Category Archives: Inshore

Bass, Menhaden, Everything


The striped bass of the Chesapeake, and therefore the Eastern Seaboard, got a dose of good news this week with a big spike in the Young of the Year numbers.

I spoke briefly with my friend John Page Williams of the Chesapeake Bay Foundation about it, and he said it has everything to do with ideal weather conditions during spawn and early life stage.

Of course, the best news for the striped bass in the long run could come out of the ASMFC meeting in Boston in two weeks. Williams and his friends in the CCA and other conservation groups have been working hard to ensure that the result comes down in favor of protecting the bass. “It looks to be a landmark vote,” said John Page.


Also of paramount importance is what happens to the menhaden. The ASMFC has to vote on whether to raise the population threshold from eight percent to 15 percent, as explained in this article from the Richmond Times Dispatch.

Midcurrent also lays it out in detail here, with a link on how to write your local ASMFC rep about it. (Here is the direct link to the state by state directory.)

Here’s a chart that shows why you need to write.

The steep decline


Karmic Payoffs Do Not Exist

The perfect fly fishing condition.

I emailed the forecast late last night to Nick Murray, who responded “Too late to back out now.” OK, then.

I’d already bailed on a Montauk trip this week, and got burned by it. Stripers still eat during Small Craft Advisories.

photo courtesy of Nick Murray


You go on days like today, you figure you are owed something. But the fish don’t know shit about Karma or paying dues or risk-reward. They’re either there or not. They were not.

But Mr. Murray caught a fluke.

photo coursesy of Nick Murray

On and Off the King’s Highway


The delivery captain loosened up and had some stories about things. New Age mystics had commissioned him for a night trip, once, and he lost power, and a strange green light rose up around the boat. Then one time a low-flying Cessna headed for the south island fell out of the sky and disappeared below the waves in a blink.

We all needed to unwind after the crossing; holding tight in 8 to 10s in the stream built a collective nervous tension. The tables at the restaurant sat under a trellis on an open-air patio, and the breeze kicked up from the front that had hindered our cruise, sending napkins into the air.

Tim tried the ring toss game and stuck it on the first swing and the next few hours disappeared trying to find the balance between rum and hand-eye coordination.

Bonefish T pulled his skiff into a vacant slip behind the hotel and we stepped down onto the bow and he ran east into the sunrise, stopping on a flat intersected by mangrove islands.

Nothing brings insecurities to fore like standing on the bow of a flats skiff, especially with a head made weak from dehydration. Bonefish T found a school and turned his skiff and called out instruction. I lay down a cast and missed and awaited castigation.

“Pick it up and lay it down again, to the left,” T said calmly, and I did.

The line tightened up and I held the rod high and watched the backing peel off the reel. After a while T pulled the sleek metallic fish out of the water and handed it to me for a snapshot.

The delivery captain had some friends on a sportfisherman that made the crossing and he went to meet them. Jill wanted food first so the rest of us found an outside eatery and filled up on beer and cracked conch.

The server asked what brought us here.

“Bring a barracuda back for me tomorrow,” she said laughing in response.

The flats around the south island did have drug planes; the upturned tires of a flipped one exposed in the shallow water. T poled me in front of a small group of large cruisers and one bit and took me far into my backing and as I reeled it in the fish charged straight for the boat. A large lemon shark fell in behind it, ripping a wake.

Loosen the drag loosen the drag, T kept saying and  I had no tension on my line but it still ended in a frothy explosion that carried the violence over a great distance.

The crew from the sportfisherman was at the Compleat Angler and they recognized us and we played Liar’s Poker for the rounds. Jill stuck her business card under the glass table surface with all the other cards and photographs (a permanent record that would disappear in the fire a year later).

We had a Chalk’s flight in the morning so Tim and Jill left early but I made one last stop at the hotel bar because you think about a trip for months and then you’re in the middle of it, and then you go to sleep and when you wake up, it’s in the past. And that feeling you get when the line comes tight starts to fade so you can barely remember it.

How To Release An Albie

spike jones on the box

–Book a charter for $600

–Or, fill your boat with $600 worth of fuel

–Or, mill about on shore with a boost from Trucker’s Friend to keep your wits in case they ever come close enough.

–Drive around aimlessly in aforementioned boat in areas they are supposed to be, looking for busts.

–Curse and throw stuff when the scoped birds are diving over bluefish. Claim that you hate their very existence even though you secretly want to stop and cast to them with a wired-on popper.

–Finally see missiles projecting out of the water and slashing through rainbait; trip in your haste to make ready at the bow, knocking your teeth into a bow cleat. Calculate cost of future dentistry.

–Load backcast, flub forward cast, watch every false albacore in vicinity disappear.

–Load backcast, make forward cast, watch every false albacore in vicinity disappear.

–Load backcast, hook boat driver in his ear.

–Make cast into busting albies, hook outgoing coil on the anchor pulpit. Lose $80 worth of fly line.

–Watch your friend catch albies on his turn with none of the previously mentioned problems.

–Sell your soul to the devil to hook a fish.

–Hook fish, lose the aft half to a shark. Reel in head.

–Sell your childrens’ souls for another shot.

–Hook fish, fight fish, enjoy the line cuts, land fish by grabbing its tail.

–Hold fish in the air, triumphantly spike it head first back into the water.


Yeah, you spiked it for the oxygen flow.

INTERVIEW: John Papciak, Montauk Wetsuiter

From Surfcaster's Journal

Even a boat guy like me realizes that if you fish in the Northeast, you’re doing yourself a disservice if you don’t read Surfcaster’s J0urnal.

John Papciak is the magazine’s fly guru, and a proponent of one of the most hardcore ways there is to fish for striped bass: Swimming out to the rocks. He gives a great account of it in the most recent issue called “Confessions of a Wetsuiter.”

Intrigued, I decided to email him a few questions, just because it’s so intense and maybe, well, borderline insane?

Here’s the interview:

Swimming out to the far rocks at night seems like an extreme way to fly fish. What made you decide to try it?

There is whole contingent in Montauk (surfcasters) who fish in wetsuits, at night. Let’s be clear, I am not the only one. Some prefer to fish in waist deep water, some push further out. I’ve been surfing and SCUBA diving since my teens, so the idea of swimming out to a rock never seemed like such a big deal. It just so happens I like to fish these locations with a fly rod (when conditions permit). You put the fly rod in your teeth, and off you go.

What are some of the real risks involved?

Much to say here-

I detailed a number of risks for an article I recently wrote for Surfcaster’s Journal. There’s been plenty of writing about wetsuiting “triumphs” in various magazines over the years, but few are willing to write about the risks.

Earlier this summer I got word of a well-known wetsuiter whose body was found on the beach at Cuttyhunk – it was a guy who was very close with a mutual friend. I can’t say that wetsuiting per se resulted in the fatality, but it got me thinking about my own experiences. This was partly the motivation for that article.

What are the risks? (1) I have to assume that boaters are not likely to see me, (2) I’d better have a firm grasp of how the tide is running, I don’t want to find myself swimming against current, and (3) I have to be very sure of my swimming abilities.

Physical and mental conditioning is critical.

As I get older, I really really try to keep in shape, case in point I competed in a two-mile Ocean Swim Race in Montauk earlier this year. Aside from general health benefits, this training makes the thought of swimming a couple hundred yards to a rock seem like a nice way to relax. And so then it is!

So are you swimming out there in fins and swapping out with Korkers?

There is some specialization in terms of technique and gear, all based on trial and error. Over the years, guys have worked up all types of gadgets. I’ve tried Korker studs that were embedded into fins; I’ve seen fins that were modified to be more easily removed once you got to a rock. I’ve seen guys try to use rock-climbing gear. The things I’ve seen, wow quite comical! My own experience is that it is too cumbersome to try to swap out of fins once you are out there. Once you are near the rock, you have to get upright as quickly as possible before being washed around by the waves. For this reason I just swim with my Korkers on.

Equipment is as follows:

I wear a diving or surfing wetsuit usually 5 or 6 mil, I have my Korkers that are double tied to my feet and ankles, I wear a belt with pliers attached with phone chord, I have a stripping basket made from an old shopping basket so the water flushes quickly. I always have two dive lights with fresh batteries. The flies are in a wallet, along with some leaders, maybe an extra shooting head; the wallet is shoved in the wetsuit. Everything needs to stay in place while I swim. With my rod is in my mouth, my arms and legs are free.

Obviously, you wouldn’t do it if there weren’t potential for incredible payout?

Yes, you are into productive water, and I would argue the chances of hooking a quality bass are seldom better. On any night, a fish of 20 lbs or more on fly is a very realistic goal. I’ve had some very big bluefish and weakfish on fly, and even some nice false albacore when fishing into daylight.

Do you ever go skishing with a fly rod?

Yes, but I don’t see this as something that works particularly well. Very hard to get off a good haul, if you can picture it. Also a bit hard to land a fish. Due to the angle of the fly rod during the last stages of the fight. Yes, I’ve done it, but it’s awkward. Standing over the water on a rock is much better.

I’m a boat guy. Many shore guys I know prefer the challenges and risks associated with fishing on foot. Are you in that camp? Why?

For me, surfcasting is a connection with the ocean, in the most pure and simple fashion, without the engine noise and smell, and without the excess baggage of electronics and other boating paraphernalia. This gear and mobility handicap is supplanted with the accumulated knowledge of structure, wind, tide and migration. Fly-fishing just takes it a step further, where a decorated hook is the only lure. The attraction for me is in the simplicity of it all.

So how does fly fishing in the surf zone differ from surfcasting? Ironically, it is usually the case that these flies, when tied even remotely correctly, are a better imitation of bait species than most popular surfcasting plugs. So this all makes sense, fly fishing from shore, or swimming to get to a better rock.

I do own a boat – but if you can believe it – I generally use it to get to locations and then jump out to wade the back bays.

Can you tell me a little about the Bring Back Big Bass movement and your role in it?

Lots to say here as well – In 2001 I was trying to organize saltwater anglers via an educational/awareness campaign leading up to Amendment 6 of the Striped Bass Management Plan. By 2001, Striped Bass regulations were being relaxed up and down the coast, and Amendment Six was an opportunity to put more meaningful goals in place to make sure the striped bass population would continue to thrive. At the time, there were certainly more fish around than in the 1980s, but not so many large fish. Plenty of congratulatory PR was being circulated, and various interests were practically licking their chops to see regulations further relaxed.

“The Job’s Not Done Until We Bring Back the Big Bass” became the campaign slogan. We instructed anglers up and down the coast to attend the public hearings. We even took out full-page ads in certain fishing magazines. (I still see the bumper stickers from time to time, on trucks or in various tackle stores)

The campaign worked! – Well, sort of.

Anglers did show up for the hearings in good numbers! Everyone got the message, and an overwhelming majority went on record in those hearings and requested striped bass mortality targets be lowered – meaning fewer fish should be killed.

But if it were only that easy-

Some Striped Bass Commissioners (representing various states as part of the ASMFC body that manages the striped bass plan) ultimately dismissed this public opinion, and casted their swing votes for higher mortality targets anyway as Amendment Six was finalized.

This was a learning experience. I failed to realize just how brazen some Commissioners would be. There was (and still is) zero accountability. To the best of my knowledge, Commissioners are not required to explain why they voted against public opinion, as expressed at hearings etc. This is politics!

Clearly, there were influential bodies working behind the scenes here. And ever since, that pro-kill voice has more or less prevailed.

The striped bass population is now clearly on the decline again. The only hope is we can somehow get tighter regs in place before it gets much worse.

To read Papciak’s article, “Confessions of a Wetsuiter” in Surfcaster’s Journal, go here: