Its not often when fishing that your highest hopes come true and the trips
events exceed your wildest expectations. Last night they did for me.
I left work in North Andover at 6, racing the 127 miles to Green Pond
Tackle in East Falmouth, trying to get there before closing time so I could
buy eels for the nights fishing. Traveling a steady 75, I made it to the
tackle shop at 7:54. I bought ten eels and joked for a moment with Bob
Lewis, one of the store owners, about going out for big bass then
continued on to my beach house.
As the last yellow of the setting sun cut through the trees behind me I
grabbed three rods, the eel bucket, my life jacket and jumped into the
dinghy. Quickly paddling the hundred yards to my boat on the mooring I
climbed aboard and started the engine while I did all the minor chores
needed to get ready to boat and fish after dark.
Put the rods in the boat and put an eel rig on one, a jig on another and
leave the third blank. Transfer the eels from the bucket in the dinghy to
the tied down bucket on the boat. Untie the safety rope from the mooring
ball, unthread it from the bow lifting eye on the boat and stow it. Put my
life jacket on and make sure the pliers haven't rusted and will close if
I need them in a hurry. Check that my lights work and are all lit. Locate
the box with the line and weights and take it out and put it on the front
deck where I can find it if I need it.
All these little chores take only a few seconds each. Past experiences have
taught me the hard way that the few minutes of setup can make a huge
difference on the water later. There have been more than one trip in my
past where the eel bucket and boat parted ways on the trip to the fishing
grounds. There was a trip where the safety rope ended up in the propeller
because I didn't stow it carefully.
Anyways, by now the engine had idled 4 minutes and was ready to go.
Under dead calm high tide I puttered across the pond flat to the channel,
spooking a few schoolie bass along the way. Good sign.
With the reds and purples of the sunset behind me in the west, the greys
of approaching dark in front of me to the east, I left Green Pond and sped
the 2 miles to Waquoit Bay's entrance. As is my current style I slowed
to an idle a few hundred yards from the entrance to hook up the first eel.
Things had changed since last week. As I approached the channel mouth
I had to jog sharply to avoid a low black buoy indicating a lobster pot.
To my amazement someone had run two parallel lines of lobster pots
directly across the mouth of Waquoit Bay, clearly hazards to navigation,
something I would need to keep in mind, as I often returned from Waquoit
Bay well after dark.
On the positive side the light pole at the tip of the east jetty, which
dissappeared somewhere between July 4th at 6PM and July 5th at 5 AM,
had been replaced. Obviously the Waquoit harbormaster was sick of replacing
the pole twice a year because the current structure, a tripod of telephone
poles supporting a central light pole, should be able to take a hit from
most anything. I was glad to see it replaced as it makes a good aiming
spot for my first cast as well as providing a reference point on a dark
night.
I grabbed the first eel that I could reach; a small one perhaps only 6 or
8 inches long. It didn't really matter what I tossed right now as there
was still too much light for the big stripers. I wanted to save the big eels
for later in the evening when it was fully dark. I threaded this eel onto the
circle hook rigged onto the 7' eeling rod with the Penn 5500 reel. Having
taken some friendly advice from an Internet acquaintance, the reel was
spooled with 20 pound test for protection against abrasion from rocks.
As soon as the eel was hooked I tossed it over the side on perhaps 2 feet of
slack, just enough for it to swim freely on the surface with the rod spiked
in the gunwale rod holder. I put the engine in gear and idled forward
to the mouth of the channel, the eel skipping along the side of the boat.
I have learned the hard way that the natural state of a freshly hooked
eel is an eel ball; a tangle of eel, hook, leader and line as well as eel
slime, a ball that is unfishable and which usually has to be cut off.
By letting the eel swim and skip as I idled towards my first cast I kept
it straight in the water and stopped it from twisting around the line.
The entrance was reasonably calm and perhaps an hour away from high tide.
The inflow to the channel was slower than usual and the mid tide white water
at the jetty tips was gone; only mild ripples at each jetties rocky end
indicated the current was still going in. It was far easier than usual
to align the boat 10 yards off the jetty tip to take my first cast. The
new light structure made a perfect target.
I like to waste my first cast or two with an eel; both to get it to swim
straight in the water and also to gauge how the current is flowing. When
drifting an eel from a moving boat in confined quarters it is critical
to know the rate both the eel and the boat will drift at. You want the
eel to go downwards in the water column as opposed to skim the surface;
understanding the drift rate helps you gauge how much weight is needed to
push the eel downwards without pinning it to the bottom. You also want the
boat drift to be more or less parallel with the eels drift rate; if the
boat drifts faster or slower than the eel it surfs it along high in the
water column, making an unnatural presentation.
The goal in eel drifting, with or without a boat, is to present an eel
which appears to be swept along by the current and which appears to be
struggling downwards towards shelter and cover in the bottom. The eel
must appear natural and unimpeded by either line or weight. The natural
swimming motion of an eel, a snakelike wiggling motion, is the best
presentation of all to a hungry striper, a presentation that will trigger a
big striper to inhale the eel in a single gulp.
To my surprise, certainly by luck, not by plan, the first cast landed right
at the base of the poles and started to drift slowly into the channel. The
current was pushing my boat in towards the rock jetty so I bunted it forward
for a second or two to realign myself in the channel center as I slowly
drifted into the channel on the end of the incoming tide.
I had left the bail open when I moved the boat; pointing the rod at the
eel in the water while the boat was moving. When I refocused my attention
on the rod I tugged the line with my fingers just to regain contact with the
eel. I felt a heavy feeling, shut the bail and reeled a couple times.
There was no feeling of motion on the far end, just tension.
"Darn" I thought, "the eel is in the rocks". The drag started giving
as the boat receded away from the eel in the rocks. I gave it two or three
hard tugs and still couldn't budge it.
"Fine, I'll spin the boat up current and pull it out from the other side".
So I reopened the bail, and spun the boat around, backing and filling to
keep the line away from the engine and ran the boat quickly upcurrent
above where the eel was embedded. Stopping the boat I cranked hard to
retighten the line and pulled hard to try and get the eel free. It still
wouldn't budge, even though I was above it.
As the boat drifted downwards, parallel to the pole where the eel was
wedged I pulled hard with the rod and felt the eel move.
"Great, I finally got it out of the rocks!"
I started to reel it in so I could put another cast out back at the same
spot. To my surprise I felt tugging, not hard, not a run, just some light
tugging. I assumed it was a small fish pulling at the eel's tail and
cranked in hard.
The line stopped dead. No drag, no pull. Just stopped.
"In the rocks again! Grrr..damn eel!" I cursed as I jerked hard. The
boat drifted into the channel again and the line started going out
from the boats motion.
To my surprise with no pulls, no tugs, the line swung away from the rocks
and headed into the center of the channel. Confused, I reeled in quickly
and suddenly felt a serious pull on the other end.
At this point my boat was directly in the middle of the 30 or 40 yard
wide channel, and perhaps 20 yards downcurrent in the channel. The line
led out to the mouth of the inlet, seawards and upcurrent of the boat.
The line's angle shortened and deepened, and all of a sudden I found it
leading at flat angle under the boat and drag going out steadily.
I could feel the line scraping along the bottom of the hull, a guitar like
twanging. The current was now pushing me into the eastern side of the
channel and I was only a few yards from the jetty, the engine and stern of
the boat the closest point to the rocks. I was on the port side of the
boat with the line leading under the boat and the fish somewhere off the
starboard.
I had to start the engine and move, but if I moved the boat forward I would
drag the engine over the line and cut it off. 20 pound test is strong, but
not propellar tough. With only a few seconds to act I scrambled forward to
the bow, reached over and down with the rod and led the line over the bow
rail, extended outwards a bit further and pointed the rods tip down to the
water and successfully led the line under the bow and off to the starboard
side. I didn't attempt to stop or even slow the fishes movement, I simply
cleared the line from the bottom of the boat.
This was not a simple action and I surprised myself both by performing it
well under pressure and more importantly by having it work out as I
had planned.
Now I skittered down the starboard side of the console, line safely
starboard and downstream, started the boat, and gave a 2 or 3 second idle;
enough to move me back into the center of the channel away from the rocks.
"OK - got the fish where I can control it; probably another mid 20 to low
30 inch fish, it doesn't feel that big; I'll just horse it in."
Or so I thought. I put the power of the rod's butt into the fish, expecting
to get it up on the surface and then surf it in against the current. With
20 pound test I sure wasn't going to break it off. This same rod has moved
40 pound fish before. I had plenty of beef for the job.
So I lifted and pulled hard to the side; a motion which easily moves a 10
to 15 pound fish. When I did this; the fish didn't move; the drag gave.
I pulled again. Same thing. Whirring drag, no motion on the fish.
"Fine, I'll switch angles and beat it from the other side." I moved the
rod from a 45 degree angle on my left side to a 45 degree angle to my right,
a fast motion which is going to turn the fishes head and even entire body
sidewards and get it moving in my direction.
That did it; the angle on the line shortened and moved towards the rear
of the boat. "Great, I got it moving - now to haul it in."
I retrieved line quickly till the entry point was less than 10 yards away.
The fish was still deep in the 12 foot channel so I couldn't see it in
the water. Still assuming it was at most a 10 pound fish I lifted hard,
feeling sluggish resistance, kind of like hooking a mooring or lobster trap
rope.
Gaining a few feet I lifted a couple more times. Again the angle changed
so the fish was directly behind the boat and only a few feet from the rocks.
Once more I bumped the boat forwards a few yards losing a bit of line as
the drag slipped, but also pulling the fish a bit further away from the
rocks.
Once more I was in the middle of the channel, the line entering the water
only a few yards away. One more tug and the angle changed and flattened
as the fish came upwards.
I love seeing stripers materialize for the first time from deep water.
They appear as greyish black shadows in the water, ghosts which dart
quickly in arcs around the boat, held to a decreasing arc by the tightening
leash of line. Someone once remarked that stripers are happy looking
fish. With their big eye and slightly underslung thick lips, their
dark head and handsome stripes, they do appear to be smiling at times.
What glided out of the depths was not a ghost or a smiling youth. A dark
back, perhaps a foot across, slid around the boat a few feet deep in the
water. A tail a couple hands in width unhurrily pushed at the water. The
fish kept coming and coming and coming. The lips on this fish were so
large and prominent, so thick, it appeared to be laughing, not just
smiling.
I watched in awe and utter amazement as this massive striper glided around
the boat, appearing to sail since its motions were so fluid and unhurried.
Unlike smaller fish its entire body seemed to sweep in a single motion to
propel it onwards. There was no sense of mad dashing and darting as is
the case with smaller fish which come boatside; this cow seemed serene and
completely fearless of the boat.
It actually allowed me to guide it inwards with little struggle. Only
when it was perhaps 5 feet away did it startle; sounding with a tail slap
so powerful it threw water a few feet in the air. The force of that
massive tail, observed from pointblank range cannot be described adaquately.
Once it went down it seemed to hug the bottom, easy to move sideways then up,
impossible to lift directly. I went through two or three mini runs with the
fish, each run actually a nose down crash dive as opposed to a run away
from the boat.
After the third or fourth dive I had it in the position that I boat stripers
from, two or three feet off the port side of the boat and even with the stern
of the boat. From this position its simple to lean the rod inwards and
forward which brings the fish inwards and up the side of the boat even
with the console. With the fish boatside I can then slide my hand down the
line and grab the 80 pound test leader. This allows me to control the fish
from the two foot leader using one hand while the other hand lips the fish
and lifts it over the side.
It didn't quite work out the way I expected with this fish. First, the fish
was too long to pull inwards by angling the rod. Its tail was far enough
away from the boat that even when I had the head boatside that the tail could
dig in and send the fish down a few feet again.
Lifting up again, I brought the fish boatside and spiked the rod in the rod
holder which left the fish suspended in the water just past the end of
the boat. I quickstepped to the stern corner and used two hands to slide
down the line, one hand quickly grabbing the leader and pulling the fish
forward a few feet. The second hand, my stronger right hand, slid down
the leader to stop a few inches from the hook.
Lifting with my left hand on the top of the leader I sighted in on the
fishes enormous maw, an opening large and deep enough to swallow an
18" schoolie whole. The circle hook was as usual, embedded in the corner
of the mouth perfectly, the eel hanging down outside the fishes mouth,
pinned to it by the steel hook.
"Easy target" I thought as I grabbed the fish square in the middle of its
bottom jaw, thumb inside the 2" thick lip, with the rest of my fingers
outside and under the fishes chin. This was not my brightest move as it
started the fish thrashing about on the surface which caused its entire
weight to twist on and off my thumb.
I let go briefly as the fish churned the water, and while still holding the
leader in my left hand reversed my grip so the four fingers of my hand
went in the stripers mouth, giving me a far better grip. Now I could hold
tight while the fish tossed its head about wildly in a powerful back and
forth motion, water spraying everywhere.
I coiled my legs and back, and drove upwards with my body while pulling
on the striper with my right hand. The fishes head rose the 24 inches
between the water line and the top of the gunwale and stopped. I could not
lift any further. At that point it was half out of the water and still
completely outside the boat. With my legs extended and my arms bent at acute
angles in close to my sides I had no leverage to go further.
I lowered it back to the waterline as again it battled on the surface in
a sea of spray. This time I grabbed the fishes jaw with both hands, now
8 fingers inside and the two thumbs underneath its chin. Once more I coiled
my legs and back, drove hard upwards, stepping back as I did so.
The fish came up smoothly, as my arms raised to first chest, then chin level.
First the head, then the body came over the gunwale. The fish hung suspended
on the edge of the boat, its tail still outside the boat. Another step
backwards and the fish slid over the gunwale into the boat to land with a
thud that shook the deck under my feet.
The fish was enormous! Its most striking features were the thick lips which
combined with a large white belly to make me think of a smiling buddha. It
was a whimsical thought for such an exciting moment of triumph, but still
a few days later, this image remains firm in my memory.
I slid it against a known 33 inch plate in my decking. It reached past it
by about a foot. I then put my rod with the marks at 24, 30 and 36" next
to the fish. The fish was at least a hands width longer than the 36" mark.
My hand span is 9". Both loose measurements made me guess the fish was 45
or 46" long. I know when I lifted it off the deck its nose was at the
V in my rib cage. Big fish. Fat fish.
I hefted the fish in both hands struggling to support its weight, one
hand in its jaw, the other on its tail. It was too big for me to lift
with only my arms, I needed to put my legs and back into the lift to get
the fish off the deck. Holding it at an angle I yelled at a boat which
had been watching my battle:
"You got to see this fish - check this out!" as I held it up for them to
see.
"Whoa! Thats a FISH!" said one; the other guy, a bit more laconic
deadpanned "you got to put it back - not big enough." and laughed.
The fish had been on the deck and in my arms for a minute or so. It
was time to either keep and kill it or revive and release it. There was
never a doubt in my mind that I wanted to release the fish; however it
seemed pretty lethagic and I wasn't sure if I could revive it.
The boat had drifted to the dogleg bend in the Waquoit channel and was about
to drift onto the flats on the eastern side of the channel just past the
foot of the jetties. A release was going to be a long affair, not
a quick matter of dunk, waggle and free. With dusk quickly turning to dark,
hanging over the boat and reviving the fish as I drifted through shallows
seemed a recipe for disaster and also for a belly up fish.
I decided I needed to be beached to deal w/ the fish properly. I grabbed
a 6 gallon bucket and tossed 2 quick pailfuls of water on the fish,
flooding my deck an inch or two deep before the water started to run out of
the boats scuppers. The fresh water caused the fish to flop and struggle,
a better sign than seeing it gasp motionless.
I started the engine and zipped around the corner of the dogleg,
and quickly beached myself on Washburns Island a few dozen yards past
the jetty base. Tossing out an anchor on the shore, I jumped off the
stern of the boat, reached over and hefted the fish over the
transom, both hands in its mouth and led it into knee deep water.
It lay on its side; gills closed, little struggle, absolutely no lip
pressure on my hands. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth
I fanned it, angling its head into the current to get more water over
its gills. After a few minutes I could feel its mouth starting to
clamp down and see its gills flare with each back and forth motion.
The raspy part of its inner lip started to grip on my thumbs and wrists,
abrading on my skin.
A small motored dinghy idling by had slowed, circled, and then come in to
watch.
"Your going to release that! I'll take a side if you want." I refused the
offer with a somewhat surly response. As I worked on the fish we started
talking; it turned out he was the caretaker for the Waquoit Yacht club
and was out trolling for a fish or two for a party the next evening. Thus
his amazement that I was letting dinner for 20 go by the wayside! As the
light faded to almost dark I asked him to take a picture of me holding the
fish, and struggling a bit, hoisted it high for the snapshot.
Having done this I went back to working on the fish. After perhaps
10 minutes of gripping its jaw in two hands and sliding it forwards and back
it seemed to be shaking its head enough that I could switch to a tail grip.
Holding one hand in the jaw and one on the tail didn't work, my arms weren't
long enough to do this comfortably and control the fish. Also; the width
of the tail made it hard to grip with only one hand.
I could tell the fish was coming back to life, but was not ready to be
released yet, if it slipped from my grasp now it was possible that it
could struggle forward only a few feet and then turn on its side and die.
I needed to keep a good hold on it until it had all its power and
strength back.
I shifted to a two hand grip on the tail and concentrated on getting it
to weave its body and start swimming motions. After a few minutes the
body started weaving in the water, making sine curves, but held back by
my grip on the tail. I could feel a lot of power in those weaves and could
feel how my grip was interrupting the transfer of power from the fishes
sinuous body into a massive tail thrust. The gills were working regularly
now; the fish was clearly revived and ready.
I let one hand go, and grabbed the lip one more time. I got bitten hard and
felt a powerful head toss, back and forth. It was time. Letting go of
the mouth I waved the tail one handed a last time, and pushed it gently
forward.
There was never a splash; no water broke the surface as usually happens when
you release a schoolie. However a very powerful swirl eddied around my hand.
A black weaving line moved off into deeper water, slightly darker than the
dark water around it.
One eel, one cast. One fish. An hour later I released perhaps a 35 or 40
pound fish. Not a bad night, not a bad night at all.
Larry Backman
August 4th, 1997