FishTales

Oh my gosh! It’s a surf turkey!

More fun with Photoshop from the Frenchman.

End of season sharpshooting by surfcasters on Long Island’s East End

Hunting for wild turkey (the bird, not the Bourbon!) opened last week in East Hampton, a limited hunt and the first since before World War II. Turkeys were stocked in the area, starting about a decade ago, and now they are fairly common. A Bonacker’s Thanksgiving, however, didn’t always include turkey on the table.

Harvey Bennett of Amagansett’s Tackle Shop bagged this wild turkey during the limited hunt before Thanksgiving

On the East End, Bonackers (short for the Indian word Accabonac, which roughly means land of ground nuts), are the descendants of the earliest working class English settlers of the hamlet known as Springs. Only a few such families remain of what used to be farmers, baymen and fishermen. The Bonacker family names most commonly include Miller, King, Bennett, Conklin, Havens, Strong and Lester.

These “bubs” lived low on the food chain. In the toughest of times, particularly during the Great Depression, Bonackers were known to eschew the traditional turkey on Thanksgiving and, instead, stuff a big meaty codfish with scallops, stale bread and whatever veggies their gardens would yield. Perhaps there would be some oyster stew or clam chowder, clam fritters or clam pie as well. The codfish, scallops, oysters and clams were plentiful and cheap, cheap, cheap back in the day. Not so any more.

So whether you are fortunate enough to have a fat fowl on your table this holiday, or you are giving a turkey a break by serving a ham, or perhaps a Bonacker’s turkey, here’s wishes for a Happy Thanksgiving from FishTales.

This season, getting your lure to mimic a sand eel on the sandbar was an angler’s best bet for hooking a striped bass in the surf

NOVEMBER 24, 2009

No keeper for me since Saturday. On Sunday, however, I did get 8 short stripers in a split session (630am to 830am; 3pm to 5pm). I even caught a fluke and also a dog fish–aka sand shark–which I got on a double header with a 10-inch striper! Biggest fish I had was 22 inches. The fish were taken at Truck Beach/Napeague State Park—the scene of Saturday’s “keeper” crime, if you will—and west of White Sands. Virtually all, except the micro-bass, hit the red tube teaser. At daybreak, small fish were porpoising right out of the water and there were swirls in the wash. A few birds worked over the gentle surf. It didn’t last long.

This red tube teaser did most of the damage on stripers caught on the ocean beach in Napeague and Amagansett

Some quality fish came up both in the morning and in the afternoon on Truck Beach and near Napeague Lane. But Sam Doughty, who had 20 bass for the day, said not one of his was a keeper. Overall, however, the fishing was stupid good the entire weekend from Georgica Beach to Hither Hills with the epicenter being Amagansett. No showly blitzes. Sometimes a few birds working in the early hours. Mostly, however, sharpshooting wherever a patch of water looked fishy or the structure showed a cut in the bar. Bucktailers will be bucktailers and fish were caught on white and chartreuse. But the deadliest lure was the  A27 diamond jig with a green tube–esssentially serving as a TDD (teaser delivery device). Teaser tubes, I learned, made all the difference.

The fish were sometimes right in the wash and mostly just in back of the breakers in the trough beyond the sandbar.  S-l-o-o-w retrieves worked best with an occasional jerk of the lure off the bottom. The sand eels invasion continued unabated. Sunday morning the beach at Napeague was littered with them and it was very common to snag one or two on a retrieve along the bottom.

Sand eels like this one have inundated the sandbars of East Hampton and Montauk and served as the primary bait for stripers and bluefish this fall surfcasting season

Monday morning the weather turned. Overcast skies, a forecast of showers and winds out of the northeast. At first light, I made a last pre-Thanksgiving run on the beach. Gannets dove big time near White Sands. They moved in fairly  close—to the outer bar—but not close enough. I picked up one 12-inch striper at Napeague before quitting at 9am. Then it was up-island to reality, a birthday dinner with Tono and Le Nozzi di Figaro at the Met. Worse days, I have had.

Monday’s lightening round might have been my season ender (Tick tock!).  Future fish calls and the weather will determine that. In any case, I didn’t plan to return until after the holiday. So the question was, would the Fat Lady sing while I wolfed down Turkey and cranberry sauce?

Gobble Gobble.

Just when I thought I was done, a keeper bass pulled me back in

NOVEMBER 21, 2009

November sunset on the ocean beach at Napeaque

You can get just so much from a good thing

You can linger too long in your dreams

Say goodbye to the “Oldies But Goodies”

Cause the good ole days weren’t always good

And tomorrow ain’t as bad as it seems

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, keeping the faith

–Billy Joel

I’d been fishing on my own for two days, ever since Big Bob Wilsusen and my son Daniel left the beach following a lightening round of surfcasting on Thursday. I had a few small fish and but I was starting to worry that we had reached the end of the 2009 surfcasting season. Fish were being caught, but mostly rats. The fish were  still feeding on sand eels. No sign of big bait. Very few blues were caught.  On Friday, I  saw lots of short bass and only one keeper come up at Atlantic Ave. in the late afternoon. I had two short stripers myself, one right in front of Treasure Island Drive. The one at dusk,  on Truck Beach, was close to keeper-size: maybe 26-1/2 inches. My rough estimate was that for every 10 fish caught, nine were shorts and only one was a 28-inch or larger keeper. Anglers were dragging their lures slowly along the sandbars, sometimes dredging up skates and even small fluke. What was going on, I wondered?

Saturday morning, I searched from Truck Beach east of Napeague Lane all the way west to Georgia. I saw zilch. I stopped to cast a bit here and there, but I couldn’t raise a fish.  Things were dull as dirt. The weather was fine–near perfect, in fact. Water temperatures had cooled to somewhere around 57 degrees F.  A chilly NNW breeze kept the sky clear and plenty of sunshine raised air temperatures to the mid-50s by midday. A blazing orange sunrise at 645am competed for the natural beauty crown with a killer pink-and-gray sunset at 5pm the night before. It was a great day to be on the beach fishing, except for one important detail: where were the fish? I was beginning to think they had all moved west.

Who’s Zoomin’ Who?

At Atlantic Ave. around 7am,  one surfcaster leaving the beach volunteered: “You missed them. It’s all over now. At dawn, fish were jumping and lots of quality fish were taken off the beach.” A few minutes later, another angler offered a different view: “I’ve been here all morning and I have yet to see a fish of any sort caught.” At Harvey’s Tackle Shop, I relayed both stories and asked: “who was lying?” Said Sam Doughty: “they both were”. Too weird. I was starting to loose faith.  It seemed like my Saturday afternoon run was likely to be my last of the season. Perhaps the Napeague Lane Massacre of 11/12/09 was the season climax. Tick Tock. I thought I heard the Fat Lady clearing her throat in the wings.

Faith, hope and keeper bass: This teen-sized November striper fell to a green-feathered teaser in the wash at Napeague State Park

After lunch, I rode the beach east to Napeague State Park where at least 40 surfcasters were into a slow but steady bite of small fish, punctuated every now and then by a keeper bass. I joined in, throwing an A17 Diamond jig with a green tube followed by  a green-feathered teaser. I got one small bass. Then I remembered the slightly heavier, A27 diamond jig that Sam Doughty recommended I buy at Harvey’s Tackle Shop a few hours earlier.

Faith-Based Fishing

Two casts after tieing on that lure, I got a no-nonsense hit a mere 2o yards beyond the sandbar where I stood. My rod bent more than any time in the last two weeks. Line tore off my reel as my drag protested. It was fairly certain I had a quality fish on and it didn’t take long to beach it. My fish was a 31-inch fatty that had been munching on sand eels.

The bite died shortly thereafter and I left the beach before dark to prep for dinner. The bass was oven roasted in white wine, lemon and olive oil, perfumed with basil, thyme and capers. Tono contributed risotto with chicory and carrots. I lit a fire and cranked up some Puccini. Natalie baked a few chocolate fudge cookies for dessert and the night was complete. I was ready to rise early and take one more shot in the morning.

My faith was restored.

Beware the fate of those who ignore the fish call. And woe unto thee who forsake the teaser hook

NOVEMBER 19, 2009

November Sky at Napeague: Sam Doughty leans back on a sunset striper

Here is the message I picked up on my voice mail at 830am Wednesday morning.

“Hey Fred, you really need to get out to Amagansett, if you aren’t already here. Those fish are stacked up on the beach in front of your house and have been there since before daybreak. It’s about 730am now. Half or three-quarters of Montauk is there, if you want to get in the middle of all the fighting and yelling and screaming. The fish were there last night, too, a couple of 300 or 400 yards to the west of the Napeague Lane. There is an east wind driving bait up on the beach. I don’t know how much longer it will last. Worth a day trip at least. A couple of nice fish came up. Sam fished there last night. I had some smaller fish near Gurney’s.”

Harvey Bennett says he would drive a Toyota Prius--but he doesn't know where to mount the gun rack

That was from Harvey Bennett, proprietor of The Tackle Shop and self proclaimed naked fisherman. I once asked him for a photo and he told me all he had was one of himself fishing in the buff. Heck, I didn’t even know he fished. A good day for Harvey, who Vanity Fair described as the East end’s beloved insult king, is the opportunity to make the most outrageous statement possible to the most unsuspecting, innocent victim.  “I told one tree-hugger,” he proudly recalled,  “that I would be happy to trade in my Chevy pick-up for a hybrid Prius, once I figure out where to mount the gun rack.”

As it turns out, when Harvey is not verbally abusing a friend, customer or random stranger, he does fish. His latest You Tube Video promotion claimed that he caught 50 stripers with his buddy Sam Doughty on a recent afternoon. So his  heads up fish call was all the prompting I required. I put the word out to a few stalwarts that I would be heading east to Amagansett after dinner and I got two takers: my son Daniel and Big Bob Wilsusen.

Big Bob Wilsusen answered the fish call and was rewarded with this chunky teen size bass

We hit the beach at 645am Thursday morning and we didn’t have to travel far. There were already nine trucks in the Napeague Lane parking lot and an equal number on the beach to the west. This is where the action left off when storm Nor’Ida moved through last weekend, and it was where the action picked up again once the waters settled down early in the week.

We stepped into the water halfway between Napeague Lane and Treasure Island Drive. The tide was incoming and the pick was very slow. We threw the lure bag, but the offering of choice was a diamond jig with a green tube—the bigger and heavier the better for the distance required to cast it beyond the sandbar.

At 9am, Big Bob got a hit in the wash.  I was 100 yards down the beach but I could tell by the bend in his rod that he had a quality fish. The striper that came up was a fat and sassy 32-½ inch, teen-sized bass. It was stuffed, literally, to the gills with sand eels.

Not our best day: Daniel played hookey but got skunked and I'm shopping for a new rod (photo by Jack Yee)

That pretty much sealed the deal for our morning session. I then ran into a series of equipment snafus. I’ll spare you the details but suffice it to say my day was not improved when a 9 1/2-foot graphite rod broke in two on an ordinary cast. Unfortuately, it was a worse day for Daniel. His hookie-from-work escapade turned into a skunk session. Daniel hadn’t gotten into fish even once this season. And we were rapidly running out of season.

Sam Doughty makes catching quality keeper bass like this one seem like child's play

Bob filleted his fish and left the beach. Dan and I cast at a few other spots before he left for the LIRR and home. At 315pm, I headed back to the beach solo.  Near the Atlantic Ave. beach entrance, there was a flock of birds working so I humped out to the sandbar and began hurling towards them. Finally, a strike. I was hoping for a keeper bass but came up instead with a hyperactive bluefish. Considering my results to that point, I was thankful nonetheless. Then I moved along to the east where I encountered Harvey Bennett and his buddy Sam Doughty. Sam makes surf fishing–or more precisely, surf fish catching–look easy. He  was nailing stripers on nearly every cast. Harvey was fishing with a tiny rod and reel and wasn’t doing much worse. Their secret: rubber tube teasers tied a few inches above their diamond jigs. At one point, Sam pulled in two baby bass, a double header with one on the main lure and another on the teaser. “Put them in a line and you have a keeper,” Harvey quipped.

Sam took pity on me and showed me how to tie on a red tube teaser which he donated to my cause. I escaped total shame by  nailing a tiny striper in a diaper a few casts later. For a  sunset finale, I moved over to the beach entrance at Napeague Lane where I scored one more micro bass. Both fish were caught on the red teaser. Later, Harvey called to say he left a teaser rig for me at his shop. “Don’t forget to pick it up, you’ll need it in the morning.”

I made sure it was my last stop before home.

My only "keeper" of the day was this hyperactive bluefish

Tropical storm Ida went “coastal”  and the the stripers fed hungrily until the beaches and the bite eroded into the surging storm tides

VETERANS DAY WEEK, NOVEMBER 10-14, 2009

Tropical Storm Ida became Nor'Ida, a bruising nor'easter that gouged beaches and stirred up the bass

Ida began shaping into a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico right around Election Day. She slammed into the Bayou coast and, as a tropical storm, tore her way across the Florida Panhandle dumping flooding rains in Georgia, before swirling north in an assault on the Atlantic Ocean.

…..And the bass kept coming.

By Veteran’s Day, the barrier beaches of North Carolina, Virginia and eventually the Jersey shore and Long Island were in the clutches of an historic nor’easter. The storm became Nor’Ida and it gouged the local beaches with a vicious east-to-west sweep of the surf. Winds gusted off the ocean at more than 30 mph, and high tides reached well beyond the dune crests and into parking lots.

…..And the bass kept coming.

It was hard to believe that fish could swim in such washing machine chaos, let alone feed. But stripers have their prey at even greater mercy under storm conditions. As the barometer drops, and the weather turns sloppy, stripers feed like mad in the tumultuous white water. And when striped bass bite, surfcasting junkies react.

….And so the bass fisherman kept coming, too.

One Fish, Two Fish, He Gave Away My Bluefish

Blues Brothers: We filled our cooler with these tasty cocktail blues caught in a blitz at Dead Man's Cove

I made it out to the beach and hooked up with big Brother Frank on Tuesday morning. The following three days would be Frank’s surfcasting swan song for 2009. His plane ride home to Los Angel-eeze would sky up on Friday the 13th. Tick tock. Time was running out to score a keeper bass. The mild weather held, and we had favorable conditions at first light when we saw a very encouraging sign: a quality fish being walked off the beach at White Sands just as we arrived. We cast for a while with some other anglers but no one raised a fish, so we moved further east. Mid morning, just about at the bottom of the tide, we nailed cocktail blues in a blitz at Dead Man’s Cove. We had these fish all to ourselves for about an hour. When the action subsided, Frank made a gift of two fish to a local Chinese take-out restaurant in Amagansett. Frank trades part of his catch for dishes the restaurant prepares for him using his fresh caught fish. The idea this day was to thank the restaurant for past services–and set the stage for future meals. I was looking forward to mine; Preferably stir-fried in black bean, or sweet-and-sour sauce, or with garlic, ginger and scallions. But Frank said that would have to wait for another day. More like another season. And the reason we gave up two fish from my cooler ……?

Harvey Bennett’s Fish Call and a Visit to Humiliation Beach

Early in the afternoon, we got a fish call from Harvey Bennett of The Tackle Shop and we scoured the East Hampton and Amagansett beaches for signs of life. When we determined that we were too late on that tip, we returned to Montauk town beach, which may as well been called Humiliation Beach for us. For the rest of the day, sharpies left and right of us nailed bluefish after bluefish–and the occassional striper–while Frank and I got none. Perplexed, embarrassed and feeling as low as a couple of googans, we moved to a new spot further east–where we experienced more of the same. Finally, I got two little guys. That was our clue to head home. Mumbling under our breath, we drank scotch and dined on bluefish Mediterranean style (broiled with lemon, olive oil, white wine, capers and fresh basil), spicy roasted sweet potato chips, and mixed salad washed down with a crisp chilled Orvieto. It took a while, but that revived our spirits.

On Veteran’s Day, based on Harvey Bennett’s fish call the day before, we went straight to Atlantic Beach in Amagansett at sunrise. Bullseye. Gulls worked furiously over the wildly pounding surf and gannets dove into bait beyond the white water on the outer bar. Even with the wind-whipped surf, we could see fish tails splashing. Stripers were porpoising in the wash and Frank and I jumped from his Bronco and cast to them, shouting a whup-whup-whup cry of victory. Here is where we get well for sure, we thought. A bit premature as it turned out.

The punishing northeast wind stung our faces, but the fish were within our reach. The only problem, is they wouldn’t bite. Here we came upon our first bona fide bass blitz of the season and the fish turned out to be picky eaters.  At first, Frank and I concluded: “we really suck”. But we saw that most sharpies had the same bad luck. Not a lot anyone can do if the fish choose to fast.

Humiliation Beach, Part II

The birds headed east, following the fish that chased the bait and we did the same. Eventually, the winged mayhem  subsided near Napeague Lane. A few bluefish were raised but we didn’t see any bass taken at first. Then, suddenly, it was “Welcome to Humiliation Beach II”. A bucktailer started getting a bent rod on every cast. Meanwhile, we couldn’t buy a bump.  We gradually worked our way out to Montauk where we me up with a quorum of locals sharpies so we didn’t even bother to check Montauk Point. We hopeds for a repeat of the Dead Man’s Cove action that sustained us so many times in the last week. For sure, there were birds working over bait—gulls and gannets—but they didn’t come inside the bar. With the early afternoon’s rising tide, however, we got into a slow pick of bluefish on Montauk town beach. When this died out, we moved over to Hither Hills where the wind and tide drove water up onto a four foot high ridge line that the storm was beginning to carve from a formerly sloping sandy beach.  There was hardly a bird or other natural sign to recommend this spot.  However, at least a dozen of Montauk’s surfcasting Murderers’ Row were lined up like fence posts pulling in fish. Hurling Kastmasters, bucktails and diamond jigs, Frank and I filled our cooler with a half dozen decent sized blues, but no bass. But our jaws dropped more than once as we watched a couple of cow bass come up right next to us–one at least 30 pounds.

Cold, wet, tired and hungry, we quit before dark to clean our catch and prepare dinner: Bluefish ragu over linguine, and oven-baked bluefish marinara.

The Thursday Morning Massacre at Napeague Lane

One way or another, Thursday would be our last fishing day. Frank had honey-do chores and the storm was getting intense, likely to shut down the bite in the next tide or two. We hoped for a repeat of the prior day, only with fish more receptive to our offerings. At first light it was evident that the day would be all about Ida, the tropical storm turned ferocious nor’easter. The wind howled along the shoreline like a freight train and white water was piled up everywhere.  But Amagansett still had a sliver of beach to naviagate on the descending tide. Birds hovered in the wind above the breakers and we chased a flock of them east from Atlantic Avenue to Mako Lane. There, in the waters just a few hundred yards west of the Napeague Lane parking lot, the fish were schooled up picking on four-inch sand eels and Murderer’s Row was on them but good.

It took a yeoman’s cast to get a lure past the white water breaking on the sand bar and into a patch of green water beyond. But for those who managed, the results that morning were as fine as all season; Keeper bass after keeper bass succumbed to 4 1/2-ounce diamond jigs with green tubes attached,, or weighty 4-oz bucktails of white or chartreuse. I saw 20’s, 30’s and one possible 40 pounder hauled in. This was the most amount of quality fish I have ever seen taken in one session and it may have been the most riotous surfcasting I have ever witnessed. The fish were slipping thorugh a narrow cut in the sandbar so that only a 100 foot long honey hole was producing hits. This tight sweetspot was monopolized by a handful of local sharpies who were content to fish on top of each other, despite the wicked sweep of the current from east to west. To avoid tangled lines and worse, Frank and I fished the periphery but we did not have the distance to get in on the action. We hung around, in and out of the water, until the bite died at 11am.  From then on, the water was unfishable and the bite stayed off through the rest of the weekend.

The Legend of Richie Bag Foot

Richie Bag Foot arguably caught the biggest fish at Hither Hills on Veteran’s Day and in the Napeague Lane massacre. His striper on Thursday morning was a bait-saturated, pot-bellied 39-pounder that fell to a white bucktail lure. Bag Foot strolled along the surf line with his fish, ducking under the cast lines of at least a dozen anglers until he finally beached this Moby striper and shouted “Montana!”  Then he hauled it to his truck parked on the sand.

The meaning of Richie’s “Montana” war cry is as follows: when he fished commercially, the best fish were called “beauts”. Over time, a beut became Butte, and eventually, the state name Montana was also code for a really good fish. Hey, remember, these guys are fishermen. Okay?

Camera-shy Richie Bag Foot took 20-plus and 30-plus pound stripers from the stormy ocean surf during the Veteran's Day nor'easter (photo by Jack Yee)

How Richie got his nickname, is far more direct. About five years ago, Richie had a broken leg. It was fishing season and a good bite was on at the beach. So into the surf went Richie with a shorty white boot on his left leg, and his right leg encased in a plaster cast. Richie had the cast wrapped in a plastic garbage bag. From that day forward, he was evermore Richie Bag Foot.

Big brother Frank left on schedule Friday afternoon with a couple of bluefish fillets tucked safely in his travel cooler. No bass this year. I hung around in the rain and wind as Ida petered out over the weekend but the bite was shut down tight. And yet, the sharpies returned to Napeague Lane every morning through Sunday with their tongues hanging like labrador retrievers, hoping the bass would come again.

As did I.

Because I know they will.

And the 2009 title goes to Doug Levian for his stellar weekend success of back to back keeper stripers from the surf

NOVEMEBER 6-9, 2009

Meet Mr. November, 2009: Doug Levian.  Dougie won that distinction with back-to-back keeper bass caught on the weekend prior to Veteran’s Day. Big brother Frank earned cred for putting Dougie into the fish. But make no mistake: Dougie came into his own for fishing his signature diamond jig lures as good as can be fished during the never-ending sand eel barrage that besieged the East End beaches nearly the entire surfcasting season.

Mr. November: Doug Levian (center) was deadly with his signature diamond jig lure, nailing back to back keeper bass (photo by Jack Yee)

I have stated often that Dougie is near magical when fishing around the time of the Marine Corps Annivesary (for those who are counting, the Corps celebrated its 234th “birthday” on November 10). In fact, this veteran Leatherneck is one sharp angler virtually anytime of the surfcasting season–whether chasing blues in his bathing suit along the sandy ocean beaches in September, or sheathed in waders while rock hopping at Montauk Point in a post-Halloween nor’easter. I’ve fished with Dougie in all conditions and I bear witness to his deadly prowess with his lure of choice: a shiny but otherwise unadorned diamond jig. He may get snagged now and then on the underwater obstacles of Mecca, but his consistent success hooking up to big blues and quality stripers more than makes up for the casualty of a lost lure or two or three. Considering the onslaught of sand eel bait that has been the meal du jour of our quarry nearly the entire surfcasting season, it was little wonder that Dougie the diamond jig king scored more keepers in one weekend than anyone else I have fished with (including me) has had all season.

Dougie’s weekend to remember began with ridiculously warm and mild weather as he and Frank hit the East End beaches while I remained “up Island” for a Dinner Club feast on Saturday, a real estate open house on Sunday,  and a lightening round of antique shopping in New Hope, PA. Don’t ask…..

Dueling Stripers: One was a gift and the other was Dougie's second keeper of the weekend

Along with Frank’s daughter Gina, who reported that she caught the surfcasting “bug”, the boys once again found blitzing bluefish on the sandy beaches from Hither Hills to Montauk town beach. This was a fairly consistent story since the last storm moved through on Halloween weekend. Late Saturday afternoon, Dougie pulled up keeper number one in front of the White Sands Motel beach entrance with nary a sign of life to guide him. No bait or fish showing, no birds working. Just sharp shooting on a tip gleaned at Harvey Bennett’s Tackle Shop from a fellow angler who Frank identified only as “Mr. Peepers”.

The bluefish onslaught continued on Sunday morning. And following a mid-day beach picnic of striped bass in black bean sauce prepared by one of the local Chinese take-out kitchens, the fishing got better and the blues got bigger. This time the best action was west of the Surfside Inn overlook to the Glass House near Gurney’s Inn. At day’s end, however, Dougie pulled the aquatic equivalant of a rabbit out of a hat by landing a teen-sized schoolie bass that he jigged up on the Montauk town beach near Paulie’s Tackle Shop.

Big brother Frank landed this 30-inch gangster bluefish on the beach in front of the Glass House near Gurney's Inn

On Monday morning, Frank and Gina picked up the action, sans Dougie. Rumors were circulating of fish everywhere along the ocean beach, including in front of our own beloved Treasure Island Drive.  In the afternoon, the father-daughter duo returned to the scene of earlier crimes in Montauk where Frank nailed the gawd-awfullest gangster bluefish of the season: a snarly 30-incher that must have weighed 12 pounds. The head on this fish was equal to that of a small dog. Excellent fish, Frank. But not good enough to unseat the new Mr. November. Congrats to Dougie!

Natalie and I went to see the Water Lillies Exhibition at MOMA recently.

As you can see, it was extraordinary.

This little piece of fishy humor provided by my friends Carole and Angus in Paris.

Big brother Frank came in from Los Angel-eeze.  Punk rock surfcasting attorney Justin Hoy arrived from Chelsea, NY. So who is the real Mr. November?

NOVEMBER 4-5, 2009

In the past,  big brother Frank’s last trip of the surfcasting season from the Left Coast to Mecca has typically been a harbinger of great fishing. By this late in the season, the big bait is running—herring or bunker or both—and the big fish are on the feedbag, fattening up for their winter migration. But I don’t have to repeat how odd this season has been thus far. So I was filled with equal amounts of hope and anxiety when I picked up Frank on November 3 at JFK. Could he once again prove to be Mr. November?

Big Brother Frank in his "Aquaman" suit, casting at the Indian Head in Montauk

The good news is that we didn’t exactly get skunked on Wednesday morning. Fishing along side a small handful of Montauk sharpies near the Indian Head bluff in Montauk, I scored a tiny 16 inch striper around 830am just before the flood tide. There was a slow pick of small fish there and on the Montauk village beaches, but that was our only taste of the day. After lunch, with the turn of the tide, we did the walk from Ditch Plains east to the Cottages and Amsterdam beach, chasing a flock of birds working over bait that never came within reach. At dark, our cooler unsullied, we retired to a dinner of linguine with red sauce, eggplant parmigiana and watched the Yankees seal the deal for World Series victory number 27.

Fuck the Yankees–or am I repeating myself here?

Bluefish Blitz The Beach

Thursday, with punk rock attorney Justin Hoy on hand, we first checked west, but found no hint of action in East Hampton.  Back east, however, from the Surfside Inn overlook, we spied working birds in close to shore.

Gulls squawked, baitfish crashed the shoreline and cocktail bluefish blitzed the beach all afternoon from the Surfside Inn overlook to Ditch Plains

All through the last of the incoming tide, we hopscotched the beach on the trail of a tight flocks of birds working low and intensely over bait in the wash. Frank broke the ice by landing the what may be the smallest bluefish to have ever swum the Atlantic. As the tide peaked, the fish came within reach at the IGA and we followed them east, all the way to the Indian Head. All small bluefish—the good eating kind—and plenty of fun-filled blitz action.

Punk rock attorney Justin Hoy scored his first ever striper--a chunky 24-incher--on the beach at Ditch Plains

We ran out of beach at the far eastern end of Montauk village, so we hopped off and then back on at Ditch Plains, where we awaited the school we left behind. And come they did. This time, however, Justin raised the ante: his first fish of the day was a chunky 24-inch bass nailed on a diamond jig. More blues for me and Frank. And then, while Frank took a break to humor his West Coast real estate customers,  Justin and I did the walk east to the Cottages, hoping the bass would come into the rocky shore.  They never did.

Stupid Good Fishing; Bay Anchovies In the Wash

Back to the truck and back to the Indian Head Bluff. And there was where the fishing got stupid good. With the descending tide, we were able to drive to Dead Man’s cove and then walk with a school of fish tracking back towards Montauk village, casting and catching as we went. We could see bait being run right onto shore by maurading cocktail blues slashing and thrashing just a high kick from the shoreline.

This baby bass took a sand eel teaser but the blitzing bluefish were feeding on bay anchovies that moved onto the beach for the first time this season

Squawking gulls, knitted together in a thick black cloud, beat their wings on the water in a frenzy. I was catching fish two at a time on my green teaser and anything else I had attached; diamond jig with tube, shortly Hopkins with a bucktail or lead head bucktail. Try as we did to get under these blues, we couldn’t raise a bass. At 1pm, we left the fish biting. We took home 9 fish to clean and distribute having thrown back at least twice as many.

Justin promised to be back for Veteran’s Day and the king of all diamond jigs, Doug Levian was to be Frank’s fishing partner for the weekend. Gannets are diving, the water is cooling and the clock is ticking down on the season. It is high time some big bass make their appearance.

Also, time for the REAL Mr. November to stand up. First keeper gets the title.

Who will it be?

Halloween Weekend is Boo-Hoo-Hoo

OCTOBER 30 to NOVEMBER 1, 2009

I was hoping that Daniel’s arrival on Halloween would “scare” up some fish. It had been one of the most abysmal surfcasting seasons in recent years and I was so eager for a change in luck, that I got things going early on Friday with Big Bob Wilsusen. But neither Bob nor Daniel proved to be the antidote to the skunk that was upon me. Bottom line was that we fished hard, but had nothing to show for our efforts.

The only game in town for weeks has been small bass bottom feeding on sand eels on the sandbar in Montauk village

The early ayem session on Friday with Big Bob Wilsusen looked promising at first. A gray, overcast morning was softened by warm wet winds from the south. A handful of casters were landing small fish in a slow pick at the Ditch Plains cove near the East Deck motel. We joined the chorus line but got nothing for our 45 minute effort except confirmation that the fish were still bottom feeding on sand eels.

Roaming from beach to beach, we spotted a flock of birds working over bait, and some flyboats acting like it was the only game in town—which indeed it was–well offshore at the North bar. But these fish never moved in and we gave up the ghost around 11am.

Where was everyone, I wondered? None of the locals were out. Kathy Callahan’s and the Mad Hatter’s trucks  were in the barn. Even legendery  surfcasting paparazzo Jack Yee was stumped;  When he said the action was at Dead Man’s Bluff and I said I was just there, he then suggested hesitantly:  “Turtle Cove?” We were all guessing.

Storm Eroded Beaches

Most of the beaches were washed out from early October nor’easters, so passage  was impossible to many prime fishing spots,  including Oyster Pond Cove, Stepping Stones, Shagwong (no go past  the airport landing approach on Gin Beach), Napeague, Hither Hills to Gurney’s, Surfside Inn to Gurney’s. Maybe that is why the “minnow” brigade has been singularly focused on the town beach in Montauk village where one angler estimated a fish was being picked up every 40^th cast. (more like every hundredth cast, to me). For the surfcasters who still show up, this has been pretty much the epicenter of action for weeks now. And the fish are small to tiny.

At 5pm on Friday, I took a solo ride east and thought I spied a flock of birds working hard and low on the water at Oyster Pond Cove. However, there was no way to get there. So home I went. later to dine on grilled veal chops, sweet potato risotto, stuffed acorn squash and roasted cauliflower at Karen MaGovern and Big Bob’s house.

Even my son, "Can't Miss Dan" wasn't able to raise a fish, hard though he worked, wading into the banging surf of Montauk sandbars

Saturday morning, I hoped that my son’s  “can’t miss Dan”  mojo would get us well. Indeed, we walked right into some frenzied bird action off Turtle Cove nearly first thing after sunrise. But this school never came in and dispersed quickly. More birds–including this seasons first appearance  of diving gannets–could the big bait be here?–near the Sewer Pipe. But by the time we suited up for “the walk”, they too evaporated. We worked our way west–Ditch Plains, town beach, etc. We even waded out to the sandbar at Hither HIlls–the scene of Dr. Charlie Boyz’ crime (aka keeper) two weeks previous. But not a bump.

Mike Oliver and The Brits

Sunday morning was an even sadder story. Now the fishermen weren’t even showing up. We searched deserted beaches and finally commited to “the walk” from Ditch Plains east to the Andy Warhol compound. Along the way, we met up with Mike Oliver and his merry band of Brits. Mike and his mates were squeezing in a flycasting session on the last day of their two week fishing holiday. Every fall this group comes from England to fish the Montauk waters and give new meaning to the idea that striper fishing isn’t a matter of life or death–it is MORE important! They fish virtually non-stop, day and night, taking time off only for a little sleep, some beer and bangers and an occasional spot of tea. Dan and I were chatting up Mike on this remote beach at 830am in the morning when he finally excused himself for a final turn in the surf. In about 2 hours Mike had to clean up his rental house, pack up his gear and head for JFK. But for the moment, just one more cast…………

On the way home, Dan and I found some working birds near the White Sands motel and we waded through a deep trough to perch on a sandbar with hopes of reaching what might be feeding under them. Waves crashed in front of us and a wild undertow swept behind us from the back wash. But no fish. After 20 minutes, we figured it was hardly worth continuing to risk our lives, and we hustled back to terra firma. Had the fish been blitzing; Well,  that would have been another story.

Next up: Big Brother Frank  from the Left Coast comes to town for the last act of the season. We did real well last November when he brought the curtain down on the 2008 season. Here’s a look back at that action. Let’s see if he can once again inject the magic we have been lacking thus far.

Meanwhile, Fuck the Yankees.