Stripers with Steve

9-25-11 0745
Green House
Stripers with Steve
“Hey Alan, wanna go fishing tomorrow?” A phone call at the end of a rather grey day..spiced with fog during the late morning, and even some spots of sun in the later day. And there was enough wind in the morning to keep me out of the kayak. So who knew about tomorrow? And yet, Steve has some kind of pull with the gods of weather. After all, he does announce it on the local NPR station, WCAI (officially “Cape and Islands”, which Tirien has always identified as the “Capon Islands”). He even hosts a fishing show..no call in’s yet, but perhaps that’s coming.
“Shure thing!” We settled the ‘your boat or mine’ question quickly, since the last trip, early morning with a big bluefish bite, had been in his boat, and I definitely am using up gas at the end of my fishing season, while Steve will be fishing on into the fall.
“How about before 5, say 4:55, at my skiff?”
I woke at about 2:30..my internal clock at 70 is pretty much driven by prostate rather than anxiety… and was pleased to see some stars, and feel no hint of wind to mute the zinging of crickets. Back to sleep with dreams of the boat light wiring project I am working on, and at 3:55 I turned off the alarm and got up in the moonless dark. Made the tea, found the stainless steel long nose pliers that are important for removing hooks, and spent a few minutes rigging the LED’s to power a red/green running light (something that morning fishermen like to pretend they are not required to have), based on a plan that seemed to have originated in the dream. Lots of dew..another sign of a clear night. And no water dripping through the oak leaves of the trees surrounding this clearing in the woods.
It was dark enough to need the headlamp biking downtown. Low tide, so a climb down the ladder to get from seawall to boat, and the current will be just about full force flooding out in The Hole. I had time to jury rig the bow light with duct tape before Steve arrived.
We both rigged up the Estonian poppers. These are lures that are intended to stay on the surface, making a popping splash as you retrieve them..they have the red head and basically white body that has always been a hit with local striped bass and bluefish. And they don’t risk getting stuck on shallow rocks. Plus you can hear them chugging back towards the boat, and thus in the dark figure out when to stop reeling. And finally, when a big hungry fish lunges towards them on the surface, it makes a special noise that electrifies all bait casting fisherpeople.
The surface of Eel Pond was flat calm, shimmering night lights from the institutional buildings, and the bright red of the lights warning us that the drawbridge is closed. At 4 feet bridge to water we have plenty of room. The bow red/green works fine..very little back scatter to dim night vision. And just enough forward light to light up the reflective tape on the navigation bouys marking the channel. Out beyond, there’s the complex winking of bigger bouys that I know are several miles away.
We powered up and out, feeling the current in The Hole coil and twist, giving the boat strange lurches and swerves. Ran SW against the flooding current, and then slowed and worked left into the eddy behind the rockpile and metal marker at the SW end. The ospreys seem to have fledged, flown, and moved away for the winter. Cut the engine and started floating down current over Middle Ledge, casting as we went.
It was dark enough so it was a little hard to be sure that we would miss the day marker, a 12 foot wide stainless steel tripod embedded in rocks at the NE end of Middle Ledge. At current speeds of 6 knots, it creates a significant boiling disruption, white water and noise that seem closer or farther away depending on tiny shifts in the water dynamics. This first run, we sail by a good 4 yards to the West. Steve says he heard one fish go for his lure, but I didn’t even get that. I start the engine again, and, making sure of landmarks I can only barely see, head up current alongside the ledge and we try it again. Lots of burbling warbling splashing, but it’s all just water on rock. After about four of these, perhaps because of overconfidence, sweeping by within 3 feet of the day marker. Coming up against it sideways at this current would not be good. For those of you who have done river rafting, it means we would have to highside immediately, or swamp and turn over. And getting off against the pressure of water would be almost impossible.
“Maybe we should try Red Ledge?”, suggests Steve. It’s light enough now at 5:30 to see things more clearly. Red Ledge has some rocks above the surface..its further to the NE, and just SW of the ship channel that empties Great Harbor into Vineyard Sound.
“Yeah, the book I’m reading, about the guys who begin salt water sport fishing back in the 30’s and 40’s, is full of advice NOT to just stay in one place. If the bite isn’t there, you should move till it is, they say” I reply.
Drifting with the current, we go shooting right by Red Ledge too fast for more than one cast. So, as the sky continues to lighten over the steamship wharf where the Island Home ferry is taking on cars and passengers for the first run of the morning, I nudge the boat, motor running, near to the triangle of rocks where Steve is convinced the fish are waiting.
After a couple warm ups, he makes a perfect cast right into the middle, and with barely any pause, a fish slashes at the Estonian plug..and misses!. But the next cast, another slash and this time I know by the bend of his rod and the singing sound the reel makes when a heavy fish is pulling line against the automatic drag that he’s connected. I shut off the motor, and we drift towards the light, towards the arch of multicolored dawn that is brewing over the sillouettes of houses and trees on Juniper Point..that is, into the steamship channel.
The boat’s turning on the current, and Steve scrambles back and forth to keep his line clear. The ferry is loaded and leaving, and gives a preemptory toot. On the bow, a searchlight comes on, sweeps, spots us and is turned off.
“How’s it feel?” I ask. “I think it’s a keeper bass” replies Steve. Minutes later, with the ferry bearing down, I managed to miss twice with the net, but mama nature is smiling and on the third try I land his striped bass..definitely more than 28 inches, and can start the motor in time to take us out of the ferry’s path.
How much more exciting and beautiful the morning looks with a fish in the boat! We run motor back up, and takes turns catching two smaller bass that leap all the way out of the water, troutlike, and can be returned unharmed. And then, with Steve at the wheel (after all, he built the boat and has a fish already) I cast into the same spot, now more easily seen, a roiling boiling hole in the midst of the rocks, and connect…not quite as large, but still a 29 inch fish , which Steve scoops up. Suddenly, our fishing is over. It’s a little after 6 AM.

Almost magically, the boat drifts into an eddy in the deep water on the East side of the rocks of Red Ledge. We circle slowly in place. The Island Home is long gone around the Great Ledge heading for Vineyard Haven. The sky show colors have blossomed up into oranges and reds, with silvery cloud banks in silver framing the scene. Definitely genesis. And by good fortune, the tea I brought is still unspilled and warm.
I guess we talked. The kind of inconsequential noises that reassure rather than represent. Just being there in the dawn, with Steve and two fish in the boat.