Tag Archives: fall run

Too Much Of Everything

Before the fish is even at hand, thinking about the next one. Getting that one off and getting out there again before it all dies down.

The fish at hand might feel debased by it all, if it even had a cerebral cortex, but as such it’s probably OK just being not dead.

Sorry about that. As Snoop says it, “You gotta get yours but fool I gotta get mine.”

To steal some lines from another song, Too much of everything is just enough.

It’s On, Sort Of

The water outside the inlet looked glassy and the rain bait made audible splashes as they circled together and jumped to escape pursuit. Bluefish caused this. They appeared as bright flashes when they turned sideways and slashed through the tiny fish with their mouths open. Once in a while one would break the surface with its forked tail. Then everything would go down but fish oil slicked on the surface and the water glittered from the refraction off thousands of tiny free-floating scales. Evidence of dismemberment.



One bait ball remained tight and we idled over to it and I witnessed something I had never seen before. The rain bait pulsated and we made casts around the edges and waited for the thump. Something peeled away from the bait ball and followed my fly but it was not quite right. It swam lazily behind right up to the boat, and another followed and they were red and clumsy and did not eat. We moved closer and watched as two dozen of their  kind fanned their pectorals and jacked the bait. Sea robins.

Hey man, this is the ocean. Everything eats everything, and everything’s looking for a reason to go off.

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.

If You Knew It Was Your Last For A While

The fall didn’t end on such a hot note. The decent weather sandwiched between Noreasters left little windows of fishability. If you weren’t in a position to capitalize on those slots on the quick then, well, that was just too bad for you. Too bad for me for way too damn certain. [Exclamation point.]

I’m off to Florida next week and I’m not so sure what I’m going to find. Some bad shit went down, man. I haven’t heard much about my ditches on the inside, but butterfly peacocks die when the water temps fall below 60 degrees. Usually not a problem in South Florida but this year…The only way to know for sure is to keep casting.

Birds, Rip, Expectations

Nothing like coming up on it and having it all laid out in front of you. The representative Northeast scene on a November day, with bait popping and birds busting. Only minor detail is, no one told the game fish. So unless I get a call about the herring run, and the coinciding means to be spontaneous, it ends with a whimper.

There are some things on the horizon: The chance to try for my first chrome upstate around Christmas, the Bay Bridge and Tunnel prospect, the proposed¬† clown knife fish junket, and plans to push into the Florida back country. But it’s all nebulous at the moment.

Until something is set in concrete, it’s time to learn some new knots, get underway with the prescribed equipment maintenance, dress some j hooks on the vise, and break out the skis.