80-90 air temps.
Water temps ranging from 77-66.7.
3-5 knots increasing to 5-7.
Despite four-dollar-per-gallon gas at the fuel dock, Josh, Ralph and I decided to head out and see what we could find in the local waters. There had been reports of pelagics patrolling the shores east of
Jamaica
Bay, but this was before Katrina had cut her destructive path through Louisiana and
Mississippi. While the effects felt in the New York area barely hinted at the devastation in
New Orleans, we were fishing on the back side of several days of stormy and sultry weather, and we wondered whether it had been enough to scatter the fish.
We found busting fish under terns as we approached Breezy Point. The radio chattered with reports of greenbacks mixed in with the chompers. We caught a few cocktail blues, but failed to spot any tunoids. Banging a left out of the bay, we soon came upon more blitzing fish. This time, I spotted a fish jump clear of a wave spraying peanut bunker in every direction before nosediving back into the brine – a hard-tail for sure, but separating the wheat from the chaff looked to be a difficult proposition. After landing a few more bluefish, losing several flies, and having very few legitimate shots at the up-and-down pelagics, we headed farther east.
Surfing the tide, and stopping periodically to fish, the run east seemed like a quick jaunt. Sure enough, no sooner did we arrive than we spotted birds in tight packs over balled up bait. It didn’t take long to see the telltale sign of porpoising fish. These fish looked like skipjack tuna. Our hearts racing, our improv act quickly became a comedy of errors – skippies greyhounded right by the boat, and Josh and I managed to hook our flies together in mid-air. Magical knots that defied all efforts to untie them mysteriously appeared in the running line. We had a few shots, but nothing close to a hookup.
Deciding to run further east, we cruised several miles without seeing a single fish. However, the thermometer quickly revealed the reason for the concentration of pelagics around
our first stop: the water temperature dipped to a low of 66.5 just five miles east of the tower; the fish we had first encountered were sitting on a high-contrast temperature seam. We turned around and headed back west. The fish were still hard to approach – the pods were sparse, and the bait moved so fast that it was virtually impossible to set up a good drift. I had one good shot when fish suddenly appeared around the boat. I shot my fly into the middle of the mayhem and felt a bump. Ralph and Josh shouted as they saw a big swirl, but as I struck with my line hand, there was no tension. Man, these fish can be frustrating.
We headed home into the tide and wind, fighting the light chop that had built steadily during the course of the day. Near Breezy, we came across a huge school of blues busting bait – the scene was a harbinger of better fishing in the fall; but for a few minutes, we enjoyed the easy-going rhythms of the summer blues before heading to port.
