NUMENON |
PONDERING CORE ESSENCE
NUMENON |
Many would likely agree that 2020 has been, in the main, something of a bummer. Still, 2020 has offered some benefits, including a lot of bonus, unexpected time with loved ones, a freer work schedule and an allowance to focus on truly important matters. I am not going to claim that the capture of my 200th striper of the 2020 season was truly important. But the pursuit of each and every one of them has brought me peace and happiness. And, I've never landed so many in a single season. So, I might as well recognize this unique-to-me milestone as simply a Good Thing in 2020. All is not lost; there will be more good things to come. Of that, I am quite certain. Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways
0 Comments
It didn't turn out to be much of an albie chase, but my recent week on Cape Cod was a worthwhile fishing trip! After a brief encounter with some visible funny fish, including a few casts with an epoxy jig in their general vicinity on the first evening, I'm not sure I had another shot all week. The wind and the good striper fishing kept me inside the ponds, and when I did make it out to Vineyard Sound, I just never found the tunoids. Oh well, I'll run into them someday. Our temporary neighbors did, right outside Waquoit Bay outlet, on the evening of Saturday, September 26. I'd covered miles of ocean that day without knowingly crossing paths with a funny fish. Despite that, I still managed to learn some new spots and entertained myself with a variety of fish. All of the fishing details for the trip are chronicled at www.numenonfunfishing.com/numenonfunfishing/archives/09-2020 . While it was awesome to enjoy such quality, light tackle fishing for the week, it is still the prospect of catching an albie that will likely bring me back next fall. Enjoy some pictures of my Cape Cod "Albie Chase" for 2020; I enjoyed taking them! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways One of the motivations for my 2019 move to Massachusetts was to be closer to relatives and property in Maine. Well, the situations of 2020 have variously kept us away, but everything lined up (including negative COVID test results) for the last week of August. I was able to enjoy a week off work there with family, while amybaby22 was moored just off our landing on Casco Bay. We all enjoyed a fine week of visiting, relaxing and (speaking for myself) fishing! The fishing was tough! Wind, weather, weeds and the doldrums of August all conspired to slow the striper bite. But it was still rewarding, and I learned a lot while able to enjoy some moderate success, including one of the largest stripers I've ever taken in Maine. The excruciating fishing details are available at the September 3, 2020 post at www.numenonfunfishing.com/numenonfunfishing if of any interest, but all others can simply know that it was a badly needed, restorative week. This might be interesting - On just about subsequent days, I flicked my glasses into the bay (forever to be lost), punted my GoPro into the sea (to be recovered the next morning by my aquatic daughter), and lost my phone in the crawl space of our home. Each of these set-backs was overcome through preparedness, athleticism or resources, and so no real harm came from the (upsetting) events. Contemporaneously, A provided me with this story: www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2020/08/clumsy-quarantine-breaking-glass/615832/ So maybe my spatial awareness is lacking, or my mental state isn't exactly where it should be. Or maybe I was simply keeping track of, and using, too much stuff while sleep deprived. Still, 2020 has been a difficult one, and it was great to get away for this week! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways The venerable Acme Kastmaster has been just about my most productive lure for stripers from our landing on Casco Bay, Maine. In this quiet water, typical striper offerings like poppers, dog-walkers and swim-baits just don't seem to produce with any consistency. The Kastmaster has the additional benefit of being my favorite mackerel lure (and indeed, mackerel are my favorite striper bait), plus in my preferred 1/8-ounce version, this spoon mimics the tiny bait that is sometimes so prevalent here. Suffice it to say, if mackerel are thick, I've got a Kastmaster tied on. If mackerel are AWOL, I've still probably got a Kastmaster tied on in the hopes of simply lucking into one. And, if bait's an issue and the stripers just aren't biting, I will probably be throwing a Kastmaster, at least intermittently, and especially if swim-baits aren't producing. After six or more hours spread over two recent pre-dawn sessions, I'd certainly established that mackerel were absent. Moreover, sand-worms were producing just sporadic action after complete darkness lifted. Top-waters, swim-baits and epoxy jigs had yet to entice a strike. So, the Kastmaster got a good workout, and a chartreuse-over-silver version, while not exactly on fire, produced a slow pick of a half-dozen strikes, follows and stripers to 21 inches. On my preferred light tackle, each of these fish was fun, and throwing this lure about doubled my action! I was just about ready to give up on my second, soggy morning session when my spoon was intercepted right near the surface at the end of a long cast. When I set the hook, the surface erupted and a couple of pounds of fish flew through the air. Odd behavior for a striper; I assumed I'd hooked into a bluefish. When my "blue" exhibited some brown coloration, I though perhaps I had another Hickory Shad; but then I saw the spots. What the heck? A dozen feet away, I realized I had a Salmo. Even when this fish was in hand, I couldn't tell if it were Salmo trutta (Brown Trout) or Salmo salar (Atlantic Salmon). I still don't know for sure, although I'd lean towards Atlantic Salmon based on the conical head and x-shaped spots. Regardless, this was an unforeseen catch. I noticed no clipped fins, and so it could have been a wild fish; it could have been an escaped farm salmon, or it could have been a lost brown. I just know that I never expected to encounter such a fish from this spot; nor do I expect to catch another one, here. I handled her gently, and she swam away; off to who knows where. This is just another example of why I love fishing so much. You just never really know what might happen! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways I have been looking at the Gano Street boat ramp on the Seekonk River at the head of Narragansett Bay in Providence, Rhode Island for at least six or eight years. I've long wanted the opportunity to launch and explore here; while it is within a handful of miles from my childhood home, things have changed for the better in so many ways. I thought it would be an interesting trip to share with my girls. Well, Sunday June 28, 2020 was my last logical chance; I was retrieving my youngest from her college digs for the last time. I'd offered her a local "cruise"; if it didn't happen this day, it was not going to happen for a while! Despite the threat of future thunderstorms, we launched at about 10 AM and decided to head down-river to the Bay. Just below the I-195 bridge, I noticed some nervous water and snagged my first Narragansett Bay bunker from a thick school in quite a while. Ultimately, we headed up the Providence River as far as we dared and got a different perspective of the city. Returning, we encountered some more bait just below the hurricane barrier, and my sand eel bait got chopped in half by a bluefish. I couldn't entice any others to bite, and we concluded our short cruise in time to be the traffic and storms home. Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways My starting point for this story is August of 2000, when I accidentally captured my first striped bass. That encounter is described at numenon.blogspot.com/2012/07/stripers.html , and while I don't have a picture of that glorious Maine specimen, she is burnt into my memory and she fired up my passion for chasing stripers. I am thankful that she appeared in my life. That it occurred in such an unlikely manner reminds me that I have been on the favored side of some thin line of luck. While I waited almost 37 years to catch my first, it took almost 20 years (19.5 of which I was a resident of fish-blessed but striper-less Michigan) for this to happen; I just caught my 1,000th Documented Striper! K joined me for this special session. She's welcomed aboard at any time, and her participation brought this within reach on this day. The details are in the June 18, 2020 entry at www.numenonfunfishing.com/numenonfunfishing, but let's just agree that it was a beautiful, fun and relaxed day, but one in which the stripers were running on the small side. While I'd envisioned an over-slot fish of greater than 35 inches to pair appropriately with my first, Striper No. 1,000 actually came loose as I grabbed the leader, and it escaped without a photograph. K quickly came through with a twin, though, and so her smile will have to make up for the missed opportunity to capture the true moment as well as for the lack of impressive size for the day's bass. I'll have to settle with the picture below of Striper No. 1,001! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways When I picked up the amybaby22 last year, I knew I would be in position to expand my striped bass horizons. To appease my daydreams, I picked up a variety of reliable Hogy lures. I've used the Hogy Epoxy Jigs successfully for stripers, blues, jacks and little tuna, but to date had not even tried many of the other lures I'd purchased. A recent day-trip to Buzzards Bay changed that, and I enjoyed success on a few new baits and techniques. Fishing new water, I need a bait that provided quick coverage! Plus, I love top-waters, so it was natural to choose a Hogy Popper. I usually use poppers in a slow, deliberate and hopefully vulnerable manner, but on this day, I fished it rather frantically in areas of moving water. Sure enough, a pair of stripers found it in short order. The first, a 21-incher, provided a crushing hit near the boat, and the second, although only about 14 inches big, totally choked the lure head-first. They both wanted it! When I relocated to some heavier water and could not maintain functional contact with the popper, I switched to a subsurface presentation; the Hogy Original, 10-inches long, on a 3/4-ounce jig head. Although I had a couple of touches at first on a slow, darting retrieve, this lure got crushed by a fat 24-incher when I fished it faster, perhaps imitating a herring. When the fog burned off, I lost touch with the stripers, so I switched to sea bass. Jigging with a large Epoxy Jig in green and then switching to a Hogy Heavy Jig in pink kept my rod bent for the next hour-and-a-half. Just these few baits kept me well-equipped and in the game for a very pleasant day of fishing. I've got plenty of other Hogy lures in my bag, too, and I look forward to getting them out when the proper conditions present themselves. There's nothing secret or fancy about this selection of baits; and I certainly don't mean for this to be a commercial; I just like recognizing that it finally all came together to be a good Hogy Day on the water. Specific details of this particular session can be found at www.numenonfunfishing.com/numenonfunfishing/buzzards-bay-on-a-weekday , while Hogy lures can be inspected at hogylures.com . Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways Saturday, May 16, 2020 was a beautiful Spring Day. With access to amybaby22 confirmed, I loaded the truck with gear for every conceivable situation (boat and trailer maintenance, electronics and accessory installation, shore fishing, wade fishing, boat fishing, and even including some food and drink, to boot) and headed by myself to Cape Cod. I arrived just after 9 AM and re-acquainted myself with my simple skiff. It looked like she'd survived the winter well. When I'd put her away last October, I had considered installing LED trailer lights; but since I still had full functionality, I deferred at that time. But this was the first thing I checked upon arrival, and of course I had issues. In fact, I had no light functionality on the trailer at all. A quick perusal identified a broken wire and a ton of corrosion on the right side, so I started there. But after a few attempts to troubleshoot and restore the light, I'd still had no success. In fact, I started questioning whether my truck was delivering juice to the harness. I called my local Uncle to see if he could refer me to a trailer shop that might be open, but before I headed out, he swung over to see if his truck would light them up. It didn't, but talking through options with him and more careful use of my volt-meter confirmed that both of our trucks were delivering power to the trailer's wiring harness. I skipped the trailer store and went straight to West Marine to pick up the LED lights and wiring harness. I was surprised that West Marine was open (as were all bait and tackle stores I observed), but apparently marine and fishing support is essential on Cape Cod; for which I was glad on this day. In short order, trailer lights were upgraded and restored and I was able to proceed to other preparation issues. All was well, with the exception of a significant fuel leak at the hose-to-tank connection. Another trip to West Marine was in order, and while I could not find "Suzuki" branded replacement parts, with the boat in the parking lot, I was able to visually compare my options. After a quick and successful fix, I was off to White's Landing to launch her for the first time in 2020. What a cluster! I didn't even think about trying to launch here; I found the situation at Green Pond to be a bit better. By 3 PM or so, she was afloat; but I'd missed the tide, it was getting quite windy, and I was admittedly frazzled. I didn't even load any fishing gear aboard, settling instead for the comfort of a quick start to the engine and a trouble-free ride outside to Vineyard Sound and to Waquoit Outlet and back. She did run great, and it felt awesome to be back out on the water. It wasn't fishing; but it was still progress. I was still a bit fresh as I dropped off the boat and covered her; and the drive back through Boston proved to be pleasant and efficient, too. Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways Officially under home quarantine, I find there's an abundance of opportunity for screen time. I thought I'd put some of that time towards the interests of Citizen Science, and I have embarked upon my quest to become a Herring King. In October 2019, when I finally learned what my address in Massachusetts would be, one of the first things I noted about my new neighborhood was the proximity of the Mystic Lakes. As I sought information on the fishing opportunities they might offer, I quickly found a link to the Mystic River Watershed Association and their stewardship of the local anadromous herring run. While my initial thoughts were self-centered and focused on the potential for herring-hound stripers to be chasing bait nearly to my doorstep, as I poked around on their website, I became interested in their data and the possibility of participating in their herring quantification efforts. Below, you can see that the local run has generally increased in recent years. To me, the most interesting data reveals the timing of the run(s), and the importance of local weather, water temperature and (possibly) moon phase to the number of active fish over the course of the season. I have already optimistically fished below the dam separating Upper from Lower Mystic Lake a few times. Perhaps overly optimistically and prematurely, but surely there's a good chance that I will eventually run into some stripers (or perhaps some real bucketmouth bass) with an appetite for herring here. Regardless, I want to be there when it goes down! My last trip to the dam (chronicled at the April 26, 2020 entry at www.numenonfunfishing.com/numenonfunfishing) featured some cormorants in addition to the bald eagle(s) and the osprey I am used to seeing here. They all expected some fish to be around. The historical graphs above seem to indicate that the local run here has likely started, but really hasn't kicked in. Water temperatures still need to creep up just a tiny bit, we need some sustained sunshine, and I need to pay continued attention to moon phase. Let favorable conditions coincide during the few days preceding a full moon, and I suspect I might have a chance at some quality swim-bait or topwater action, close to home! Meanwhile, I am spending some time helping to estimate the herring runs for 2019 and 2020 at www.mysticherring.org/video#/ . I am confident in my ability to carefully observe and count, and I enjoy simply seeing the herrings swim by. After about 250 short videos and over 6,000 herrings counted, my time helped refine the estimated run for 2019 and the associated margin of error. Science! Double meanwhile, I became aware (via a comment on a recent On the Water magazine article) of a similar effort for Town Brook in Plymouth, Massachusetts. Their live camera is located at www.plymouth-ma.gov/marine-and-environmental-affairs/pages/fish-camera There have been plenty of live herring to observe so far in 2020 in this smaller, warmer watershed. I've lent time to their counting efforts, too, and I am curious how the magnitude of this run will compare to that documented on the Mystic. I never thought I'd ever aspire to be a Herring King. I also never thought I'd be quarantined during a pandemic. While these are indeed strange times, I guess this is just one way for me to make the most of them. Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways Like millions of others, I've recently had cause to hunker down at home. I've used this time to take on some chores that would have otherwise been left undone, and this has produced some beneficial results. For instance, unlike previous moves, I've culled some nonessential objects, and I've (nearly) hyper-organized the remaining goods. I've actually cleaned the extra stall in the garage, and one can walk about most of the cellar without fear of tripping or toppling a pile of precious cargo. One of the specific (but minor) benefits of these activities was finding a variety of old maps and files, including variations of my fishing journals dating back as far as 1988. I've thumbed through these, and I thought I'd commemorate some of the more meaningful sessions that were contemporaneously documented. So, here it goes; but please forgive the photography, these are pictures of old pictures! January 11, 1988 Gull Lake - Richland, Michigan For Christmas of 1987, I received the gift of an 8-inch Mora ice auger. I'm still using it today, but I used it a ton in that first ice season of 1987-1988. Prior, I had relied on the kindness of others with augers, had used old holes, or had chopped my way through the ice with a chisel or spud. In 1988, I was in West Michigan for graduate school, and I had convenient access to Gull Lake in Kalamazoo County. It's a beautiful lake with big fish potential (especially for pike and bluegills), and at the time was being used as a potential brood stock lake for Atlantic Salmon. Needless to say, I spent more than my fair share of time on Gull's ice that winter. My notes indicate that January 10, 1988 was cold, sunny, and productive (for others) for pike on the "Bible Bay" portion of Gull. I lost a running pike on a tip-up; it had eaten a dead, headless supermarket smelt near the bottom. Otherwise, I went fishless, but apparently I noticed somebody catching an Atlantic; and I gleaned the fact that it had eaten a gold teardrop jig tipped with a waxworm intended for bluegills. I also learned that it had eaten about 15 feet below the ice; we were standing over about 35 feet of water. I spent the afternoon of January 11, 1988 on that same ice, in somewhat warmer (27-30 degrees F), but cloudier, conditions. The pike fishing was slower, and I moved about with a jigging Rapala targeting pike and/or with a white/orange teardrop with wax-worm targeting deep 'gills. About mid-afternoon, I moved my small jig up to 12-feet below the ice (I had marked the distance on my line prior to leaving the house) and kept it in constant motion. In the next hour, I went 2-for-3 on Atlantic Salmon between 15 and 22 inches. These were tremendous fish for me at that time, and any ice fishing success was welcomed. Using a 4.5-foot ultralight rod with 4-pound test baited with various jigs, spoons, waxies and minnows at various locations around Gull Lake produced 22 salmon to about 26 inches over the duration of the season. That reliable fishery continued for several years, and I expanded my chase to the open waters of spring and fall. Unfortunately, a hatchery disease terminated this experimental fishery. The good news is that Atlantics took hold as a result of this program in the St. Mary's River at the outlet of Lake Superior as well as at other isolated locations around Lakes Michigan and Huron. I was even fortunate to catch (and recognize) several Atlantic Salmon in later years while trolling for Great Lakes salmon and trout. Interestingly enough, each of these was caught in Grand Haven, despite the fact that I fished up and down the West Michigan coast every season. February 10, 1988 Gull Lake - Richland, Michigan Fishing that same bay in the afternoon, with an approaching snow storm that would dump about 12 inches of snow overnight, I pulled 10 bluegills from the same hole in the hour before darkness. All were within a foot of the bottom in about 35 feet of water. What was remarkable; their size. I recorded one over 10 inches and a pair over 9. I remember tracing the outline of the 10-incher in my notebook; all that remains are the traces of paper that cling to the wire binder when one rips out a page. Oh well, those were among the last gills that I kept and cleaned for myself; and among the last BIG bluegills I've encountered in Michigan. Gull Lake taught me to respect bluegills and those who pursue them. I just got too busy chasing larger fish! December 6, 1995 Grand River - downtown Grand Rapids, Michigan I'd been in Michigan for about a decade by this point, and I still had a bad case of Trout and Salmon Fever. But I'd become dismayed with local steelheading; the prevailing methods of long rods, light line and bait (roe) had produced only sporadic success for me, and I'd had too many fish escape via missed hooksets or broken lines. But when an older co-worker finally invited me to join him for an afternoon on the river (I had faithfully and selflessly helped him launch his boat a dozen times or more during my lunch break), I was quick to say Yes!. Fred offered a different way of targeting these fish, swinging homemade French spinners on stout gear with 17-pound line. I wanted to give that a try. Plus, from his boat, I didn't have to worry so much about water levels and wading; this is a treacherous stretch of river bottom, and I only confidently waded during lower water flows. Let me state this; December 6, 1995 was bright and sunny in Grand Rapids, but brutally cold and windy. I expected that Fred would cancel and reschedule; but I guess I really didn't know him at that point. Not only would we be going, but because he had blocked off 4 hours of vacation time for the trip, we would be fishing for a minimum of four hours. (Travel, launch, gear prep, etc. were all in addition to the fishing.) I'll be damned; at our first spot near the top of the Center Run below the 6th Street dam, my quietly swinging size-4 spinner hesitated. I set the hook, and instead of a snag, it was a fish! It turned out to be a 9-pound hen, and it was my biggest river trout to date. Apparently, I missed another, and Fred took two for a combined 17 pounds during our inaugural session together. Good action on nice fish! I don't necessarily recall those details, but this day changed the way I fish for river trout. I've rarely fished for steelies or trout with bait, since. I love swinging spinners, streamers and plugs for trout of any type! My relationship with Fred continued for a few more years, until he retired. He seriously outfished me in our time together (he landed 13 steelies, while I only landed 8 while together in his boat), but the records clearly indicate that I had a better landing percentage than he did, and while I netted a whopping 13.5-pounder on January 19, 1997 for him, I caught an even larger steelie approaching 15 pounds while wading with Fred in early April of that year. So, I held my own with my Steelhead Mentor in our time together. July 25, 1999 Lake Michigan - Manistee, Michigan In the late 1990's, most of my fishing time was spent chasing Trout and Salmon on Lake Michigan. I'd experienced Spring Brown Trout from shore and started chasing them in earnest from my original boat, Mrs. Paul, in April 1990. Other friends had slightly bigger boats, and I'd join them whenever possible; and in August 1996, I added a downrigger to my boat. Each trip was an adventure. At first, catching a fish from Lake Michigan's empty vastness seemed miraculous. But, as I learned more about the fish and the habitat, I was able to eliminate water and focus on areas with higher probability of success. As I gained experience and confidence, I added tools and perspective, reaching a point, at about this time, where I'd developed opinions and methods that built on my success and failures. And so on this beautiful morning, I headed out with good friend, DC, aboard his 18-foot Lund Pro-V. Equipped with two (!) down riggers and six (!!) rod holders, we steamed out of port and headed south. It was a Tournament Day out of Manistee, and most boats headed north. We wanted some quiet water for ourselves. The first thing I did when we settled into out patch of water in depths of about 100 feet was to develop a temperature profile with my new, hand-held thermometer/pressure transducer gadget. I sent it down on a downrigger and slowly retrieved it; I then, for the first time, recorded the temperature for my own purposes on Lake Michigan in my trusty, waterproof notebook. The resulting profile was not encouraging; the water was 70 degrees down to 60 feet; 60 degrees down to 85 feet; and 52 degrees at the end of our cable and recording capability, 100 feet below the surface. And while not encouraging, this did eliminate a lot of water, and so we set our lines deep. We quickly caught two fish on green glow spoons, 80 to 105 feet down on downriggers. The first was a 4-pound lake trout, but the second was a hyper-aggressive, giant King Salmon. This beast later scaled out at 26 pounds on the DNR scale. A fish like that made our day, if not our season! Later in the morning, we found another pod of deep fish over about 120 feet of water. These all ate spoons, too, off our deepest rigger set at 105 feet. These included a bigger, 6-pound lake trout and King Salmon of 2 and 10 pounds. The moral of this story, as embraced by me in my subsequent salmon fishing efforts, was to eliminate water via data and then utilize the best available, remaining option. In this case, by fishing much deeper than we were used to at the time, we were producing some quality action. And we knew why! But the corollary to the moral tale is that one never knows; and since we were allowed two rods a piece, we'd been trailing a magnum Green Dolphin Dreamweaver spoon, presented on a full 10 colors of lead core line, off the back of our spread. It was out of the way and fishing for us throughout; why not leave it out there, even if we thought it might not be reaching the desired depth and temperature? Because it was what we had for gear and options at the time, but this lure was also swimming in a zone where we were marking a lot of baitfish. We knew salmon would feed "out of temperature" for short periods. Maybe they were feeding on the bait visible on our sonar? At about 8:30 AM that morning, the full core rod jumped to life for the only time that session. After an epic battle, 32 pounds, 9 ounces of King Salmon hit the deck; only 38 inches long, it was in prime shape. This is the largest documented salmon that I have ever caught. This fish just about broke the heart of the guy at the tackle shop where we weighed in. He knew we'd caught it out of temperature; he knew we were not in the tournament and that we'd missed out on several thousand dollars; and he, himself, aspired to catching a 30-pounder, but had not. It probably hurt him a bit to see two rubes catching such a fish; but there was clearly more to the catch than he believed. We'd eliminated water; we'd believed the data we were given; we'd maximized our ability to execute; and we'd slightly hedged our bets. Seasonality; temperature; bait; and presentation. That's "all" there is to Great Lakes Salmon fishing success! From this date on, I was a Salmon Addict and a Data Junkie. My confidence and success both soared; and other than vacation-time stripers, I pursued little else for the next decade or so. August 13 and 14, 2006 Casco Bay, Maine My striper fishing experiences started in 2001, but my access to them was limited by time and geography. For the first decade of the new Millennium, virtually all of my striper fishing was limited to the quiet waters of Maine's Casco Bay, and virtually all of that experience was based from the float at the end of our property association's landing. I enjoyed my time down there (I still do!), and I spent virtually every possible extended dawn and dusk on the float, trying to coax some stripers to bite. By 2006, I'd made most of the mistakes that were available to me in this pursuit, and had settled into a pattern of presenting available live baits on appropriately light tackle. I expected success, and I had caught more stripers than I'd ever imagined. I still believed in fishing at dawn and dusk, but I'd started paying more attention to other conditions, such as tide cycle and water temperature. Everything I suspected I'd learned came together on the evenings of August 13 and 14, 2006. In two, three-hour sessions over these two evenings, I fooled 60 stripers into biting and landed 43 of them. These were not large, topping out at a recorded 25.5 inches, but they kept me busy from 7 PM into full darkness each night. Sandworms under lighted slip floats did the trick. The conditions I'd keyed in on included the second half of the falling tide at this location; current flowing to the east; and water temperatures in the very low 60s. I was learning and confirming that "Quadrant II" on the Tide Clock rules at this location, and I've paid extra special attention to specific tide stages at specific locations ever since; I've learned that any spot can turn totally "on" or "off" based on the the very specific conditions at any given spot at any given tidal stage. Developing a Milk Run of successful spots based on tide cycle is a primary strategy of mine, now. As if to prove my point, the next evening, as the timing of the favorable tide and light conditions started to diverge, I caught only three small stripers. The biters had moved through and were undoubtedly wreaking havoc somewhere else! And I was stuck on the dock! Pondering the questions of core essence and finding meaning in unexpected ways |
Steve LachanceVia Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Michigan and now, back to New England! Archives
June 2024
Categories
All
|