.  The wind had picked up, and we could see showers moving in from the southeast.  The radar showed a wet ride for the first 15 miles home.  We pulled on the foul weather gear, stowed the rods, and started the run for home.  The first 30 minutes were wet-- this is the tradeoff of having an open boat to maximize fishability.  We rode down sea in 3 foot waves, eventually running through the storm and into clearing skies.

Driving rain

Opening up the throttle, we pushed for home. Sun beamed through multilevel clouds, guiding us home in a golden glow.

No PhotoShop required

103 miles isn't something to do every day, but it's mighty nice to know you can. Bringing albies to the boat while waters in the Mudhole were empty made it all worthwhile.

Long run

A Martha's Vineyard vacation with the family is a grand slam

Menemsha's swordfish harpooner

We had wind all week. 15-20 kts and greater was typical, and it was mostly northeast. This wasn't shaping up to be a good September vacation, at least for the fishing part. It meant more beach time with the kids, and that's also great.  Unfortunately with the strong winds, even finding a beach in the lee was tricky. On a Monday we ended up at Menemsha, and my daughter wanted to fish so who could say no? Unfortunately family patience being what it is when traveling with a 3- and 5-year-old meant that lasted about 15 minutes. Casting off the Menemsha jetty was just a tease.

The wind just wouldn't let up. A few of the places I wanted to kayak like Cape Poge Bay were just off limits. It was frankly frustrating, but at least it validated the decision to bring the kayak and not bother with the boat.

On Tuesday I was back at the jetty in Menemsha.  Recalled scenes from David Kinney's The Big One, the story of the Martha's Vineyard Derby played in my mind.  Sure enough, the fly rodders camped on the Lobsterville side, and the spin casters on the Menemsha. As a kayak, I was odd man out. I launched on the sound side from the beach and bobbed in steep 2-3 foot chop. I rode the strong current into the pond and fished there. I padded back out and fished the sound again. A small blue and a porgy were the only activity for me. The boys on the jetty didn't seem to be doing any better.  After a few hours of getting slapped around in the waves I called it a morning and headed for the house.

Wednesday was evening windier. I slept in. 

Finally there was break in the wind on Thursday. 

Ready

The weather window opened up only the night before. At first I was on the fence-- we had other family plans-- but this was the only window and I jumped on it. I got the boat ready the night before and headed out around dawn directly from our rental house on the pond.  

Windless sunrise

The tide was mid-outgoing. I threw a x-rap minnow in the water and trolled my way toward the pond cut. Bang! Fish on within 200 feet and I had my first striper of the trip. Just a schoolie, but a nice sight.

There were a couple other kayaks inside the pond near the bridge. I waved and headed under the bridge. It's low enough that you need to take down your rods, so plan ahead if you're sweeping through on a strong current. Now outside in Nantucket Sound, I set up to the side of the outflow and drifted with it a few times, casting into the current and letting my lure swing.  The fly rod was rigged and in the rod holder, but for blindly searching water the spinning rod is a more effective tool.  The bottom here is only 4- to 5-feet deep, but a 100 yards past the jetty tip it drops off quickly to about 25. I drifted past and then padded back up toward the bridge for another drift.

On the first return, I picked up my next customer, a bluefish who was also caught trolling as I paddled back upcurrent.  Released him with smile. "You know," I thought to myself. "Add an albie and it's a slam." It wasn't a greedy thought, more idle musing. 

I decided to fish the drop off and switched over to a bucktail tipped with a zoom fluke. On the first drift I had several sharp taps. No connection. The next drift I got the tap again and set the hook hard. This time it held true, and a nice fat black sea bass came to hand.  He looked awfully tasty, but the house didn't have a cutting board and I was feeling lazy, so he went back in. "Three species morning," I thought.  This was fun. 

A couple power boats drifted in the area, waiting for albies to show. One had a couple guys with spinning gear.  The other was a solo fisherman with a fly rod.  The gear guys were impatient, fanning the water with casts, getting nowhere. Fly guy waits. Eventually the gear guys get tired of flogging the water and motor off to parts unknown.

Now it's me and fly guy. I slowly paddle toward the jetty tip and set up just west of it out of the current. Silverside form clouds in the clear water. They are everwhere.  My spinning rod is stowed. An 8-weight is in my lap with line stripped out. I throw a few casts at the jetty to see if anything's stirring there.  Then I drift and enjoy the view.

Fly guy and I look at each other and nod. "Lot of bait," I say. "Now we just need to guest of honor." 

"Look behind you," he says, and points. 150 feet away the tell tale slash of false albacore on small bait blows up in the shallow water off the jetty tip.  I grin and paddle in their direction, 15-20 hard strokes. Then the rod is in my hand and I fire a cast. Buck fever has a grip on me and it's not a great one. I back cast again and fire it off. Strip, strip, strip and the fly is in sight.  Another cast, and this one gets some distance. It lands in the area where they'd boiled ten seconds before. I strip once, twice...

and the line stops.

In my limited experience with albies, the hook set happens so quickly that I've focused only on getting the line cleared and the fish on the reel.  This one was different. A head shake. A pull. The fish didn't run. "Bluefish?" I wondered to myself.

ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!!!  The fish was off to the races. Denial was over and it ran for it's life, burning drag and streaking backing toward the west. I laughed out loud and called out a thanks to fly guy, who waved. He was quietly motoring into position for his own shot. And my fish headed for for the horizon.

He began to tire and slow. I glanced down at the GPS display on my kayak and found that mighty little 8-pound fish was pulling almost 250 pounds of kayak and angler at 2 mph. He tired and I gained line. With the shallow water he couldn't bring the fight vertical, and I had a hand on his tail in short order.  A quick photo op and off he went.

And an albie completes the grand slam

It was then that I realized I'd pulled off my first grand slam, from a kayak.  I chased another school for 10 minutes, but it was time for breakfast and it really couldn't get any sweeter. I paddled back into the pond, where I had a slight delay casting at yet another albie boil before heading back to the house.

For our next trip I now have some intel on where to trailer launch a boat. That creates some interesting possibilities so long as there's a place to store the boat on shore. The ferry fee is less than a slip, and it eliminates the uncertainty of a bad weather crossing forcing you to change your plans.  The wheels are already turning...

Game Time in the Mudhole

This year, it seemed like spring just wouldn't arrive. Every time nice weather seemed to be on the horizon, it snowed again. Even my snow blower gave in to the heavy toil and died.  Everyone was tired of winter.

Not only was spring late, but the stripers seemed to be, too. In early May, Long Island Sound water temps were still in the forties. Cool temps, wind and rain seemed to dominate the weather pattern. The flowers in our garden ran two weeks late.  

Finally the bunker arrived, and with them the bass and the blues. It's been game time in the Mudhole.

Bunker school at dawn

This year the bunker arrived thick. Whether or not you chose to believe or accept it as hyperbole, the tackle shops are buzzing with comments about "the best year in the past ten years for bunker." Or fifteen years. Or five.  At any rate, there are a good number of adult bunker that moved moved into the local harbors and estuaries by the middle of the month. So far, they've stuck around, which means the fishing has been good.

Typical fish this year have been 20 to 30 pounds

When big bass are your target, and the big bass are on bunker, you have to fish bunker. Although I would prefer to fling big bunker flies into schools of fish boiling on the surface, that doesn't seem to be common this year in the Mudhole. The fish tend to be deeper. This part of the spring run seems more of a bait game to me. 

Sleep patterns suffer this time of year. Collecting bunker for bait is best done in the wee hours of the night. That means a 3am wake up and being on the boat by 3:30 at the very latest-- it's light before 4:30.

An angler abroad: Tom returned to his former home for some saltwater fishing

The most rewarding aspects of this type of fishing, this time of year, is the accessibility of big fish. Experienced or not, a fisherman with the right bait, at the right time, and in the right place can hook big fish.

Steve's first striper-- spoiled for life by a 22-pounder

It's a great way to spend time with friends. It's nice just to be on the water after the long winter, and most other boaters have just started thinking about getting themselves ready for the season.  At 4am you're the only soul stirring on Long Island Sound.

So, here's to game time in the Mudhole. To fishing with friends. To another year on the water.

Bill "Saltshades" assesses the girth of a bass

Allie's first bluefish of the year

Unrequited love

To catch you need to fish. Despite hearing mostly complaints about a lack of false albacore, or virtually any other target species for that matter, I decided to be a sucker try my luck with fools friends Patrick and Jon. For our adventure we loaded kayaks on cars and headed to a few locations in eastern Connecticut, launching just as night turned to dawn.

Still life of kayak paddle.

The best part about fishing from a kayak is that if the fish aren't cooperating, well, at least you're kayaking.  Sadly-- for the fishing anyway-- that was the case today. We tried our luck in the Niantic and Groton areas. This was an area I've spent limited time in, and it's worth exploring. Although it's still part of Long Island Sound, it is much more of the sea than the water local to the Milford Mudhole. Our waters tend toward brown, while here it's green. Sea temps are noticeably lower. We get mung weed, here the bottom is covered with kelp and eel grass. In the Mudhole, points of structure are spread further apart. Here virtually every shore is a boulder field worth exploring.

The weather was spectacular, but all we could find were some schools of very small blues harassing scattered schools of bay anchovies. While eager to take a fly, they're not particularly exciting to target.

Second launch of the day.

So, other than a few tiny blues, the catch of the day was lobsters from the local seafood purveyor's tank. The albies will wait for another day.

Ocean Kayak Ultra 4.3, loaded and ready for anything.