The Scene

The greatest migrations on Earth do not occur on African savannas, Old World steppes, or North American flyways, but along the neck of the eastern funnel where Long Island juts into the North Atlantic. Here tide and wind clash over inshore and offshore bars, and sea creatures—most unseen save by anglers—stage, feed, and stream south and north.

In autumn, gannets fold their wings and pierce the waves as if shot by medieval archers. Peregrine falcons trade between south-side cliffs and north-side beaches. Ospreys and eagles hover and dive. Sea ducks swirl around the horizon like coal smoke.

Whales, dolphins, and seals graze on mile-long shoals of menhaden. Sea turtles—leatherbacks, loggerheads, and Kemp’s ridleys—cleave quieter water. Mola mola flop and wag.

Farther out, sharks, tunas, mahi, marlins, longfin albacore, king mackerel, and wahoo crash through schools of halfbeaks and frigate mackerel.

Starting in Indian summer, my friends and I are on hand to watch and participate. Bobbing in little boats, we jockey around rust-colored clouds of bay anchovies harried from above by screaming gulls and terns, harried from below by ravenous predator fish that send the inch-long bait spraying into the air like welding sparks.

The striped bass move slower and are packed tighter than the bluefish or false albacore. These “bass boils” can cover acres. They sound like washing machines, and they happen nowhere else.

My boat, a 21-foot green Contender, is named Assignment, so when my creditors and editors demand to speak to me, my wife can tell them, “He’s on Assignment.”

There’s only one occupation at which you can make less money than as a freelance nature writer, and that’s as a light-tackle fishing guide. It’s a calling I aspire to. The guiding I do now isn’t real. It’s philanthropy—pro-bono service for friends staffing and funding the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership, Trout Unlimited, and American Rivers.

The Fish

These days, virtually all the topwater bass are shorts, so I target only false albacore (aka albies), especially the big, raging pods. All that competition increases hookup chances exponentially.

Albies are mini tunas. They attain immense speeds via hard, sickle tails equipped with horizontal stabilizers, fins that fold into grooves and a ramjet-like oxygenating system whereby water is pushed, rather than pumped, through massive, blood-rich gills. The average 7-pounder will rip off 30 yards of backing before you can palm your reel.

Stripers and bluefish roll and splash. Albies erupt, flashing silver flanks. When they get excited they light up like billfish. Twice this past September I found them 100 feet off the Montauk Light, crisscrossing wildly around and under the Assignment, backs glowing neon green in the high sun. They were so beautiful I almost forgot to cast.

Fortunately, albies are the worst-eating fish in the sea. A commercial market does exist, however — in New York City’s Chinatown, where they’re sold as green bonito (among the best-eating fish in the sea). My friend Captain David Blinken, one of Long Island’s most popular and experienced light-tackle guides (northflats.com), was recently ejected from a Chinatown fish market for telling the owner a fact he didn’t want to know: that albies aren’t bonitos.

I can’t think that anyone eats albies. Forty years ago I broiled one, and it literally stank me out of the kitchen. My theory is this: Chinatown residents buy an albie because it’s beautiful. They take one bite, trash it, and never buy another. It’s just that there are so many Chinatown residents they maintain the market.

The threat to albies isn’t human consumption but a possible reduction fishery, perhaps for animal feed and similar to that which depleted menhaden. The false albacore’s tight schooling behavior and predictable migration routes make it vulnerable to industrial-scale purse-seining. Yet the National Marine Fisheries Service declines to regulate the species because it’s abundant. Such is the traditional mindset of fish managers: Don’t manage a stock until it’s depleted. And then manage it not for abundance but maximum sustainable yield: i.e., dead-on-the-dock poundage.

We don’t like to think of albies as baitfish, but that’s what they are. Blinken offers this: “False Albacore need to be protected now; we can’t afford to wait until it’s too late. They sustain marine ecosystems. Larger predators can’t make it just on forage like sand eels, anchovies, herring, and spearing. They need more protein. And albies give us guides a shot at diversity. Since the demise of the striped bass fishery we rely on them.”

From what I saw at Montauk in the fall of 2019, I wouldn’t say a striper demise has happened, but it sure seems to be on the way. It was nice to once again encounter massive bass boils extending from Shagwong Reef around the point and several miles along the south side. But not one bass I saw caught was over the 28-inch limit. Most get picked off as soon as they hit 28.

In 1984, after the states ran stripers into commercial extinction, Congress passed the Atlantic Striped Bass Conservation Act, a law requiring a moratorium on striper fishing in any East Coast state that refused to comply with a management plan hatched by the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission (ASMFC).

Recreational anglers, then and now responsible for the vast majority of striped bass mortality, were limited to one fish daily at 36 inches. Stripers surged back.

But rather than managing for abundance, the ASMFC responded by expanding the recreational limit to two fish at 28 inches. The stock steadily dwindled, and it kept dwindling even after the ASMFC cut the limit to one fish at 28 inches. Finally, the ASMFC admitted what anglers knew: that stripers are “overfished.”

On October 30, 2019, the ASMFC had a chance to reverse the decline. Instead, it imposed a one-fish recreational slot limit for the ocean of between 28 and 34 inches.

“That decision dooms the 2015 and 2016 year classes,” remarks Blinken. “Why can’t we remember past lessons? Stripers are such special fish. You can find them in the rips or on the flats, 20 miles offshore or 20 miles up rivers. They fuel whole economies, providing income for hotels, restaurants, marinas and tackle shops. Now there are gillnetters all along the south side of Long Island. They’re blocking striper migration, creating boating hazards, killing turtles, birds, and marine mammals. And the six-pack guys [running large charters for recreational trollers] kill even more big breeders than the gillnetters. To destroy this resource to make a few people happy is so wrong.” 

The Fishing

Albies can be as picky as brown trout, especially in fading light. When they get lockjaw, try a white Gartside Gurgler with lots of flash in the tail or a Crease Fly.

Blinken’s standby fly (which he originally invented for bonito) is the Jellyfish.  “When I first started fishing albies I used only epoxy flies,” he says. “They’d bang off the hull or engine and shatter. So I started experimenting with a fly that was durable and could imitate lots of bait–squid, spearing, peanut bunker, anchovies. I’ve always tied my flies with feathers splayed. When I started doing Hi Ties I didn’t get enough movement, so I took some slender feathers and tied them into the back tarpon-style. Then I tied in uniform collars of synthetic material. When the fly sat it the water with the tendrils hanging down it looked like a jellyfish.”

Another popular Montauk fly is the Albie Whore, invented by our friend and Blinken’s regular client, Richard Reagan. It’s a bit like a Deceiver but tied with tail feathers splayed and side feathers anchored with hot glue. Google “Albie Whore” and you’ll get dozens of videos of guys tying it. Everyone save Reagan is tying it wrong (flylifemagazine.com/at-the-vise-albie-whore).

For albies, Blinken and I use only 10-weight fly rods. In deeper water, where most albies feed, a 10-weight has lifting power that 8-weights and 9-weights lack. “You want to beat that fish as quickly as possible so lactic acid doesn’t build up,” Blinken says. “Of course you can land an albie with an 8-weight, but you might kill it.”

Use an Albright knot to join leader to fly line. If a fly line comes with a loop, an Albright is all the easier to tie. A loop-to-loop connection creates a hinge effect that impedes your leader from turning over.

The angling mistake I see most is “trout striking”—i.e., lifting the fly rod instead of strip striking. Trout strikes guarantee missing at least half of your fish.

The next most common mistake I see is making too many false casts. For albies, Blinken and I use floating lines. They allow us to water haul and, with a single back cast, deliver the fly. “Albie fishing is very aggressive, very fast-paced,” says Blinken. “When the pod moves 20 feet to your left or right, you need to pick up and present it again quickly. If you’re using an intermediate or sinking line, you’re not going to get to those fish.”

When you’re throwing into big bait balls, matching the hatch is bad strategy. Why should a fish eat your fly when there are several hundred thousand baitfish that look just like it? Usually your flies should be two or three times bigger than the bait.

Guides make mistakes, too. Churlishness and too much advice are major turnoffs. And this from Blinken: “I think the biggest mistake a guide can make is having his client show up when it’s unfishable. We all want to make money, but if it’s blowing 25, you don’t tell your client to show up anyway, especially if it takes him four hours to get there. And guides need to be flexible. I keep my skiff available all fall, so if Montauk’s too rough, I can fish west.”

Once, when I was in Blinken’s boat, we watched a guide chase stripers in past the wave break. It’s a dangerous practice, but sometimes they can’t resist. “He’s gonna turtle,” yelled Blinken. When he did, we went in stern-first and fished out the client who had lost his rod, fly box, and car keys. Someone else fished out the guide, who didn’t get a tip that day. The boat rolled around under the cliffs all fall.

Best Conversation on the Water

I trailer the Assignment to Niantic, Connecticut, and cross to Long Island. After I tie up to the dock, I don’t like to hold up the scup guys. Scup are as prolific as they are delicious. The fishery has a huge African American following.

One early morning, after I’d parked my truck, I ran back to the ramp because nine scup anglers were preparing to launch a boat scarcely bigger than mine. They were headed a mile offshore, each with an excellent chance of filling his 30-fish limit.

One gentleman declared: “Take your time. You ain’t a young man no more.” Then he pointed to my one-piece Loomis rods and inquired what I was planning to do with the “long fish poles.” I explained that I was headed to Montauk to chase false albacore. Slapping his forehead, he intoned, “Twenty-five miles for fish you can’t eat?”  (…continued)

SUBSCRIBE TO READ THE  FULL ARTICLE

The post Ted Williams Is On Assignment at the Eastern Funnel first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Ted Williams Is On Assignment at the Eastern Funnel appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

I started guiding fly anglers out of Montauk, New York, in the fall of 1999. I was blessed to have witnessed and photographed Montauk’s fabled striped bass blitzes from then through 2012. Some years were epic, with acres of stripers as far as you could see, engulfing millions of Bay anchovies. Author Peter Kaminsky best memorialized this in his 2001 classic, The Moon Pulled Up An Acre Of Bass. I was lucky enough to guide anglers as well as capture the images that many of us associate with the fall run at Montauk.

So what happened…? There are some differing opinions out there, but most of us in the fly fishing world who’ve been chasing stripers for decades point to climate change, overkill of the breeding stock by recreational anglers, and water-quality issues as the main culprits.

False Albacore (aka little tunny, Fat Albert, and just plain old albie) have been showing up at Montauk since before I arrived at the end of the ‘90s. They can arrive as early as mid-August or as late as mid-September. They’re usually gone by the first week in November, heading for God knows where to overwinter. Fly anglers have been targeting them out here at “The End” (as locals call Montauk), for the past 25 to 30 years. Some have been obsessed with them for decades, keeping meticulous records of their annual catch. Others simply enjoy them as a bonus to their striper fishing, along with big numbers of bluefish.

As we head into the fall run for 2019, the albie has become the main event. We’ve been fortunate at Montauk that our albie fishing has remained very strong and consistent over the years as our striper fishing is suffering and in decline. It’s not unusual for good fly anglers to have had 20-plus-fish days on albies the past few autumns. If I have anglers who want only to target striped bass, I suggest to them that they book in the latter part of the season. We’ve been seeing smaller blitzes of school-size stripers (26 inches and below) primarily toward mid- to late October and early November.

When gearing up for the albie season in Montauk, I like 10-weight rods with both intermediate and floating lines. I know some excellent albie anglers who use 9-weights, but I find the 10 a better overall choice from fighting line-blistering fish to casting in the wind, which is always part of a Montauk fall. A quality large- arbor reel is a must, loaded with 150 to 200 yards of 20- or 30-pound backing. I must admit I’ve gotten a few laughs over the years as I’ve seen cheap fly reels destroyed after a day of albie fishing. Anglers be warned!

Montauk albies average 6 to 8 pounds. A 10-pounder is considered a trophy fish here. A few 12- and 13-pound fish have been landed over the years, but don’t count on it. Also, don’t believe the hype of 100-yard runs on fish of this size. Novice fly anglers tend to exaggerate runs and weights due to inexperience. Set your drags for a good 50- to 60-yard first run after you hook one of these speedsters. Each successive run will be shorter, and when you get them close to the boat, they’ll dive to escape. That’s when the butt section of your 10-weight comes in handy.

One-and-a-half to 2-inch Bay Anchovies are Fat Albert’s main bait this time of year, but they’ll also eat squid, silversides, mullet, and peanut bunker. Fly patterns used by albie hunters lean heavily toward anchovy patterns. Size-6 to 1/0 hooks are used, with sizes 4 to 6 most common. Colors vary, but you can never go wrong with all white, chartreuse, or tan. I’m a big fan of epoxy flies. Done correctly, as by a master tier like Glen Mikkleson, who uses three coats of epoxy on each, they will last through many albacore. My best albie client, who is obsessed and fishes the East Coast from New York to Florida, uses a Tutti Frutti Deceiver almost exclusively. Go figure. My favorite way to fish for albacore is with a floating line and a Crease Fly, designed by local angler and guide Joe Blados. Throw to a boil, strip long and fast, see an explosion as a fast-moving albie smashes it, strip strike, and hold on!

Newbies will face a learning curve when casting to albie boils. When albies first arrive, they’re often in small groups, no more than a few fish. Because they’re moving so fast, they often zip past the presented fly or do not see it mixed in with the naturals. Albies are very tough to hook when they’re in small schools. As the season progresses and the schools get larger, hookups become the norm to a well-thrown fly. I tell my anglers speed and accuracy of delivery are usually more important than the distance of a cast. Getting tight to your fly quickly is essential to success. Slack is deadly. If you can lightly maintain contact to your line with your line hand as you present the fly and begin to strip as soon as the fly hits the water, you’ll increase your chances of a hookup dramatically.

Albie fishing at Montauk is done almost exclusively by boat. Albies here simply do not get close enough to shore for the fly angler to be successful. Correct positioning of your boat on a pod of busting albies is critical for both getting a tight line and not angering other boaters! Determine what direction the fish are moving (birds are a great tipoff, as they’re always moving in the same direction as the fish). Approaching from the side, try to get as close to the head of the school as you can. Never go in front of the school or you will put them down, as well as incur the wrath of your fellow anglers. Either cast your fly into the head of the school or over it and drag you fly through the pod. A medium retrieve should be all you need to get tight.

Don’t plan on taking an albie home to cook. They’re basically inedible, although a few well-known chefs out here on the east end have reputedly made some good sushi out of a certain part of them.

By Jim Levison (jimlevisonphoto.com)

As a conservation note, Long Island guide and lifelong conservationist Captain John McMurray has created a new organization, American Saltwater Guides Association, that is open to all. Its goal is to promote sustainable business through marine conservation. One of its most urgent missions is to do everything possible to bring back our striper fishery.
For more information, visit: saltwaterguidesassociation.com

SUBSCRIBE TO TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE

Miracles of the Fall – Striped Bass, False Albacore & Bonita

The post A NEW NORM FOR MONTAUK’S LEGENDARY RUN first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post A NEW NORM FOR MONTAUK’S LEGENDARY RUN appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

In many ways, false albacore are the perfect target species on a fly rod.  They provide amazing topwater exhibitions, with birds screeching, bait spraying and greenbacks slashing through the helpless prey.  Albies are in the tuna family and are true speed demons.  Once hooked, they typically take an initial run that peels hundreds of feet of backing from your reel in a matter of seconds.  They are found in many places up and down the east coast and can be caught from shore, kayaks and small center consoles.  I have a friend that has caught over 40 of them this past fall from the beach in my hometown.  They truly provide light tackle inshore fishing at its best.  

I have been lucky to catch albies at Cape Cod, Montauk, Cape Lookout and West Palm Beach.  Since the prime time in each locale is different, it allows me to significantly extend my season.  Down in West Palm, the sweet spot is the last two weeks of June into the first few weeks of July.  Here on Cape Cod, September is when the most action occurs.  Montauk also has great albie fishing in September, but I have always gone around Columbus Day weekend to get my October fix.  In North Carolina, November is the best time to be there for big albies, referred to locally as “toads.”  The fish at Cape Cod and Montauk average five to eight pounds, with double-digit sized fish possible, but not very common. However, in North Carolina and West Palm, you can expect to catch 12-20 pound false albacore on a regular basis.

I first heard about the West Palm fishery when I read Tom Gilmore’s book, False Albacore: A Comprehensive Guide to Fly Fishing’s Hottest Fish.  Several years later I attended a presentation by Tom at our fly club and he discussed a recent trip with his 11-year-old nephew.  He described how this young angler caught an albie on his first cast and went on to have the trip of a lifetime.  At that time, I had a fly crazed nephew of similar age, and I decided that would be the perfect trip for the two of us.  We enjoyed two days of screaming reels and fat alberts over 15 pounds.  Thankfully, my nephew is still fly crazed, and we reunited down in West Palm this past summer with his older brother for another epic trip chasing monster fish.There really is a completely different approach in Florida, with most false albacore raised by live-chumming pilchards.  The advantage there is hungry fish busting boat-side and 15-20 pound speedsters in great supply.  I have been back there several times and also enjoyed other opportunities for shots at tarpon, tuna, mahi and barracuda.  One day I landed more than 20 small blackfin tuna on the fly and have also caught Spanish and king mackerel, snook, jacks and rainbow runners.  There is also a pretty famous spinner shark fishery in the February/March timeframe, which I hope to enjoy some day.  I have caught my share of sharks over the years, with little enjoyment.  However, with full aerial jumps including four to seven rotations to earn their namesake, fishing for spinners seems like an entertaining experience, especially on the fly.

Cape Cod is the place I call home, and I am fortunate to drive by our south-facing beaches on the way to work each day.  By late August and early September, I am happy to see the arrival of the albies.  Early season spots are from Waquoit Bay to Craigville Beach, and then schools settle all over the south side from the Elizabeth Islands to Monomoy Point.  South of the Cape, there is some good fishing at Great Point on Nantucket over to the waters surrounding Martha’s Vineyard.  Historically, September is the established month for the best fishing, but in 2017 we had a solid population of albies through most of October due to great weather and an abundance of bait.

Montauk, also known as “the end,” is located at the easternmost tip of Long Island, New York.  The locals claim it is the surf casting capital of the world, and many describe it as “a little drinking town with a BIG fishing problem.”  There is no question it is a very fishy place.  Montauk is also famous for the legendary bass blitzes, with acres of striped bass sipping rain bait on the surface.   

Each morning, a parade of boats exits the harbor and makes the five mile run down to the point.  There is a large rip that forms directly off Montauk Light in the direction of Block Island and there is an incredible amount of life, with birds everywhere.  Surfcasters also line the shore, and it is an interesting dynamic when schools of breaking fish move in towards the beach.  There is an unwritten rule that boat guys should not follow these schools in towards the beach to give the shore crowd a well-deserved shot.  There are always a few boats that can’t resist the allure of crashing fish, only to find four-ounce bucktails whizzing at their heads from angry surf guys.  I have traveled to Montauk every year since 2010, and this past October we had happy false albacore slashing on the surface for most of the day.  I consider Montauk my experimental grounds, because when the point is going off, there are plenty of hungry fish to catch and I can try out all my latest fly creations.

Cape Lookout is located at the southern part of the Outer Banks.  The distinct lighthouse with a black diamond pattern was originally built to mark the treacherous shoals surrounding the area.  To this day, there are wild horses roaming the beaches on nearby Shackleford Bank.  Harkers Island is a well know base camp for albie addicts, but the reality is that breaking fish can be all the way down west to the Bogue Inlet and many anglers launch from a great six ramp facility in Morehead City, inside the Beaufort Inlet.  Most anglers are there to target breaking fish, and when the hook goes off, with albies busting as far as the eye can see, it is truly a spectacular sight.  When the surface feed slows down, there is a great plan B.  Shrimp trawlers work the area and attract albies as their bycatch is discarded off the boats.  Many large fish can be caught on sinking lines cast behind the trawlers.  In 2016, we had a group of anglers that traveled down to NC from Cape Cod and they caught many fish per day utilizing this method, with most fish in the 17-22 pound range. Some venture through the shoals to the east where some monster toads up to 25 pounds have been caught.  Local guide Sarah Gardner is also well-known for her ability to land big redfish in this area.

The Outer Banks is also known as the graveyard for 10-weights.  Many visiting anglers show up with the wrong knife for the fight.  Personally, I prefer an 11-weight when albies 15+ pounds are in the hood.  You certainly can land these fish on 9 or 10-weights, but you simply don’t have the lifting power after the long runs.  A swift battle is better for the fish and more likely to avoid opportunistic sharks looking for a quick snack.  

There are a couple of events worth attending if you happen to be in NC at the right time.  The locals sure do embrace the arrival of late fall hardtails.  The Cape Lookout Albacore and Redfish Festival is held around the third week of October, a three-day event that includes a light tackle tournament.  In early November, the True Secret Order of False Albacorian Monks hosts a great banquet and BBQ on Harkers Island.  Sometimes it’s better to not ask a lot of questions and just enjoy some good food and drink with your fellow albacorians! 

There is no question that fly anglers have a big advantage targeting false albacore.  These fish have small mouths and often feed on tiny bait, such as bay anchovies, silversides and peanut bunker.  In most cases it is pretty easy to match the hatch with a fly.  In addition to common lookalike baitfish patterns, a classic fly for fat alberts is the “tutti frutti,” which is a simple pink over chartreuse combo.  There are many versions of this, with the most common one tied in a Clouser style.  My favorite is a simple deceiver with lateral line flash down the side.  Captain Warren Marshall, a guide lucky to fish his sports in the waters of Cape Cod, Cape Lookout and the Florida Keys, developed the best bay anchovy pattern I have ever seen, a great fly when small bait is on the menu.  The fly features a silver belly and lifelike tail made from a hackle cut in the shape of a delta.  Captain Scott Hamilton, a long time fly-only guide in West Palm, created the “eat me” fly, which is a great pilchard imitation.  Scott also concocted a sensational foam baitfish replica which triggers some incredible topwater explosions.  I have experimented with many patterns over the years and strongly agree that the wrong fly with a good presentation is much better than the right fly poorly presented. You have to get the fly moving quickly.

Several years ago, someone suggested I try crease flies on albies, and it turned out to be a game changer for me.  It is like a new sport and provides pure entertainment to see greenbacks slashing in at 30+ mph and inhaling a surface offering.  The past two years, I have also had success with smaller crease flies, about half the size of a normal crease fly, which are great for smaller and picky albies.  Tan over white makes for a killer anchovy imitation, and I have also had some real success with a small tutti frutti crease pattern.

Captain Dave Peros, a salty light tackle guide on Cape Cod, helped me catch my first albie on the fly back in 2010.  He pointed out that the huge advantage with a fly rod is that during your retrieve, you can pick up 30’ of fly line and place it somewhere else on breaking fish.  Anglers with spin rods need to retrieve the lure all the way back to the boat and then send out a new cast.  It is very common to cast out to fish, start a retrieve and then spot a better school ten feet to the right or twenty feet to the left of your fly.  You don’t need any false casts in this situation.  Simply make one backcast, place your fly right in the middle of the commotion and get ready to come tight. 

There are times that albies can be picky. This past fall, I found tight-lipped fish one morning at Montauk and tried about five different flies and presentations.  Then I added an 11-pound tippet (down from 20) with my favorite tutti frutti fly and quickly went tight to a fish.  Of course, the million dollar question is whether my changes made a difference or the feed just happened to turn on.  I guess I will never know, but when the fish are not eating a properly presented fly, I believe you should always change something.  Try a crease fly on a floating line, go to a smaller tippet, try a slower retrieve.  Make alterations and eventually you will find the right ingredients to make your reel sing.

There are other important aspects to catching albies.  Presentation is everything: it makes a big difference to have your fly line unroll at the end of your cast and be ready to get that fly moving as soon as it hits the water, rather than a clump of line landing on a school of fish with lots of slack.  Since you are targeting a fish that can swim 30-40 mph, try to determine their general direction and lead them by quite a bit.  Due to their speed, if you try casting at the fish, rather than leading them, you will often see your fly land behind the fish, and they will never see it.  A pod of fish can be at 10 o’clock off the bow of the boat and then pop up behind the boat seconds later.  Be ready to drop a back cast or re-direct a forward cast at a moment’s notice.  Your ability to quickly place a fly at many different possible locations surrounding the boat, often with wind as a serious factor, will greatly increase your chances of catching.

In many parts of the world, anglers must travel significant miles offshore on large boats to find this type of fishing experience.  On the east coast of the US, there are chances to catch amazing pelagics from shore and areas close to shore, which is one of the reasons fishing for allies is such an amazing and accessible experience for fly anglers.   

BACK TO BLOG

SUBSCRIBE TO TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE

The post Chasing Albies Down the Coast first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Chasing Albies Down the Coast appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

I have fished my whole life, and have tried all types of fishing. Fly fishing from the beach is my favorite. I grew up on Long Island, N. Y. where I first started fishing in the saltwater. I like fishing the Northeast Coast for Striped Bass, Bluefish and False Albacore. Night fishing for Striped Bass is wild and one of my favorite types of fly fishing. My first choice would be on a deserted Baja beach hunting for Roosterfish: they are the ultimate gamefish species to hook from the beach on a fly. We moved to Vermont in 1980. Long winters gave me much time at the vise. In 1980 I started a small fly tying business “Counterfeiters In Feathers.” I supplied fly fisherman with Atlantic Salmon, Steelhead and saltwater flies that were headed for Russia, Canada, the Caribbean and beyond. I fish the lakes and ponds of Vermont for Trout and Land-lock Salmon, I originated several flies for this type of fishing, landlocked Salmon Streamers. The Counterfeiter and Quaniche Sunset were tied to fish Magog and Lake Champlain. During the summer we fish for Smallmouth Bass and Northern Pike. I’ve tied all styles of flies and at one time held many fly tying classes for Atlantic Salmon and steelhead flies. I am an Umpqua Fly Designer and on the pro staff at Deer Creek and Temple Fork Outfitters. I designed a Classic return eyed Atlantic Salmon and Steelhead hook with Angler Sport Group and Daiichi, it’s called Bob Veverka’s “Classic Salmon Hook.” My Umpqua Feather Merchants contracted fly, Veverka’s Mantis Shrimp is one of the top flies for Bone Fishing in the Bahamas. I’ve tied flies at many fishing shows all over the United States. My flies have been featured in several books including these and several others: Steelhead and Blue Water fly fishing by Trey Combs.

Tying Classic The Classic Salmon Fly by Mike Radencich The Atlantic Salmon Fly by Judith Dunham Fishing Atlantic Salmon by Pam and Joe Bates Bonefish Fly.
Patterns by Dick Brown. I also published two books of my own, Innovative Saltwater flies and Spey flies, published by Stackpole Books. I have written several articles for magazines, Fly tyer, Fly Fishing The West, Wild Steelhead and Fish and Fly. Recently I have done a few articles on the web, Blue Water Days / Tequila Nights on the fly Fishing Forum and Roosterfish Capital Of The World on Reel-time.com. Both relate to the fishing to be had in Baja Mexico. One describes the offshore and inshore fishing and the other Beach fishing for Roosterfish on the East Cape of Baja.I did an article for my Mantis Shrimp on Denecki’s web-site. My “Fishing The Beach” page can be reached at www.facebook.com/fishingthebeach I am retired from my real job, 35 years with the United states Postal Service. Now I tie flies, fish and try to stay out of trouble and most important, Have Fun. You probably figured it out, but this is the condensed resume of Bob Veverka. Fisherman, innovator, and gentleman. Bob was kind enough to do an interview with Tail Fly Fishing Magazine earlier in the winter months of 2013. He will likely be in Cabo chasing roosters in July, prime time for beach fishing in Mexico.

Before a trip to the Bahamas for bonefish I looked at my fly box and needed something different, my own design. I felt Shrimp is a Bonefish’s favorite food. I tied it in natural colors to fit in a Bonefish’s environment, tan. The design pattern of the legs is what gives this fly an edge over others. They look natural and move separately from each other. It’s a fly a fly fisherman looks at and sees it looks like a shrimp and so I feel they fish this pattern with confidence. Other flies I carry for bonefish include the Gotcha and the Simran, the Simran is a great fly and I use it and the Mantis Shrimp as my two go-to flies. I feel with these two patterns you can catch bonefish anywhere.

BACK TO BLOG

SUBSCRIBE TO TAIL

MORE BLOGS LIKE THIS:

TEN FLIES YOU SHOULD NEVER BE WITHOUT

CRAFT STORE CRAB FOR BONEFISH/

TARPON – A BIG PINE EXPERIENCE/

ADDICTION – BONEFISH ON THE FLY

The post Master Fly Tyer Bob Veverka first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Master Fly Tyer Bob Veverka appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

By Bob Rifchin

After nights on the beach visiting with nocturnal striped bass, it’s time to take advantage of the first late season opportunities in August with the arrival of “Funny Fish”– – bonito and false albacore. My kayak has spent the darkest hours perched on the back of my truck awaiting its trip to a new beach. Armed with my favorite 8 weight, I paddle into the waning darkness to the spot where I expect to find the fish at false dawn.

Those who chase the speedsters of late summer are usually up well before first light to find “Bones” and “Fat Alberts” slashing through hapless schools of baitfish (bay
anchovies, peanut bunker, and silversides). On Cape Cod, this happens along the south-side beaches from Falmouth to Centerville where anglers are perched on jetties or head to sea in kayaks and small boats. Any opportunity to cast to these fish is brief as they reveal their location for only a few seconds before disappearing again into the depths. All the while anglers hope their fly is the right imitation for these picky creatures and that they have chosen a spot where the fish will appear. Those who have not chosen well relocate and try not to spook them. Run-and- gun attempts to get close to breaking fish are seldom profitable.

Both bonito and false albacore are like a drug and they draw people from their beds day after day because the strikes are vicious and always a surprise. This morning’s fish runs a hundred yards with the reel screaming in protest. The fish suddenly turns toward me so that I’m forced to tuck the rod under my arm and strip line with both hands to control the slack. Then, it goes deep and slugs it out, circling the kayak. Being in the right place at the right time takes experience and luck. For a day like this, having friends at different beaches with cell phones is a plus. You have to find the fish and everyone profits from shared information!

In two or three weeks, mornings spent fishing for false albacore finally slow, as the little tuna (really more closely related to the mackerel) become less abundant. They
linger well into October but I finally opt for a few hours of sleep before work. However, shorter days and the lower angle of the September sun have made changes. Large numbers of baitfish have moved close to shore followed by hungry stripers and bluefish.
Peanut bunker, silversides and mackerel join the sand eels that have spent the summer near shore. Night is still the best for bass, but more daytime activity is beginning as well. The fish have travel on their minds and they are looking for lots of food. The big bass often shadow the mackerel, particularly close to shore where there is other bait as well. I stayed all night at a favorite beach in hope of being in the right place as migrating stripers followed their yearly routes south. You don’t know if these location choices are right since the bass are here today and gone in an instant.

On this night, there was only one small bluefish. Day was approaching when suddenly I heard something to my right.   Baitfish held tight against the rocky breakwater as I moved into position in the half-light of a foggy Cape Cod dawn. As most were peanut bunker, I chose a realistic imitation crafted to represent the same shape and coloration as the natural baitfish. I drifted the fly along the craggy underwater stones where they joined the sandy beach allowing the long-shore current to sweep my fly along the rocks. With each cast through the shower of frightened bait I expected a strike and was not disappointed when a fish ate the fly and ran seaward. It was a powerful fish and I expected to see at least a thirty-inch striper as I guided it to quiet water. The fish was only twenty inches, but was energized by the cooler water of early fall. After two runs and a bit of dogged resistance, I was looking for the next one.

In the quiet of a pre-dawn early morning as the tide nears its peak, the unique silence of the salt pond is broken only by the rain-like sounds of thousands of fleeing
baitfish. They move across the surface in waves to escape the huge mouths of striped bass that follow them through the clear shallows, creating a maze of explosive washtub-sized swirls as evidence of their presence. It’s the end of a night’s action that seldom ever is visible in the light of day except during the fall migration. The salt ponds and small inland bays along the south side of the Cape are special places unknown to most anglers where stripers congregate to feed in shallow water. At night, fish are often at your feet or all around you and often continue well into the day.

It was an overcast dawn on the flood tide, the air heavy with the threat of rain as I slid the kayak into the water. The small opening to the sea from which both water and stripers came was nearly still and the surface disturbances in the shallows told me the fish were feeding. I was very late for the night fishing I’d planned but it looked like luck was with me. My first cast placed my silverside fly in the submerged grass at the edge of the first small indentation along the bank. My jerky retrieve was met by the visible wake of a charging striper moving through the subterranean forest. The grass parted next to the fly; there was no pause when the fish felt steel and bolted toward the middle of the open pond wildly trying to escape to deeper and safer waters. For two hours, fish after fish took the fly. Then my luck faded. With the dropping tide I was sure the bait flushing out of the pond drew the bass to the flats below so I followed. There in broad daylight I saw a blitz
in the shallows and without thinking I cast into the fray. The strike was hard and immediate; a scant moment later the line went slack. The clean cut at the end of the
leader told the story and I scrambled to add wire in front of the replacement silverside fly. These were the supreme opportunists of the Cape’s waters – bluefish or “Yellow-Eyed-Devils” – as some prefer to call them. The action was fast and furious for about half-an-hour, then they were gone as quickly as they appeared, looking for more baitfish. Finding blues is like locating stripers, though they can often be found in more humane daylight hours.

Work has a habit of intervening in more important “stuff” like fishing and it took a week before I got a late afternoon opportunity to get on the water again. I started at
the Cape Cod Canal with my binoculars looking for birds or surface activity, then cruised from spot-to- spot along the north side of the peninsula. In the fall my rods are always in my truck. Any time that I am near the water is an opportunity to look for fish as they become more elusive with the passing days.
It was late morning when I first saw the creek on an extended trip to the hardware store. It was a pretty sight in the light, open and flat with green grasses surrounding a moving bluish ribbon of water. The air was full of birds moving off to feed, and little Sandpipers worked the beach just upstream. Gulls wheeled through the air crying out as they dove for baitfish. The mouth of the waterway where I stood was guarded on one side by a substantial breakwater and a sharply sloping rocky beach on my side of the inlet.

There were bigger swirls amongst the baitfish and another late season prayer wasanswered. I slipped into the water and began casting my sand-eel imitation. The sinking line took the fly deep as it swung past me and I began a slow twitching retrieve. Two strips later and a solid strike told me this was indeed a good place.
There are all sorts of possibilities when fishing the cusp of the sea and one can never be sure what will come next. I knew upon my return home, that I could find a way to explain the wet legs on my pants, though the connection with the small box of screws from that hardware store still on my front seat hadn’t yet come to me!

BACK TO BLOG

SUBSCRIBE TO TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE

The post Miracles of the Fall – Striped Bass, False Albacore & Bonita first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Miracles of the Fall – Striped Bass, False Albacore & Bonita appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.