One of the redeemable qualities about striped bass is that, when they are plentiful, these fish are incredibly accessible.  We fish for them on foot in downtown Boston, from quiet beaches in Rhode Island, in the brackish water of the Chesapeake Bay, and by boat all the way from North Carolina to Maine.  In fact, data from 2017 shows that almost 18 million angler fishing trips were taken in pursuit of stripers.  That impressive number represents 9% of the total angler fishing trips taken across the entire country (NOAA – Source).  

If you’re a striped bass angler, you likely know that the population is in trouble.  Striper populations are currently at a 25 year low and the age structure is out of whack.  If our fisheries managers at the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission (ASMFC) don’t correct the trajectory, we all stand to lose this iconic resource.  ASMFC is in the midst of trying to adjust their own mismanagement of the striped bass stock and rebuild the population through a new plan.  Anglers aren’t particularly confident in ASMFC, and with good reason, the commission’s track record is less than stellar.  I share this context to simply set the stage.  I’ll halt right there and shift gears.  This is not an article of doom and gloom but rather, one of hope, and a reminder that: 

STRIPED BASS ARE IN OUR HANDS

This year, the angling community will have millions and millions of chances to care for this species.  Anglers pursue striped bass in myriad ways with a number of goals in mind:  some hope to feed their families, some go fishing to simply catch-and-release, and some to make money in the commercial fishery.  Regardless of how you access and utilize the fishery, it is your right to legally operate within the regulations that your state defines.  

Whether you catch-and-release or catch-and-keep, commercially or recreationally, releasing fish is something that all anglers do.  We are all united by the perfect moments of getting a striped bass to hand, regardless of our ambition and regardless if that fish goes to the cooler or back to the ocean.  

According to the most recent Striped Bass Stock Assessment released in 2019, the number of stripers that unintentionally die from catch-and-release angling actually exceeds the number of bass that are recreationally harvested.  To simply break that down, recreational anglers kill more fish by catching and releasing them than by actually intentionally killing them for food.  That fact might come as a surprise to many but ASMFC estimates that 9% of the fish that are caught-and-released throughout the striped bass season die.  These stripers that die from catch-and-release might be a fish gill hooked in Maine’s cold june water, or a gut hooked striper in New Jersey during the fall migration, or a Maryland bass that just couldn’t survive a summer release in a low oxygen environment, or even a bass that was simply held out of water longer than it could handle after a strenuous fight.   

When we slow down and think about each encounter during the season, it becomes clear that careful handling during every single interaction is not only vital to that individual fish’s survival but to the entire future of the striped bass population.  An encounter with a 14” schoolie and it’s safe release potentially solidifies a future 40” warrior bass that crushes menhaden, eats surface plugs, lives for live mackerel, slurps chunk baits and inhales a well placed fly. ASMFC’s most recent stock assessment, estimated that approximately 3.4 million striped bass died from the practice of catch-and-release, the direct result of our handling and angling practices. That’s an enormous number and one that we have control of through our individual behaviors. Yes, we are individual anglers but together we are the users and stewards of this resource and have an enormous impact.  

Keep Fish Wet is an organization focused on helping recreational anglers improve the outcome for each fish they release.  They do this by taking the best available science on how fish respond to capture and handling, and translate the research into simple techniques that anglers can use to ensure that released fish survive and are healthy.  When doing the math, Sascha Clark Danylchuk, Executive Director of Keep Fish Wet, reminds us that if we decrease release mortality by just one percent (something that is very doable using best practices), then over 250,000 more stripers would remain in the fishery.  Those fish that have been given the best chance at survival will live on to support recovering stocks and be caught again another day.  Whether you fish from a center console, the beach, a rocky shoreline, a skiff, or a downtown piece of city concrete, these principles will help to make sure that your catch is released safely.  

• Minimize Air Exposure.  10 seconds or less is best.
• Eliminate Contact with Dry Surfaces.  Wet your hands before touching fish and avoid bringing them into boats.   
• Reduce Handling Time.  Release fish quickly and only revive fish that cannot swim on their own.

We have high hopes that ASMFC sets the management plan for striped bass on a course to rapid recovery, but in the meantime let’s take this fishery in our own hands and safeguard that each fish we release swims off strong and healthy because:

STRIPED BASS ARE IN OUR HANDS  

Expanded Best Practices for Catch-and-Release: 

Below are the best practices you can use to create better outcomes for each striped bass you release.  

Best Practice Principles: 

The actions that will make the most difference to the survival and health of the striped bass you put back – whether because of regulations or voluntarily.  Regardless, we all catch-and-release.

1. Minimize Air Exposure.  10 seconds or less is best.
2. Eliminate Contact with Dry Surfaces.  Wet your hands before touching fish and avoid bringing them into boats.   
3. Reduce Handling Time.  Release fish quickly and only revive fish that cannot swim on their own.

Best Practice Tips:  

Actions that help you employ the Principles

• Use barbless hooks
• Limit your use of lip grippers, and when doing so keep the fish in the water
• Always hold fish with two hands and never hang fish vertically in the air
• Photograph fish in or just over the water  
• If you are fishing from a boat with high gunnels, reach down to meet the fish or use a long handled net.  If you have to bring the fish into the boat, be prepared to make it quick.  Have a hook removal tool at the ready, and get that fish back into the water quickly and gently. 

Written By: Kyle Schaefer in collaboration with Sascha Clark Danylchuk, Andy Danylchuk, and Bri Dostie

Atlantic Striped Bass: Pisces in Peril | Mark White

A NEW NORM FOR MONTAUK’S LEGENDARY RUN

Ted Williams Is On Assignment at the Eastern Funnel

The post Stripers In Our Hands first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Stripers In Our Hands appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

Increased fishing pressure and degradation and loss of habitat in the 1970s resulted in a collapse of striped bass stock in the 1980s, but a moratorium on striper fishing, new legislation, and a new management program all contributed to an apparent striper rebound by the late 1990s.

Striped bass thrived for nearly a decade–but once again, the population is in serious decline. Eager to offset the decline, East Coast states have stepped in with various proposals aimed at reducing striper mortality–particularly the mortality of the “spawning stock biomass”: the weight of females ages four years and older in the striper population. Despite these efforts, the Atlantic striped bass population appears to be in continued decline.

How did we get here? What can we do to save the beloved striper?

America’s Saltwater Sweetheart

For better or worse, the humble striper remains a favorite of the hook-and-line recreational angler. According to an article in the February 2019 issue of On the Water magazine, reporting on a meeting of the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission’s (ASMFC) Striped Bass Management Board, recreational anglers were responsible for 90 percent of the coastal removal of striped bass in 2017: In real numbers, “recreational fishermen are estimated to have caught 41.2 million striped bass in 2017. They kept 2.9 million and released 38.2 million. Of those 38.2 million released, it is estimated that 3.4 million did not survive.” Yes, you read that correctly: The ASMFC estimates that in 2017, the number of fish that died after being handled by recreational anglers and then returned to the water exceeded the number that anglers took home with them.

Could training enable recreational anglers to reduce catch-and-release mortality? Yes, says Captain Dave Cornell, who guides along Massachusetts’ South Coast: “Landing a fish quickly, with a minimum of handling at the boat, is very important.” Pinch down those barbs, says Cornell, and have pliers at the ready. “Fish that have hooks in their gills and may be bleeding are best unhooked by opening the gill and going in from behind, where the hook is often easier to access. Many anglers don’t know this. Cutting off the fly after freeing it from the gill plates can minimize damage to the gill.”

Dr. Gary Nelson of the Massachusetts Division of Marine Fisheries (MDMF) offers a qualified agreement that changing recreational anglers’ behavior could greatly affect rates of fish mortality: “Yes and no. I think many recreational anglers are aware that circle hooks are a good alternative to J hooks for decreasing hooking mortality.” But many anglers Nelson knows don’t like fishing with circle hooks, which don’t have to be set like J hooks. Anglers enjoy “the thrill of setting a hook,” Nelson continues. The MDMF “has been promoting the use of circle hooks to reduce hooking mortality since I started back in 2001. As of 2020, use of in-line circle hooks when fishing for striped bass using natural baits is a requirement.”

What one thing should recreational anglers know about fish mortality? Although Nelson’s views do not represent those of the MDMF, he himself insists, “Playing time after hooking a fish contributes significantly to hooking mortality.” Lactic acid, a byproduct of vigorous exercise, builds to toxic levels in the exhausted fish. To improve your quarry’s chances of survival, Nelson continues, “reel in the fish as quickly as possible.”

Commercial Fishing

Striped bass are also caught commercially with gill nets, pound nets, haul seines, and hook and line. In 2017 the commercial fishing industry harvested nearly five million pounds of striped bass; more than 60 percent of that haul came out of the Chesapeake Bay. Already this is a heavily regulated fishery; nevertheless, at an October 2019 meeting the ASMFC’s Atlantic Striped Bass Management Board approved an 18 percent cut in commercial and recreational striper harvests for 2020.

Environmental Change

Striped bass spend most of their adult lives in coastal estuaries or the ocean, migrating south in the winter and returning to rivers to spawn in the spring. Although the Hudson and Delaware Rivers remain important spawning grounds, the truth is that most of the striper spawning stock comes out of the venerable Chesapeake Bay. And striper stakeholders fear that the Bay is seriously threatened: Both urban development and farming endanger the seagrasses that act as striper nurseries; the forage fish (like anchovies and menhaden) that striped bass depend upon for sustenance appear themselves to be in decline; and poor water quality and warmer water (with lower oxygen levels) have led to a higher incidence of hypoxia and diseases like mycobacteriosis, which is currently leaving external lesions on Chesapeake Bay striped bass.

Is the decline in fish habitat a reflection of climate change or of pollution of local waterways? Very probably both, argues Nelson. In the all-important Chesapeake Bay, he says, low-oxygen (anoxic) conditions develop during the summer as a result of high water temperatures and “agricultural runoff that promotes growth of bacteria that use oxygen.” Striped bass do what they can to avoid low-oxygen habitats. They are therefore “squeezed into habitats that are sub-optimal for their survival.” From 2004 to 2010, the Chesapeake Bay produced fewer young striped bass–likely, says Nelson, as a result of climate change: “Good survival occurs when spring weather is wet and cool. We are now observing northward shifts in fish distribution along the Atlantic Coast as water temperatures increase. In the Gulf of Maine, water temperature is rising faster than any water body in the world, and it is believed that the collapse of Gulf of Maine northern shrimp is due to increasing temperatures.” And again, where prey species go, predator species soon follow.

Striper to Seal to Shark

When Cape Cod’s striped bass fans look for the culprits responsible for the striper decline, their eyes turn in an unexpected direction: “Along with climate change, overfishing, and habitat loss,” says guide Dave Cornell, “seals are a huge factor in striper mortality. Buzzards Bay isn’t as affected as Cape Cod, but we have a growing seal population near Penikese Island.” And many residents fear that right behind seals come sharks. 

The seal question “can only be answered by amending the Marine Mammal Protection Act,” says Dean Clark of the nonprofit conservation group Stripers Forever Massachusetts. “Without ecosystem-based management and the studies to support the same,” it is difficult to determine the full effect of the seal population on the wild striped bass population. Fisheries biologist Nelson concurs: Yes, striped bass are “found occasionally in seals’ stomachs, but there is no estimate of numbers consumed,” and “the impact of seal predation is likely not as great” as many assume. 

How significant a factor is striper predation by white and thresher sharks? Nelson does not dismiss the possibility, noting that juvenile sharks are indeed fish-eaters. Guide, fly angler, and marine researcher Zachary Whitener says, “I’m sure that seals eat a large amount of striped bass. But I’m also sure that humans kill many, many more fish and have had–and are having–a much greater effect on the Atlantic ecosystem as a whole than seals. We have more control over how we manage fish than how seals manage fish.” In the final analysis, Dean Clark reminds us, an emotional reaction to striper decline “serves no one well.”

Poaching

Just how big a role does poaching play in striper decline? The reality is that, despite uniformed and plainclothes policing by environmental officers, striped bass poaching is, in Nelson’s words, “ubiquitous.” In Massachusetts, he says, poaching “occurs frequently near urban areas like Lynn and Lawrence on the Merrimack River.” Recently the Cape Cod Canal has seen an uptick in poaching, which is unfortunately as difficult to curb as it is to quantify.

Poaching, says Stripers Forever’s Clark, “has more of a sociological effect than a species population effect. The poachers’ disrespect for the welfare of the species and their disregard for the rules creates an ethos that makes it difficult for the general public to understand and support regulations designed to protect the integrity of striped bass.” Dave Cornell insists that publicized poaching arrests may be common but unfortunately represent just “the tip of the iceberg.” 

Aquaculture

So do we throw in the towel and accept the inevitable decline of the Atlantic striped bass? Not so fast, say stakeholders. Consider, for example, aquaculture: In 2005, almost 60 percent of all striped bass sold in the United States were grown in an aquaculture operation. In the Chesapeake Bay region, aquaculture supplies readily available seafood at the same time that it reduces pressure on wild striped bass stock and the species on which they prey.

Should aquaculture be the sole source of commercially sold bass? Dean Clark answers, “Yes–but not for the reasons that you might think. Historically striped bass were sought only as a commercial food fish. Their value to society was initially established on a dollars-per-pound-at-market basis. Only recently have stripers become a significant player in the recreational market economy, and this has created a conflict between opposing sectors.” Commercial interests maximize the value of striped bass when they maximize the harvest. For recreational anglers, the opposite is true: “The more and higher quality fish that are alive and thus potentially catchable, the more valuable the striper fishery is,” explains Clark. Fisheries management plans have so far striven to satisfy both constituent groups–although “a voting majority of the regulators are commercially biased. It is a lot like having the foxes in charge of the welfare of the chickens.”

Designating striped bass as a recreation-only species “like trout, deer, and waterfowl” would alleviate the pressure that fisheries management officials get from commercial harvesting interests, says Clark, enabling regulators to “put the welfare of the stripers ahead of those wishing to exploit them. Conservation will replace exploitation, so yes–wild striped bass should not be harvested for commercial purposes.”

Given the strength of the commercial fishing lobby in many East Coast states, regulators are unlikely to outlaw traditional rod-and-reel commercial striper fishing. Aquaculture may be able to put a striper/white bass hybrid on the market, but the public will still demand wild fish. Many stakeholders agree with Dave Cornell that commercial fishing interests and recreational anglers can and should co-exist–and that fishery regulations need to strive for a balance between competing interests.

Whither Go Bass

Regulators have put in place an Atlantic striped bass management plan that reduces harvest quotas and establishes size limits for both commercial and recreational interests. Is this the best way to turn around striper population decline? Should the Eastern Seaboard set a one-size-fits-all limit to promote public awareness and avoid confusion?

Dean Clark suggests that size limits obscure the real issue, which should be “management philosophy and which interest group is driving the bus. Under the guidance of the commercially biased ASMFC,” Clark argues, “the quality and size of the fishery has continued to shrink over the past ten-plus years. We should be asking why. We shouldn’t be debating how big a striper should be to keep. We should be asking why the ASMFC has allowed commercial by-catch to go unreported, not prioritized the welfare of the fish, and catered to a relatively small group of commercial fishermen while ignoring the conservation demands of the many millions of recreational fishermen. Getting answers to these questions is far more important than arguing over harvesting equivalencies.”

Nelson believes that standardizing regulations across all concerned states would help the Atlantic striper fishery. “Once spawning adults leave the Chesapeake Bay in the spring,” he explains, “the only fish remaining are small fish–smaller than 25 inches and mostly male. If Maryland and Virginia set the same minimum size requirement as Massachusetts, recreational anglers could keep very few fish.” He suggests that perhaps states with reciprocity agreements–that is, states in which anglers with valid saltwater fishing licenses may cross state lines while fishing, as in Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire–should consider coordinating their regulations to avoid angler confusion.

Slot limits protect larger bass because most striped bass over 30 pounds are breeding females. (According to the Massachusetts Division of Marine Fisheries, a 12-pound female can produce about 850,000 eggs, and a 55-pound female can produce more than 4,000,000 eggs.) In addition to slot limits, current regulations target recreational discard behavior: how to properly catch, handle, and release striped bass. So circle hooks and non-lethal handling devices like BogaGrips and landing nets are in–and gaffing is essentially out.

Setting aside “who is most to blame,” the expert stakeholders appear to agree that the threats to the Eastern Seaboard’s striped bass fishery are real and many–and resuscitating the fishery therefore requires a multifaceted approach. For example, climate change is one serious threat, resulting in significant loss of habitat and adversely affecting fish distribution. But “thanks to the Clean Water Act and other national legislation as well as a decline in industry,” remarks Zachary Whitener, “our local waters in Maine are many times cleaner than they were 50 years ago.” So we can indeed have a positive and lasting impact on the environment. But Clean Water Act gains in Maine and across the country are threatened every four years, when conservation becomes a political football. 

“I think that there are many, many ways that climate change can manifest itself regarding habitat and striped bass,” says Whitener, “but as a species stripers exhibit a wide variety of life history and behaviors, inhabiting a wide variety of habitats, hedging the species as a whole from losing its ecological niches.” That’s the good news. But unfortunately, “we don’t know how prey relationships or migrations will change,” and those unknowns are “the most unsettling aspect of climate change.”

We have examined recreational discard mortality rates for Atlantic striped bass; the saltwater fly angler quite naturally wonders what these rates might mean for tarpon, marlin, bonefish, and steelhead. Is the gamefish dragged over the gunwale for a selfie being faithfully released back into the water only to die a couple of days later?

The truth is that we have more questions than answers. But all those who care about saltwater gamefish–and in particular the Atlantic striped bass–should be engaged in finding longterm solutions that result in healthy, sustainable fisheries for the next generation of commercial and recreational anglers.

Bio: A lifelong fly angler, Mark White lives on the South Coast of Massachusetts, where he works as a physician assistant in the field of neurosurgery. You can visit his website at southcoastflyfisher.com.

READ MORE ABOUT STRIPED BASS:

Stripers: Past & Present

Fly fishing for striped bass

THE DECLINE OF THE STRIPED BASS

Running the Coast for striped bass

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SALTWATER FLY FISHING

The post Atlantic Striped Bass: Pisces in Peril | Mark White first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Atlantic Striped Bass: Pisces in Peril | Mark White appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

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)

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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.

Delafield, Wis. – April 6, 2020 – Fish For Each Other, a website and subsequent social media campaign (#fishforeachother) aimed to support the fishing industry during the COVID-19 pandemic, launched today. Fishforeachother.com serves as a centralized hub, providing a way for people to support members of the fishing industry affected by COVID-19 and deliver ongoing fishing-related news and content. The unprecedented circumstances surrounding the pandemic have endangered the livelihoods of thousands working in the recreational fishing industry, along with many other sectors of the economy.

The website will highlight programs from across the U.S. specifically aimed at supporting captains, guides, tackle shops and other small businesses who are now looking for alternative ways to generate income. With a severe dip in travel, guides and captains are particularly hard hit, as uncertainty around COVID-19 has led to a dramatic increase in canceled bookings. And without any indication as to when stay at home orders will be lifted, many trips are simply not being rebooked. Another area of the sportfishing industry equally hard hit are tackle shops, who rely heavily on consistent traffic from anglers. While services such as online sales and curbside pickup of tackle have helped, it is not enough to replace sales lost by the decreased activity and travel.

Fish for Each Other is the creation of Wisconsin-based active lifestyle marketing agency Gunpowder, who counts a number of the top outdoors and fishing brands among its clients.

“Our culture, and our livelihood, is rooted in the outdoors and fishing industry,” said Gunpowder founder Ryan Chuckel. “They’re our clients, our friends and our family. We created Fish for Each Other to provide a centralized location for people, like us, to find ways to help our fishing brothers and sisters. So many folks are already doing amazing things to support the industry we love. This is simply our way of connecting the dots between those doing good and those who want to help. While the future is uncertain, there’s no doubt in our minds that, with all of our help, the fishing community will bounce back, stronger and more unified than ever.”

To get involved, visit fishforeachother.com to see ways to contribute to the cause, check in on the latest fishing-related news surrounding the pandemic, and inspirational, entertaining content to pass the time during quarantine. There is also a growing list of local, independent tackle shops who are finding ways to serve their customers while still abiding by local and state restrictions. The organizers behind the site are also asking people in the fishing industry to bring forward other support efforts, funds, news or interesting ideas, which can be submitted directly on the site. 

About Gunpowder Inc.

Since 2015, Gunpowder has been driving dynamic communications programs for some of the world’s most influential enthusiast brands including GoPro, Under Armour, Academy Sports + Outdoors, Humminbird, Minn Kota, Mercury Marine, Costa Sunglasses and Pure Fishing. The agency is built on a commitment to driving earned media coverage and social engagement with brand communities through a nimble, creative approach and by understanding how strong strategy and blue-collar work ethic can drive positive business results. The people of Gunpowder live, work and play with its clients’ products and services at the center of their lives. More information is available at www.gunpowderinc.com.

Gunpowder Media Contacts:
Ryan Chuckel, (414) 698-7132, ryanc@gunpowderinc.com
Carie Breunig, (414) 412-9155, carieb@gunpowderinc.com

The post FISH FOR EACH OTHER INITIATIVE CREATED TO SUPPORT FISHING INDUSTRY first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

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The post American Saltwater Guides Association: Supporting the Recreational Fishing Community through COVID-19 first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post American Saltwater Guides Association: Supporting the Recreational Fishing Community through COVID-19 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

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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.

For those wanting to commemorate the fish of a lifetime or a special moment, Fish Print Shop creates a life-size print of the fish and stamps it with information about the catch. It’s a great way to remember a day of fishing, the price is considerably lower than most taxidermy, and the fish gets to swim free.

“I got the idea to make a print to the actual length of the fish because I felt that photos never do the fish justice, and even a great photo tends to live on your phone and never gets displayed,” Emerson told me. “I’ve always enjoyed fishing with my sons, and when they would tell people what they caught they always held their hands up to show how big it was. Seeing a fish life-sized is so much more rewarding than a photo. It made sense.” 

Emerson created his first prints for friends and family, and soon those gifts turned into a business. He partners with renown fish artists, Joseph R. Tomelleri and Dianne Peebles, whose extensive collection of both freshwater and saltwater illustrations enable Emerson to create replicas of any fish species in North America and many swimming elsewhere. Both artists work with state agencies and conservation organizations to create fish identification guides, and their illustrations have appeared in thousands of publications. If you’ve ever flipped through a fishing regulations pamphlet, you’ve probably seen their work.

Emerson has a background in biology, and his prints look as if they might be torn from a biologist’s field journal. Because of his commitment to collaborating with top artists (he prides himself on paying the highest royalties in the business, which allows him to partner with the best artists around the world), Emerson can depict different morphologies and color phases within a particular species as well as account for girth.

Drawing on such a vast catalog of work, Fish Print Shop has several versions of every species and can match most catches accurately. However, Emerson notes, anglers are sometimes confused in thinking he replicates their exact fish.

“We use a grayscale reproduction of an illustration and print it to size. How that process works is my secret sauce,” he says, laughing. “If the fish has a unique marking or someone really wants their exact fish, I always advocate for local artists. I keep a list of artists who do commissioned work and am happy to recommend someone.”

Emerson’s “secret sauce” produces a timeless result that captures the energy and grandeur of a fish. The clean lines of the grayscale print fit nicely into almost any space, unlike the particular aesthetic of a mounted fish. It’s also more likely to sit well with discerning spouses. In fact, one fisherman’s wife bought him prints to replace his old skin mounts. When Emerson showed up to deliver the prints, she handed him a trunk filled with mounted fish and told him to keep it. 

Another advantage of prints over traditional taxidermy is that Fish Print Shop uses archival quality paper and ink, so prints will greatly outlast mounted fish. Emerson says they will last more than a lifetime.

Each print is marked with a customizable stamp that typically notes the date of the catch, length of the fish, angler’s name, and location the fish was caught, but it can be personalized in any manner. Since discovering Fish Print Shop, I’ve had prints made that include who I was fishing with and memorable quotes from the trip.

When I wanted my walls to look like the fishing department of a sporting goods store, the main thing preventing me from doing so was the cost, and a major benefit of Emerson’s prints is their price point.

“We’ve found that with our lower cost, people are more likely to commemorate a 10- or 12-inch fish their kid caught. It doesn’t have to be a monster to make it worth preserving. Some of my favorite prints I’ve done have been for kids, especially my three sons.”

As you can imagine, Emerson gets a lot of requests for trout and says his most popular saltwater fish are redfish and speckled seatrout. He also gets some rare and unusual requests like a 6-foot arapaima, a 17-foot black marlin, and a sea robin an East Coast beachcomber found washed up on shore. 

“When we print a new species, I always get a sense of awe as I look at the details,” Emerson told me. “The grayscale really exaggerates the structure and lines of the illustration. It creates something timeless that you might find in a natural history museum, an old aquarium, or a biology classroom. Some people do prefer color prints, and that’s something we can do for certain species. There are restrictions, like when an artist sells limited-edition prints of their work. There are a few fish, like redfish, that I’ve had people specifically ask for in color, but most like the classic look of grayscale.” 

Now in the third year since starting his business, Emerson has combined his passion for fishing and printmaking with his commitment to conservation. Fish Print Shop has numerous partnerships with conservation organizations, lodges, and state wildlife agencies, where Emerson will provide free prints to anglers who catch record sized fish and choose to release them.

“Our guiding principles are to promote fisheries conservation by supporting catch-and-release practices and to fairly compensate artists for their work,” Emerson says.

Emerson has created a business that benefits everyone involved: anglers, artists, and the fish they both admire. As anglers, we know that behind every fish there’s a story. Emerson helps anglers relive those stories through beautiful personalized artwork. I no longer have visions of mounted fish in my home, but I’ve got my eye on some empty wall space that could use a print.

Ryan Sparks is the Wild Foods editor of Strung Magazine and his writing has appeared in American Angler, Grey’s Sporting Journal, Meateater, the Drake, the Fly Fish Journal and countless other publications.  He is a freelance writer from Minnesota who spends almost all of his time outdoors

THE WEBSITE : https://prints.fish/

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Black Fly – Vaughn Cochran

The post Mike Emerson’s Fish Print Shop first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

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Growing along the Weweantic River in Wareham, Massachusetts, their white blossoms typically emerged concurrently with the bass’s appearance in Buzzards Bay.

– Joshua Wrigley (previously published in Tail #23 – May 2016)

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VISIT OUR SHOP 

The post Stripers: Past & Present first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Stripers: Past & Present appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

It is the perfect late spring morning in the Keys – the type fly anglers dream about. Even in the pre-dawn darkness, the air is thick and sticks to our skin, and there isn’t a breath of wind for relief. Mosquitoes dance their irritating dance around us as we pack our car. I know it is going to be a great day in the backcountry, and the anticipation pushes my exhaustion to the back of my mind.

My friend Kyle flew in the afternoon before for what would be his first tarpon trip and first trip to the Keys. I always tell people that while I’ve been fortunate to travel the world to fish, there is a reason the Keys are my favorite place on earth. I knew Kyle could fish when I invited him down – he had spent years pursuing stripers in the northeast. Striper guys tend to have the casting distance and quickness needed to get the fly in front of a tarpon. But this is a different game. Trying to feed finicky migratory tarpon on the ocean is a special kind of challenge, but on these hot, slick calm days, the backcountry fish can be pretty cooperative if you can get a fly in front of them.

At dinner the night before, I warned what Kyle probably already knew: tarpon fishing can be tough, but if you’re going to target them, the Keys are the best place on earth to do it. Our guide, Capt. Joe Rodriguez is the kind of guy who will tell you right away what you’re doing wrong, and what you should be doing instead. He has been guiding for nearly half his life and fishing for the rest and has the knowledge to show for it. My tarpon fishing proficiency has exponentially increased in the few short years we’ve fished together.

We meet Joe in Islamorada and leave the dock at first light. The sunrise is almost too perfect, brilliant swaths of color radiating throughout the whole sky and slick water around us, the line between sea and sky imperceptible. Doubt creeps in – maybe we won’t find the fish. After a long run, we finally shut down. At first, the water is an undisrupted glassy mirror, but it doesn’t take long before we hear a familiar sound as tarpon start rolling everywhere, the early morning sun glinting off their silver backs. Kyle insists that I fish first, and after a brief protest, I strip line off the reel and step onto the casting deck. It is painful watching tarpon roll just out of reach, but Joe poles deftly to put me in front of fish. I get a long shot at a fish that rolls in range, but it never sees the fly. Joe directs me to the other side of the boat and my next cast lands a few feet in front of a rolling fish on the move. We watch in strained silence as a subtle wake grows in intensity behind the fly. I hear, “he’s gonna eat it,” from Joe just before the line goes tight and the fish erupts in acrobatic leaps, backlit by the sun. After landing it, I’m beaming, and we all laugh. It isn’t usually quite that easy.

Fish are still rolling all around as Kyle steps up. There is nothing more exciting than tarpon fishing in the Keys, and I love introducing people to it because they inevitably revert to frenetic, childlike enthusiasm. I stand excitedly on the cooler seat. The shots are consistent, and after shaking his nerves and getting some advice from Joe after some missed eats and a few jumped fish, Kyle manages to hook one and leader it a few minutes later. It goes airborne again and throws the fly, and Kyle grins from ear to ear as he steps off the platform. “You’re screwed,” I laugh. “It’s all downhill from here.”

The fish are still rolling, and I catch another before the wind starts to pick up a bit, and they stop rolling. We spend most of the remainder of the day running from storms and trying unsuccessfully to find more fish in the back. When the wind picks up more late in the day, we head to the ocean where the fish remind us how tarpon fishing often goes in the Keys. They keep their noses down and avoid our offerings, other than the occasional fish that feigns interest before swimming past.

After a successful first day, we continue down US 1 South towards the Lower Keys, past mangroves and turquoise water and pastel homes. Kyle marvels that there is some but not much apparent damage from Hurricane Irma. I explain that parts of the Keys had been hit hard, but people in the Keys had been through hurricanes before, they were resilient, and more than anything, they needed the tourists to come back. Plus, the fishing was incredible, so people were crazy not to come down here.

The next two days would be spent fishing with Capt. Brandon Cyr out of Key West, a place I had only fished a handful of times. Another 4:45 AM wake up couldn’t dampen our spirits after that great first day, and we meet Brandon at first light at Ocean’s Edge Marina. Brandon is a fourth generation conch, an affable guy with youthful enthusiasm who I quickly realize is also both a talented guide and entirely obsessed with fishing. The weather is almost identical to the previous day, and I am cautiously optimistic as he shuts the boat down in our first spot and hops up on the platform.

We chat and laugh as we look for rolling and laid-up fish, a task made somewhat difficult by the early morning sun. In low light, you have to read their body language to gauge where fish end up – a fast roll means they are on the move, a slow roll followed by bubbles means they are staying put. There is a serious learning curve (and a degree of luck) to this game, and Brandon is a great teacher, giving helpful guidance and having, above all, a reasonable degree of patience. I love this type of fishing: talking through it, the guessing game after fish show themselves briefly, casting, the breathless moments as you strip the line, waiting to get tight to a fish and watch them explode out of the water. Between shots at fish, Brandon tells us that he had a swimming scholarship to Nova Southeastern out of high school. He was there for exactly one day before realizing he had made a mistake, returning to Key West to become a fishing guide.

As the sun gets higher, we can finally see a group of big laid up fish in a white hole. We talk through the best approach as they are scattered a bit haphazardly, heads facing in all different directions. My first cast lands a little short and Brandon tells me to pick up and throw again. The next cast lands where I want it, and we watch as one fish’s interest is piqued. I’m holding my breath, and Brandon murmurs as she turns towards the fly with a gentle kick of the tail, examines it, and surges forward, inhaling it and immediately jumping wildly as she feels the hook. Line flies everywhere and rips through my fingers as I try to clear it, remarking that it’s a giant fish. I lose her after a few more jumps, but the fun part is over anyways. We get plenty of shots, and both manage to get a few before taking an afternoon break to explore the funky town of Key West. That evening, tired but exhilarated, we head back out for the worm hatch.

The worm hatch is a special event in the Keys, as tarpon go into a frenzy over little red palolo worms as they emerge from the bottom and wriggle along on the surface, making for easy, protein-rich targets. The hatch is triggered by a combination of lunar phase, tide, and weather, so its timing can be somewhat predictable. Once it begins, it usually goes on for days. The worms often appear in the evening, and eager anglers wait for this special time when the oft picky tarpon will eat with reckless abandon. The sun is still high as we head out to where Brandon found tarpon on worms the evening before. I remark to Kyle that he must have some good fish karma built up for the stars to be aligning so well.

Brandon poles us along a shallow flat along the edge of a narrow channel. We don’t see many worms in the water, but schools of smaller tarpon are cruising the flat with purpose, looking for them. A well-placed fly causes a fight between these small, eager fish, and Kyle quickly hooks and lands one. I follow suit, and after releasing my fish, toss the worm fly in the water next to the boat to check that it is still swimming okay. As I pull the fly back out, a silvery body with a bluish tail charges after it. I remark with surprise that it looked like a bonefish. I glance up about sixty feet and see a whole school of what look like bonefish, apparently eating worms. I drop a fly in their midst, and one eats it off the surface as the fly lands. We are all perplexed, but the fish pulls significant line off the reel in two screaming runs, and a few minutes later, a small bonefish is boat-side with a worm fly tucked neatly in the corner of its mouth.

We head to another nearby spot in a channel where a number of boats are already lined up fishing. Not much seems to be happening, as most of the anglers are casting without real purpose and we can’t see any worms in the water. A few tarpon roll intermittently. The sun is getting lower, and Kyle decides to make a few last casts before we call it a night. To our great surprise, he quickly goes tight and hooks a nice fish. He fights it for 20 minutes as the sun gets lower and lower, leadering it several times and getting it right up to the boat before it finally wears through the shock and breaks off. We return to the dock, tired and happy.

After two days of great fishing, we keep our expectations pretty low, but the third day proves to be even better. We start the morning in the same spot as the day before. Fish are rolling again, though the wind is up a bit more this time, and I hook a giant tarpon close to the boat right off the bat. She jumps, and we are all taken aback by her size. She takes me way into my backing and drags us all over the flat and eventually into the channel, where boats targeting tarpon on bait are lined up. The captains all know Brandon and shout encouragement to me and tease him as we try to land the massive tarpon. After a relatively long fight, I get the giant fish boat-side, and as Brandon reaches down to grab her mouth, she pulls away, wears through the shock tippet, and swims off into the depths. I am certain she is one of the biggest fish I’ve ever caught.

With the wind a bit stronger, the tarpon stay down more than the previous day, but Kyle still gets some good shots at laid up fish. After a while, we convince Brandon to let me pole him around for a bit, and he reluctantly accepts, making a few great casts and quickly convincing a fish to eat out of a nice cruising school. As the sun gets higher, we decide to change gears and run to look for bonefish and permit. As we shut down and grab a bonefish rod, we spot a school of big tarpon cruising across a sand flat and scramble to get the tarpon rod back out. The tarpon start daisy chaining right off the edge of the flat, and Kyle makes a few casts into the school before a willing fish sticks its whole head out the water to smash his fly. The school and the hooked fish take off together across the flat.

After landing Kyle’s fish, we are torn, wanting to target other species but knowing there are still lots of tarpon around. We soon see bonefish scurrying by, and I get up and catch one as Kyle stands behind me, tarpon rod at the ready. We then focus on permit, and Kyle takes the bow while I back him up from the middle with a tarpon rod. He gets a few permit shots and experiences the frustration of permit fishing before a lone tarpon cruises across the white sand. I strip line off my reel, we laugh as we frantically try to switch places, and I manage to feed the fish, landing it on a nearby flat in skinny water. We all get in to land, photograph and release the fish, and end up taking lunch while calf deep in the warm, crystal clear water, marveling at what an incredible couple of days it has been. “I love my job and wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Brandon remarks. “My dad always says, ‘Brandon, we might not ever be millionaires, but millionaires pay to escape their lives to come to the Keys and be a part of ours.’”

Bio: Alex Lovett-Woodsum lives in Coral Gables, Florida, where she runs a consulting business for outdoor-focused small businesses and nonprofits. She has been a consulting Editor for Tail and also helped run its social media and online marketing from 2016-2018.  She also works on numerous conservation causes including Now or Neverglades. When she’s not working, Alex spends most of her waking hours fly fishing her home waters around Biscayne and the Florida Keys, as well as hosting trips and traveling to fish as much as she can. You can reach her by email at alexwoodsum@gmail.com or on Instagram @alexwoodsum.

The Guides

Captain Joe Rodriguez grew up in Miami and now lives in the Lower Keys. He has 21 years of experience guiding from Miami to Key West. He can be reached at (305) 494-0000.

Captain Brandon Cyr is a fourth generation conch who has spent as much time as possible on the water since he was a kid, and followed in his father’s footsteps as a fishing guide. He has been guiding for bonefish, tarpon and permit for the past seven years out of Key West, Florida. He can be reached at (305) 797-5076 or on Instagram @brandoncyrkw.

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The post Alive & Well in the Florida Keys first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Alive & Well in the Florida Keys appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

by Tom King
Originally published in the January/February 2019 issue of Tail Fly Fishing Magazine

On Saturday, September 15th, 2018, Arthur Medici, a 26-year-old engineering student living in Revere, Massachusetts, was boogie-boarding off Cape Cod’s Newcomb Hollow beach in Wellfleet when he was fatally attacked by a great white shark.

Shark fatalities are statistically rare. According to the Florida Program for Shark Research at the Florida Museum of Natural History, in 2017 there were 88 cases of unprovoked shark attacks on humans worldwide (slightly higher than the five-year average of 83 annual incidents). Of those 88 attacks, there were five fatalities.

Before Arthur Medici, the last shark fatality in Massachusetts had occurred on July 25th, 1936, off Mattapoisett, near New Bedford, when Joseph Troy Jr., 16, from Dorchester, was attacked while swimming. After an investigation by Dr. Hugh M. Smith, former director of the US Bureau of Fisheries, Troy’s death was attributed to a “man-eater” (what is now called a great white shark).

Although fatalities are rare, shark attacks in Massachusetts have been on the rise in recent years. On July 30th, 2012, a white shark bit the feet and leg of a body-surfer at Ballston Beach, Truro, on Cape Cod’s eastern side. He recovered.

In 2014, two female kayakers were observing seals off Plymouth when a white shark attacked. Their kayaks were very close together. The shark came up from beneath and knocked both women overboard. A state shark biologist who investigated the incident told me that the bite marks on one of the kayaks indicated it was a predatory bite—as opposed to an investigatory bite—as the teeth had penetrated deeply into the cockpit of the well-made kayak. The woman in the struck kayak, he said, was very lucky to have escaped unscathed.

There have been several other attacks since.

Let’s take a look at the background information on why shark attacks are increasing in Massachusetts.

Worldwide, a few of the larger shark species have fatally attacked humans. One of the leaders in fatal attacks is the great white, whose scientific name is  Carcharodon carcharias. For centuries, the great white was commonly known as the “man-eater.” After World War Two, it came to be referred to as the white shark, the great white shark, the white pointer, white death, and other similar common names. Yet very little was known about the elusive creature. It wasn’t until the late 1960s that filmmaker Peter Gimbel captured the first underwater footage of the great white—and that required four months and 12,000 miles of travel. Gimbel’s 1971 documentary,  Blue Water, White Death, was doubtless a source of research for author Peter Benchley. Benchley’s 1974 bestseller,  Jaws, along with Steven Speilberg’s 1975 blockbuster film adaptation, made the great white shark a household name and caused many people to be afraid to go into the water.

Fully grown, great whites are 16 to 20 feet long and weigh 2,500 to 5,500 pounds. They have large triangular serrated teeth that are well-adapted to ripping meat off seals and whale carcasses, which are the preferred meals of the larger whites. Several years ago a dead whale off Provincetown, in Massachusetts Bay, had six different great whites come up from the depths to feast on its carcass. More recently, on October 14th, 2018, a boat owned by Hyannis Whale Watcher Cruises was on a tour with about 160 passengers when it spotted a dead finback whale with two great whites attached to it. One of the sharks was 18 feet long.

This shark species can function in water temperatures from 43 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit. That is one of the widest temperature ranges for any shark, and is the reason an occasional great white is spotted in New England in midwinter.

Enacted in 1972, the Marine Mammal Protection Act has resulted in a population explosion of grey seals in Massachusetts, especially along Cape Cod’s remote eastern beaches. Seal surveys are difficult to conduct because they can’t be done in a day and also because seals move around unpredictably. However, drone surveys estimate there are now 50,000 to 70,000 seals in Massachusetts waters. This massive increase in seals is a big attraction for their predator, the great white shark, which itself received federal protection in 1997. The combination of protecting both the seals and their predators is a good example of “Today’s solution is tomorrow’s problem.”  It’s especially a problem for those who presently frolic in Massachusetts waters, as humans are about the same size as seals.

A decade ago there were early signs of a potential problem developing. On Labor Day weekend in 2008, tuna spotter pilot Wayne Davis observed a rarely seen great white off Chatham, and he took definitive photos. On September 2nd, 2009, pilot George Breen spotted two large sharks off Chatham. The sharks were identified later that day as great whites by Dr. Greg Skomal, senior biologist at the Massachusetts Division of Marine Fisheries (DMF). Three days later, Skomal, along with DMF shark researcher John Chisholm and commercial tuna fishermen Captain Billy Chaprales and his son, Nick, were able able to place satellite pop-up tags into two great whites off Chatham, close to shore. At this writing, Dr. Skomal and his colleagues have tagged 146 great whites for the purpose of research.

Great White chasing down a wounded seal in Cape Cod

Several types of devices have been used to tag great whites. Some of the tags send information via satellite, while others transmit acoustic signals that are collected by hydrophones (underwater microphones). As the the great white population off Massachusetts has increased over the years, the taggers have become more skilled at placing tags. However, because of a lack of tagging funds—each tag costs thousands of dollars—coupled with the increase in sharks as well as the relatively small tagging area, there are many untagged great whites out there. For example, if spotter pilot Wayne Davis were to see 10 untagged whites in a day, yet only three tags were available on the tagging boat, then seven sharks would go untagged. Many of the untagged sharks are filmed with a GoPro camera from the tagging boat and are then cataloged. They are identified by their physical characteristics.

The tagging and filming takes place in a relatively small area, limited by the range of the tagging boat. The tagging boat is located at Chatham, on easterly Cape Cod, so it can’t go to every shark sighting in the state. Tagging takes place along the oceanside beaches of Chatham, Orleans, Eastham, Wellfleet, and Truro. Some of the sharks are trailed for miles in the shallower sandy-bottom areas and tagged in 4 to 6 feet of water close to shore—often right in front of clueless beachgoers. (The Atlantic White Shark Conservancy, a private non-profit enterprise, has been an enormous help, monetarily and physically, in assisting the state tagging program.)

The Cape Cod tagging area is not so much an area where the white sharks regularly linger, but rather is an area where the nomadic whites visit to participate in the seal buffet present there. An adult great white probably has to eat about three seals a month when available. Most of these whites eventually will travel along the coast after feeding and could return for a meal—or find one elsewhere.

On Cape Cod, people both ashore and in boats have videoed attacks on seals by great whites. These incidents have increased yearly. YouTube now hosts a number of videos of smaller great whites in the 8- to 10-foot range snatching striped bass and bluefish from anglers’ lines. Shark warning signs are posted at a number of Cape Cod beaches to alert people to the danger of a possible interspecies mishap.

Right now the situation between the seals and great whites exists primarily on Cape Cod’s easterly beaches, but a number of sightings and incidents (such as with the female kayakers off Plymouth) suggest that it could be spreading. Given enough time, the situation may exist along the entire New England coast.

When great whites enter Massachusetts Bay, they are harder to spot. The water is deeper and darker than it is on the easterly side of Cape Cod, where it is easier to see them from the spotter plane. White sharks cruising on the surface in Massachusetts Bay have resulted in beach closings as far north as Plymouth.

Marshfield Harbormaster Mike DiMeo places five hydrophones along the beaches close to shore, from Scituate to Plymouth. When an acoustic-tagged shark gets within a few hundred yards of a submerged hydrophone, the signal it transmits identifies the shark and the time it was there. The great white pings DiMeo has recorded have increased yearly. Untagged sharks are not detected, so there are likely more great whites in this area than what the hydrophones indicate. The hydrophones have to be retrieved and checked to acquire the data. A month or more could elapse between checks. This is good for shark research but is not useful information for beachgoers. DiMeo told me he plans to keep pushing for real-time hydrophones. “I feel this is the new norm and society wants real-time information.”

On August 3rd, 2017, a paddle-boarder was attacked in 3 feet of water by a great white on an East Cape beach; his board was damaged from the bite. In another August 2017 incident, a great white attacked a seal amid bathers very close to shore, sending everyone swimming and running to get out of the water.

On August 15th, 2018, a 61-year-old man was standing in shallow water off Truro, about 30 yards from shore, near at least 10 seals, when he was bitten on the leg and torso by a great white. He was med-flighted to Tufts Medical Center in Boston, where he underwent a prolonged recovery.

After that close call, many people started to sense it was only a matter of time until a fatality happened. They didn’t have to wait long. One month later Arthur Medici was attacked. The shark severed Medici’s femoral artery, and he died on the way to the hospital.

Although fatal shark attacks are statistically rare, if the current trend of seals, white sharks, and people in the water in Massachusetts continues, we won’t have to wait 82 years for another fatality.

Bio: Captain Tom King has been a longtime angler in the Massachusetts area, purchasing his first boat in 1949. Tom has been a fly fishing guide in Boston Harbor for striped bass, and he has also guided offshore for sharks. For a number of years Tom wrote a column for  On the Water. He has given many public presentations on New England’s shark species.

Further Reading and Viewing

Peter Gimbel’s 1971 documentary, Blue Water, White Death, is widely considered the best shark movie ever made. You can purchase it as a DVD on Amazon or buy or rent it through iTunes.

One of the crew members on Gimbel’s expedition was the late National Book Award-winning nature writer Peter Matthiessen, who was hired as the voyage historian. Matthiessen’s account of the voyage, Blue Meridian:  The Search for the Great White Shark, is available through Amazon.

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The post Cape Cod’s first fatal shark attack in 82 years first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Cape Cod’s first fatal shark attack in 82 years appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.