Deep Blue and Bright Orange

Our 20’ Seacraft took a while to get up on a plane, but that is expected when loaded down with ice, tuna, a mako and three kids. I glanced longingly at the massive school of bluefin tuna off to port as I pointed the bow to 10 degrees on the compass and pushed the throttle gently. I heard the familiar humming of the outboard engine as it reached 3000 or so RPM’s, a comfortable cruising speed of 22 knots for a 30 nautical mile ride home. I smiled contently, lips covered in sunscreen on the bow smiling back at me as my sister and friend Bennett seemed to share my happiness. It had been a good day full of fishing the bluewater, catching 9 bluefin on spinning gear and countless other species. I was proud to have put my buddies on fish and was even more excited to be bringing back sushi for our family. 7pm on the dot, a little late for an offshore trip normally, but I had told my parents we would be back late if we found fish. The sound of the chopper interrupted my thoughts 2 Chainz mid chorus of “I’m Different”.

The orange chopper was off the starboard side before I could process what was happening. They kept up with us, a jumper ready in the hatch. Clearly shocked, my sister and Bennett sat open mouthed. We questioned whether or not they were there for us briefly but turning on the radio confirmed our fears. According to the bird, there were people on land worried sick about us. With the chopper escorting us, the Environmental Police rolled up at 50 knots, nearly hitting us. Soon the 40’ Coast Guard cutters came into view, joining the small army ensuring we got home safe. We all knew it was going to be a long night.

Pulling up to the dock, my parents and Bennett’s parents were waiting with the Coast Guard chief, tears streaming down their faces full of disbelief and joy. They explained the search process to us, the dozens of boats getting ready to shove off and join the rescue mission and even the online fishing message boards started that were designated to the topic. I was beyond amazed. The whole day, we had been fishing with the radio off to avoid listening to the obnoxious, incessant chatter of other fisherman. We had therefore missed the radio calls from the Coasties asking if we were okay. It was a learning experience for sure and we had plenty of time to reflect while they searched our boat for the required safety gear and sent us on our way.

On that day, I learned about the importance of a flight plan and leaving the radio on. I was beyond grateful and moved to know how many boats were ready to go out and look for us on their own dime, springing into action without hesitation in the way one can only hope to see from family members. Reading the online forums later, I was also pumped to learn we had been one of only three boats to catch tuna that day, landing 9 of the 14 caught by the fleet. I fell in love even more deeply with offshore fishing after witnessing such a perfect day in the blue water. Even a year later, Bennett’s parents won’t let him fish offshore with me.

In The Trough

I was half asleep when Graham clapped me on the back, waking me up from my trance behind the wheel as we rounded the tip of the jetties. We had just woken up from two hours of sleep after surf casting all night, eyes still heavy despite the coffee that warmed our stomachs. The 6AM sunrise greeted us like a reliable friend as I nudged the throttle forward, starting our 9 mile trek to the south west point of the island. Old and nearly reliable as the sunrise, the bow of the Seacraft parted the ripples of the surface as I huddled behind the center console, escaping the crisp fall air.

The ride was uneventful, silent and sleepy. Graham slept mouth open on the bean bag in the bow, drooling as his head bobbed to the rhythm of the waves. If I hadn’t been so tired I probably would’ve videoed it. We rounded the south west corner of the island and the swells picked up. I pulled the throttle back, idling towards my GPS marks of the best spot in the area for false albacore and bonito. Approaching the ridge we would be trolling along, the rollers were so tall we couldn’t see the land on either side of us when in the trough. The salty spray that brought goose bumps with each drop soaked my jacket and coated my glasses, power of the ocean tangible around us. We nosedived when each swell passed under our feet. Grabbing the first rod and setting a line out, I called Graham to take the wheel as I set up our spread. The conditions were sketchy at best but we had already shelled a hundred dollars into the trip for ice, food and fuel so it was decided that we’d tough it out. I leaned against the console to avoid being tossed as I reached for the second rod, undoing the bungee cord that held it in place. Carefully removing the treble hook from the guide, my stomach churned with excitement and a bit of nausea as another swell passed under us. As the second deep diver left my hand, we sat atop a mountain of water. To my right was the biggest fin I’ve ever seen.

The gray shape next to us appeared out of the murk like a submarine, nearly the length of the boat and easily as wide. With a tail as long as me and an eye so beady it would turn a hawk hot with jealousy, the image is forever burned into my mind. My stomach dropped, hair standing on end as the wave rolled past us and we were once again in the trough, water the only sight once again. I yelled out for Graham but as we came up on the next wave, there was no beady eye staring back at me. Vanishing like an apparition as quickly as it had appeared, the 18 foot creature was out of sight and we were once again alone at sea.

November Albies

I rushed out of the house, screen door slamming behind me and jumped in the car. Micheal sat next to me as we sped down the bumpy dirt road. I hopped out of the car as it came to a stop and banged down the metal ramp to our 13′ Whaler filled with leaves from its short stay under an oak tree in the driveway the day before. Bow line, stern and spring undone I hit reverse hard and sped out of the slip away to the Texaco to gas up before heading out for the morning.

It was early November and nearing the end of the false albacore season. 45 degrees and rainy, the conditions were as close to perfect as they were going to get that day for a duck hunt. Perfect for us, because that’s just what we planned to do, with a cast or two for fish on the side. The wind increasing from 10 to 20 knots cancelled our albie hunting plans, or so we thought.
Micheal, seeing my obvious impatience, jogged down the dock and tossed me the Remingtons and our rods. We topped off the tank and pushed off the splintering wood dock. Halfway out of the harbor, I turned around to see white water and green footballs coming out of the water. Albies! We hadn’t even organized the gear and I was lunging for the rods, nearly slipping on the slick, wet surface of the boat and the fall leaves. Rigged with Hogy Epoxy jigs, an albie classic that is known to catch in the toughest conditions, we sped toward the busting fish. Forty yards away, our spirits sank when the fish suddenly disappeared as if they were never even there, like ghosts.
It was late in the season there wasn’t a single boat in the harbor, which allowed us to grab the plastic piping that was attached to the drive on dock. With a hand on the piping to keep us steady, I turned around and there they were again! Huge albies jumping clear out of the water down by the red can. We let go of the piping and the ripping current spun us around like a leaf in the wind. I started the engine and we were off, racing towards them a second time. Once again, the albies went down, just out of casting range.
Even more dejected but encouraged by their fast reappearance, we idled slowly up to the piping again. Micheal called out to me as I was tying up a rope, “They’re up!” I dropped the dock line onto the piping and sped off once again. They were staying up. I was punching it. Salt spray sung our faces as we squinted to see the fish through the rain and whipping wind. Forty yards, still up. Twenty yards, still up. “NOW!” We both launched our lures into them, close enough to see the sandeels being busted all around the school. Both hunched over in what I call the “in the albies” pose, we watched two giants simultaneously launch themselves out of the water in pursuit of our skipping epoxy jigs. Micheal’s rod doubled over, tight! The whirring sound of the clickerless Cabo 40’s drag filled the air. With a final jump, one of the albies following my jig landed on it, engulfing it in its hard mouth. Doubled up!
The fish took off, ripping line from my Penn Spinfisher 3500. Our reels harmonizing and with us seemingly in heaven, I looked over at Micheal who was clearly getting nervous. His Cabo’s spool was dangerously low and his drag was getting very, very sticky even at the light pressure he was forced to keep it at. Our boat and the fish stayed in the (approximately) 4 knot current. It was apparent we soon needed to maneuver out of it into calm water and away from the wooden pilings.
Thankfully, the old Mercury 40 started up quickly and we putted into the calm water of the harbor and safety. Somehow, Micheal had managed to get his fish within 20 feet and we saw deep color. It was definitely not a 5 pounder. This was a big fish. The powerful tail of the fish propelled it on one last run into the current and his drag locked up. POP! The sound of defeat filled the air.
Micheal’s jaw dropped as the fish sped off, free. However, he quickly picked up the camera to video the end of my fight. Thankfully in the calm water, the circling fish below us slowly made its way to the surface. Twenty feet. Ten feet. I thought it was close enough and lunged… Just too far. I stood back up and pumped the rod twice more, reaching into the seemingly frigid water a final time. I felt the bumpy tail between my fingers and palm and gripped with all my strength, swinging the toad into the boat right next to the duck decoys.
We were right. These fish certainly weren’t 5 pounders! I lifted the green bolt up, its swirls dripping wet in the crisp November air. I took the epoxy jig out of its mouth. With one last glance, I looked at what I thought might be my last speedster of the season as Micheal snapped some pictures. With one push, the fish shot back into the water. High fives between us, we looked for the school once again. With no “ghosts” in sight, we turned around and headed to the duck spot. Cast and blast!

How To: Inshore Mahi Fishing the North East

Late in the summer, usually August but sometimes as early as late July, mahi mahi arrive close to shore off the coast of New York, Massachusetts and other New England states. These fish are usually left alone as anglers don’t even realize they have delicious sandwiches within reach of their bay boats. Personally, I have caught mahi out of boats as small as a 13′ whaler. South of Martha’s Vineyard, where I am typically fishing, we get them as close as 5 miles from shore. Now hold on, before you grab your buddies and hop in the boat you have to understand that inshore mahi fishing isn’t as easy as mahi fishing in the canyons. These fish can be picky, annoying and downright frustrating. Before I had “the mahi game” cracked, I spent frustrating hours targeting the green streaks I could see 20 feet from the boat.
Location– First and most importantly, you have to know where to fish. You can typically find mahi in waters upwards of 65 degrees. For your best bet at a thing these fish, target areas that you know hold bait. Mahi are structure oriented fish, so find the structure and you typically find the fish. We almost always find fish under anything a couple square feet or bigger. High flyers are your best bet. We have never found them under balloons before. If they aren’t at the first flyer you pull up to, don’t worry. Sometimes it takes 10 buoys before we find one loaded with them. Usually, we target waters 6-10 miles off land.

 

Lures– I have had days where we throw absolutely everything at mahi. Ballyhoo, eels, herring, bluefish chunks, you name it, without a bite. Before I let you in on the best lures in my opinion, I have to talk about bait fish. Usually, these mahi are targeting halfbeaks and sand eels. I have had the most success with natural colors and have found that the most effective lures (for me) have been…

Pictured above: Hogy Epoxy Jig in olive next to a large sand eel. (Source: http://www.fishingreportsnow.com/images/product.reviews.2014/Hogy.Epoxy.Jigs.Sand.Eel.jpg)

The Hogy Epoxy Jig in 7/8oz in blue (to mimic a halfbeak), olive (to mimic a sand eel) and nuclear chicken. On the clearest, most flat days I have had very good luck with the nuclear chicken, a crazy color, for whatever reason.

Pictured above: Bimini Bay Glass Minnow Jigs. (Source: http://www.biminibayoutfitters.com/images/buccaneer/glass_minnow.jpg)

Bimini Bay Glass Minnow Jigs in the blue color. This was my most productive lure in all 2016.

Pictured above: Spro Mini Bucktail Jigs in white, pink and black/white.  (Source: http://thumbs.ebaystatic.com/images/g/StoAAOSwOdpX1yFV/s-l225.jpg)

Spro Mini Bucktail Jig (1/16oz) in pink and white. This lure is incredibly light and I found the best success with this lure when the mahi were extremely picky.

 

Gear: You really don’t need more than two (possibly 3) setups for mahi. As far as rods go, keep it light and you will have far more fun. Don’t underestimate freshwater rods, many of which can catch mahi up to twenty pounds! My first rod is what I am holding when we pull up to a flyer. It is a St Croix 7ft, 6-12lb test, 1/4-5/8 oz. rod paired with a Shimano Stradic 2500 loaded with 15lb braid. For leader I use 15lb Seaguar Blue Label Fluorocarbon. I have found that light leader is, at times, the key to success on tough days.
My second rod is a heavier rod for flyers holding bigger fish. It is also my rod for casting to white marlin that we frequently come across in the same area. On this rod, I use a Fin Nor Lethal 40, a fantastic reel for a very low price with a sweet, smooth drag system, loaded with 40lb braid mainline and 30lb Seaguar Blue Label Fluorocarbon. This reel is on a custom Dick’s Bait and Tackle rod.
The third (optional) rod is a fly rod. I prefer an intermediate line on a 6 to 8 weight rod. For flys, most little clousers are very effective.
Remember, these fish can be very spooky, so if you notice that you’re spooking fish, try to use any wind or current to drift within casting range of them. Good luck this coming summer and enjoy the mahi tacos!

Inshore Mahi Fishing

We pulled up to the flyer, letting the slow current carry us down through the blue-green inshore water, which suddenly lit up with the bright colors of an easily recognizable fish, the mahi mahi. After searching leagues of lines of flyers, we had found them thirteen miles offshore. I whipped my Hogy Epoxy Jig twenty yards, closed the bail and ripped it across the surface with an albie speed retrieve, my hand whirring in circles on my Shimano 2500.
A “meehee” (baby mahi) sped after it, shimmering with electric colors of blue and green. “Eat it! Eat it!” said Bob, my fishing partner for the trip, as he watched the green dart swing and miss the lure. The mahi shot back to the safety of the flyer. We both took a deep breath and laughed before he took a cast with his 8 weight fly rod. Bob let the 3″ blue surf candy sink down 10 or so feet before beginning his speedy-stripped retrieve. I watched the fly disappear as another green streak shot over. Tight! He set the hook and a beautiful aerial show began.
The mahi took off with surprising power for such a small fish. Launching itself into the air, the fish thrashed its head as it sacked back down to the waters surface, fly landing next to it. It was gone! We both looked up at one another, smiling ear to ear. He stripped up his line to cast again. It was going to be a good day!

Salty Cape Reader Report: Bluefin South of Martha’s Vineyard

http://saltycape.com/reader-report-trolling-for-bluefin-at-the-dump/
A brief write up/report I did on a trip south of the Vineyard to the Dump and Claw. Fun trip and glad I had the chance to captain a good friend and his dad. We got on the fish!

What a Great Weekend!

From spawning smallmouth bass to largemouths and pickerel crushing topwater frogs and poppers, it was a good weekend. As always, my Quantum gear putting the big ones in the boat/on the shore!

 

Bass loved this mini frog on Saturday, 4/23!

Camera shy pickerel

Rebel minnow. This lure simply works.

20 inch smallie (on the tape!) caught like all my other fish, on Quantum gear!

Funny Fish

Warning! Symptoms of Albie Fever are lack of sleep, loss of money to tackle stores and many missed days of work in the August to October calendar.

You never know what you’re going to come across late season fishing. This past October I spent a couple days in Martha’s Vineyard fishing for false albacore and bonita. It was a more than epic week.
I arrived solo on the island and made my way to my family’s house. I made some beans, an omelette and toast for dinner before crashing around ten, knowing I had a sleepless night in store. I woke up every hour praying it was 5 o’clock already and I could get on the water. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was.
I threw on my warmest clothes and made my way down to the Menemsha jetty by headlamp. I arrived in the dark, headlamp now dead, to the rock pile that I know like the back of my hand. One misstep and I could have been chin deep in a crevasse, but thankfully I got to the tip without incident. While I was the only one there, I took a moment to breath in the salty air and smells of lobster gear. This, I knew, was the smell of home. False dawn came slowly as small schools of bluefish popped up and down on peanut bunker and silversides off in the distance. Slowly other fisherman trickled onto the jetty and finally the sun showed itself. The crest of it threw magnificent light all over Menemsha.

The bluefish were now backed by a sunrise so beautiful I almost forgot to cast when a group of false albacore began slamming silversides against the rocks at my feet! I snapped out of the daze I was in and flipped my epoxy jig a mere ten feet out. Wham! Fish on!! My drag screamed as the albie tore off at breakneck speed when suddenly all was quiet. My epoxy jig and tippet gone, I put on a new leader, 15lb Seaguar flourocarbon. I began blind casting with the pink epoxy jig, skipping it along the surface. A green torpedo erupted behind my jig and inhaled it, taking off on a screaming run. Back to back casts! Without warning, 3/4 of the line was gone from my Penn 460 Slammer. This was a big one! Drag locked all the way down, I settled in for what would be a long fight. He swam into the channel side of the jetty and swam hard with the current, but I managed to turn him out of it. I regained close to half my spool only to have it dumped once again when he sped back to the channel side. This time he went against the current and took me all the way into the harbor as I followed hopping along the rocks like a mad man. This was a smart fish. Close to seven minutes later I got him jetty side. He was massive and must have truly been a 15lb albie. As I reached down to grab his tail he took one more run to the Lure Graveyard, a rock pile 20 feet below the surface in front of the jetty. POP! The sound seemed to echo in my head. I watched the monster green streak slowly swim out of the rocks and back to the open water. Stunned by what had just happened, I sat back on the jetty and held my head, heartbroken.
The rest of the morning was fruitless. Close to noontime my buddy Quinn and his dad were unloading fish from their boat and I decided to go say hi. As we were talking a small group of green streaks tore across the surface throwing water and baitfish every which way. Quinn and I both grabbed rods and casted into the fish. I hooked up immediately on the green Hogy epoxy jig. Quinn kept casting. My fish made a short initial run compared to those of the last two fish I had hooked that morning. I realized my braid was rubbing against a piling but in order to get it off of it I would have to lift my rod over the outriggers and antennae of a boat. Standing on my tip toes, I lifted the rod as high as I could, not high enough. Pop! The fish and half my line were gone.
At this point I should have taken the hint and walked home, but that’s not the type of fisherman I am. I decided to be patient and keep losing epoxy jigs instead of going to grab a sandwich, and that’s just what I would do. I managed to lose 4 fish that day until I finally landed one, a decent 8lb albie. To top it off, my phone was dead. I asked the guy next to me to take a photo of me with the fish so that he could send it to me later. I still haven’t received that photo.
To this day I haven’t had as much frustration and fun while on the water as I did on this one day. Days like this are what keep me coming back. The power and speed of these “funny fish” seems to be the only cure my my addiction. The sight of that monster rock side still haunts me when I close my eyes at night and I am sure will continue to do so until I catch an albie even bigger.

Around the Rock: Spearfishing and More

Adam and I made our way down the shoreline, enjoying the beautiful day and warm summer water. It was the middle of July and the ocean was about as nice as it ever gets. The visibility was also around 10 feet, a perfect day to shoot some long range tog with my AB Biller 48 special. Since Adam was diving for his first time and was very positively buoyant because he didn’t have a weight belt, I decided to stay in the shallow end (4-12ft deep). 
We jumped in the water and Adam got cold almost immediately, so he hopped back on the boat and just drove around behind me as I dove. I hadn’t been in the water for 3 minutes when I saw my first tautog. The big ones are extremely spooky in clear, shallow water and this one shot off into the depths. Disappointed but not discouraged, I swam on. 
Another minute or two passed and I was continuously seeing 13-15 inch tog, just under the legal limit of 16 inches. I dove down to the bottom to peek under a beautiful barnacle encrusted rock that was coated with seaweed swaying in the tide like leaves in the wind. Coming around the corner I spied a beautiful white chinned tautog munching muscles off of the rock. I flipped off the safety, aimed and squeezed the trigger. Thunk! The sound shot through the water as the tog slowly drifted to the bottom, spinning along the shaft of my spear. Hurriedly I swam over and put one hand on each side of the tog to insure that it wouldn’t slide off during my short assent. Within a minute, Adam had brought the boat along side me, took the tog off the shaft and I was once again on the hunt. 
I shot two more tautog in rapid succession. My limit reached, I hopped in the boat and we made our way back down the shoreline to the harbor. Ten minutes into the trip I begin to see white dots on the horizon with a gorgeous backdrop of sandy dunes and eel grass. Soon, I could make out the splashes of birds and fish entering the water simultaneously. As Adam picked up a rod and began to cast, I couldn’t help myself and grabbed my Gatku 6ft pole spear and jumped in. As soon as I hit the water I was engulfed in terns, gulls, cormorants and to my dismay, striped bass. Since it is illegal to shoot stripers in MA, I casually swam around admiring the natural beauty. The terns diving around me left bubble trails as they fought their ways back to the surface with beaks full of sand eels. The black backs and bellies of cormorants shooting around alongside me like torpedoes left me in awe. I dove to the bottom (only 6 feet of water!) and lay there as schools of bass parted around me whilst stuffing themselves with sand eels, busting on the surface only a few feet from me. 
Before long it was over and the birds, bass and I went our separate ways, leaving Adam and I the only ones hungry. We hightailed it in to a boat-cooked meal of steak and broccoli before heading to the lights to catch some squid for mahi fishing. 
(Mahi fishing story coming soon!)

In a Rut

  After weeks of no bucks showing themselves, yesterday they lit up. Around 4, I saw one in a field and immediately knew where it was headed. The deer would make a trip around the property across the street and come out the other side, where I have permission. I got settled in my stand and within an hour and a half that deer came walking along, head to the ground, following a doe track. Drawing silently, I gave a quick blatt and he stopped broadside at a mere ten feet. I let the arrow fly and it hit it’s mark with a thud. The buck ran like the wind before falling 30 yards away, but not before blowing right through a metal gate into a pasture.  I guess I owe the farmer a few hours labor to repair the gate, but man was it worth it. What a hunt! I feel very fortunate to have been able to have harvested this animal and look forward to sharing this meat with family and friends.