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. 

Turkeys and Electric Fences

(NOTE: Please excuse the bad photo quality. It was taken with a flip phone.)

The sound of a turkey gobbling isn’t easily forgotten. It’s a sound unlike any other that can get even the most seasoned hunter’s blood rushing. My first solo trip turkey hunting with a bow was about as exciting as it can get. Everything went as planned, until it didn’t. Keep reading to find out why I love turkey season and hate electric fences.

One May morning my alarm went off and I jumped out of bed the way I always do before a hunting or fishing trip. I walked out of my room dressed in camo from head to toe holding my bow. I had shot my first turkey with a bow the weekend before, and I knew I wanted to harvest another the same way. Deciding I wasn’t hungry, I headed out the door, immediately greeted by the wonderful spring air, the smell of daffodils, the sound of the bell-buoy down at the harbor entrance,  and the chirping of crickets. Junebugs whizzed by me, rushing towards the porch lights and bats glided over in the gray light of dawn. I had ten minutes before it was legal to shoot, so I began calling in my prey. The first call out of my bag that morning (and nearly every morning) was my owl call. Turkeys often respond to those calls and loud noises, which is called shock gobbling. No response, only wind moving through the tree branches. I began to walk down the old clay-dirt path that I know so well, pausing every now and then to do a loud yelp call. The turkeys either weren’t around, or weren’t in the mood to respond, so I continued on my way.

Around an hour later, I entered an open field half a mile away from where I began. I took the back path, crossed a leaf-stained stream on a narrow log, nearly missing the far bank. Silently I crept through the briars and brush to the semi-open edge of the field, carefully placing my feet as to not snap any twigs or branches. Looking up, I realized there were twelve turkeys standing thirty yards in front of me in the field, unaware of my presence. I tried to stay calm, but I felt “turkey fever” coming on strong. With a few small trees between the turkeys and I, there was no chance of me sneaking up on them, or making a shot. I chose to stay put and wait for them to move first.  I’d then sneak up to the edge, get behind some brush and call them back towards me.

It turned out that these turkeys would take their sweet time in moving, and after an hour and a half of sitting there, my patience wearing thin, they began to walk away. Another half hour later, they were 50 yards from me, and I decided it was time to move. I set up behind the largest oak tree in the area.  It was covered in grape vines and made for a perfect hiding spot. I pulled out my trusty Kryptonite Custom Call, a beautiful slate call made by Kip DeLisio (check his calls out, http://www.ebay.com/usr/coonanfox01?_trksid=p2047675.l2559)  and began to cluck, immediately getting four eager responses. The show had begun.

We kept up a call and response, and they gingerly worked their way back towards me. At last they were only ten yards away, but blocked by my tree so I couldn’t see them. I drew my bow. First, a hen stepped into view, then another, then six more. The only part missing was the gobbler. My arm was beginning to shake from holding my bow at full draw for so long when the gobbler stepped into view. Unfortunately it was only a small jake, but I decided to take the shot anyway. I slowly moved the pin to the vital area of the bird, feeling confident about my shot. After all, I had nothing between us but one strand of electric fencing at ten yards, how could I not be sure of this shot? I squeezed my release trigger slowly…. PING! The arrow hit the wire, and the turkeys flew off in every direction. I sat there in disbelief. I had made an accurate shot, only to be rejected by a tiny strand of wire. Gathering up my call and bow, I began the long walk home with a new idea in mind.

I jumped up onto my porch, set my bow down and ran inside to grab my Remington 1100 12 gauge and a couple shells and raced right back out the door. Breathing hard, I made it back to the field once again. I saw one big red head poking out of the grass, and we made eye contact before it disappeared. I got down on my belly and army crawled thirty yards to a fallen log where he had recently stood. Two deep breaths later, I popped up over the log to the sight of twelve turkeys sitting in the dust. I flicked off the safety, and squeezed the trigger. This time there was no wire to save the turkey, and a load of #4 shot took him off his feet. Another shell flew into the chamber, and I made a second shot at another now flying jake. POW! He tumbled to the ground with a thud.
I checked my watch, it read 11:59. In the final minute of the day (you are only allowed to turkey hunt until 12 PM in MA) I had bagged two turkeys. They certainly weren’t huge birds, but they would make a delicious dinner. Slinging them over my shoulder, I began the long walk home, but this time with birds in hand.

The Everglades: Volume 1

For some reason, getting up at four in the morning to go fishing is a hundred times easier than getting up at four to go to work or school. This Monday, Cast and Blast rep Zak and I found it incredibly easy. We made the two hour drive down to the Everglades to meet a family friend, Dick Vincent, who would be taking us fishing. I thought it would be challenging to stay awake during the drive down, but blasting music sure did a good job of keeping us up. By seven o’clock we arrived, more than ready to hit the water.  

The trip out of the tiny marina felt like it took ages, but when I checked my watch it had only been twenty minutes. Finally we were out of the no wake zone and we picked up speed. We reached our destination: a beautiful patch of tangled mangroves and oyster beds. First, we would be casting Gulp shrimp on green jig heads to the mangroves, hoping to catch trout, snapper, redfish, snook or even tarpon. However, for the first five minutes of fishing, the ladyfish (pictured below) wouldn’t even let the Gulp hit the bottom. 

  We threw in the trolling motor and continued up the mangroves. About ten jacks, five ladyfish and a couple snapper later we moved to another nearby spot that Dick knew would hold red fish. I pulled out my trusty eight weight Helios 2 fly rod paired with an Orvis Hydros reel, and we began to pole the flat looking for redfish. Mullet were all over the place, kicking up the mud, so we poled around the corner to find clearer water. The first redfish of the day (and my life) swam by at about twenty yards and I cast my crab pattern about ten feet in front of him. Strip, strip… The red fish spooked and darted to the deeper water. We would have to find another. Thirty seconds of poling later, I made a blind cast in front of us. As soon as it hit the water a huge over slot redfish slammed the fly and snapped my line on one of the oyster clumps that covered the bottom in about a half second. The disappointment hung heavy in the air.

I switched off with Zak for a while, who seemed to have bad luck that day. Immediately after we switched off again, I made a blind cast in front of us. Strip, strip… BOOM! The fish peeled line off of my reel, fleeing into the deeper water.  

 He kept making short runs, and every time he came near the boat it seemed he would get another wind and make another run. Finally he came near the boat, but kept his head down and swam under the boat, towards the sharp oysters closer to shore. My eight weight was in for a work out, doubling over almost completely as I pulled him out. Zak grabbed the leader and it was game over for the slot redfish.  

We fished the rest of the flat unsuccessfully before heading to a sea trout spot. We pulled up to the mangroves and began casting our Gulp once again. For sea trout, Dick’s favored color is brown with a chartreuse tail. It had been five minutes with nothing when Zak hooked a small snook which put on quite a show with jumps and head shakes. 

  A few minutes later, Zak skip casted under a mangrove and slowly worked the Gulp back towards us. WHAM! A fish slammed the lure and his head shakes began. A few quick cranks of the Shimano Sahara and a gorgeous sea trout, a beautiful 16 inch fish, was in the boat. We continued to slam fish (including another slot red) at that spot until we decided to pick up and try for tarpon.

We reached the flats, grabbed the ten weight and began poling. We covered the entire flat with no tarpon to be found, but I caught my first lane snapper (accidentally, and on a tarpon fly!) as well as my first sea trout.  

 Not much of a battle on a ten weight, but what beautiful fish! We tried a few more spots, caught a ton of fish including including a nice 14 inch trout and slammed the jacks and snapper before trying the last spot of the day. We pulled up to the mangroves, dropped the trolling motor in, and I took my first cast. As soon as the Gulp shrimp hit the water a huge swirl erupted. All of a sudden, my drag was screaming and a large snook rocketed out of the water. Zak, Dick and I all yelled at the same time, SNOOK ON!! My heart was pounding as the fish pulled with all its might towards the mangroves and oyster beds, which meant it’s freedom. Fortunately the Sahara’s smooth drag handled the fish well, and before he reached the mangroves I turned it’s head. Surprisingly, the fish kept on the surface, jumping constantly with head shakes worthy of a tarpon. Finally, Zak was able to reach out and grab the leader, and as soon as he did so, the hook (which had barely been in the snook’s lip) pulled. He lunged over the side of the boat, grabbing the now free swimming snook by the lip and pulled him in. It was by far the most amazing landing of a fish I have ever witnessed! I could not have been more thankful for his cat-like reflexes than I was at that moment!  

SUMMARY: I caught my first redfish (on fly!) , sea trout, lane snapper, and snook over 14 inches. Zak caught sea trout, snapper, snook, ladyfish and several other species. 

 

I would like to say thank you very much to Dick Vincent for taking us out for the best day of fishing I have had in six months! Zak and I could not be more grateful. 

Snook in the light

 

The ride out

A puffer fish I caught on fly

The two slot redfish of the day!

 

A tasty mangrove snapper on the filet board

The second slot redfish of the day

One of the redfish had a heart shaped spot!

A medium sized jack crevalle caught on fly

Tight lines,

Cast and Blast

Strong Fish and Weak Hooks

As any striped bass fisherman on the East Coast knows, the bass population is way down from what it should be. This story will be about patience, frustration, anger, and equipment malfunctions while striped bass fishing.

On the way down to Martha’s Vineyard I was as excited as I had ever been. Two months of fishing were ahead of me. How could I not be? School was out and it was time to catch some giants. That evening my mom and I launched our boat, a 13ft Boston Whaler and at 5 the next morning I was on the water, casting into fish busting bait on the surface. Throwing a Rebel popper with a beautiful walk the dog action I was hooking and catching fish every cast, bluefish of about 15 inches. Once I had caught 4 decent fish for dinner I decided it would be my last cast before I made my way to the rocks to try my luck casting a plug. About 7 “last casts” and five bluefish later I hooked into a fish that was obviously much bigger. I set the hook on him and he made one long run before snapping me off. It was surely a big bluefish that had cut me off because I hadn’t tied on a wire leader as I had hoped that there would be bass in with the school of bluefish. Stripers almost never hit anything with wire leader connected to it, so I had decided to take a chance. This was the beginning of my frustration.

I made my way over to the rocks and started casting with another Rebel popper I had tied on. The wind was slowly pushing me and I kept having to start up the boat and move away from the rocks so I decided to anchor and slowly make my way down the shore. After casting for about half an hour with no luck I was even more frustrated and decided to sit down to have some lunch.

Two sandwiches and a Pepsi later I took another cast and saw swirls behind my lure as a fish swung at it and missed. I kept reeling, hoping that the fish would come back to take another swing at the lure. He did, and I set the hook as hard as I could. ZZZZZ! The line ripped off the spool and the electrifying sound sang from the reel, a sound that makes every fisherman’s hair stand on end. I could tell this was a big fish just from the way he hit the popper, but the way he took off line confirmed that. Just as I was setting in for a long battle the line went slack and I fell over backwards as I had been putting my weight against the fish. I reeled in the popper and the hooks were straightened. Loosing a fish that big is bad enough to make a dedicated fisherman cry, as I estimate it was a 25+ pound striper.

I was getting tired of loosing big fish so I grabbed my conventional rod and went to my bottom fishing spot to try for flounder, sea bass and scup.  Short after short was coming up when I hooked one decent fish. I worked it all the way up from the murky depths and I could tell it was a flounder by the giant head shakes. As it got to the surface I saw it was a huge “doormat” flounder. I reached  for the gaff. As I was swinging it over the fish jumped, shook it’s head and the hook as well. I leaned over the rail, watching the giant flounder swim back down to the ocean floor. At that point, nearly heartbroken from all the big fish lost in one day, I drop my bait down again. BAM, an immediate hit and my drag begins to scream. I knew this was not a bottom fish and I started the engine to follow it in fear of being spooled. The engine didn’t start. I tried again. It was just not going to happen. In my last 50 yards of 25 pound mono I cranked down the drag and fought the fish. My line went slack and I fell over backwards again. After reeling in the line I discovered that the fish straightened yet another one of my hooks. I tied on another hook and dropped down quickly hoping that it was  a school of big fish. Another immediate hit and the fight started. I attempted to start the boat again and it turned over… and started up. I had no more than 20 yards of line left and could see bare parts of my spool through the monofilament. I gun it forward and hopped up from my seat, furiously cranking and trying to retrieve all of the lost line. As soon as I had got most of my line back I slowed it down. Realizing that I had tightened the drag on the previous fish I began to loosen it. While doing so I took another step, slipped on a bluefish, loosening the drag all the way down in the process. Within two seconds my line had spun over and I was left with what is known in the fishing community as an extreme rats nest. POP! The line breaks, and the fish gets away. This was my breaking point. Despite the beautiful weather I made the long run back to the harbor,  docked the boat and walked home. Despite all of the anger and frustration I learned many valuable lessons that day.

1- Take the time to swap out the weak hooks on lures with stronger ones that will hold a big fish.

2- Don’t leave fish on the deck where you will be walking, bring a cooler to put them in.

3- When the fishing is good, don’t quit. Even if you are loosing big fish over and over because you don’t have the proper gear, being on the ocean is better than sitting on the couch. I didn’t hook another bass as big as those for the rest of the summer.