By Dave Anderson

There are probably 8-million ways to lose a big fish, but nothing hurts more than losing them at endgame. I have one particular painful experience that happened in the Canal about nine or 10 years ago. The tide had just turned east and it was late-May and I was throwing a pink mackerel Guppy pencil popper. The fish hit way out at the end of the cast and I knew, instantly, that it was big. She made two good runs and I was lucky that the tide was slow or else I don’t think I would have had much of a chance of even coming close to landing her. Finally I had her close, and she made a wide circle around my position on the shore. I could feel my heart beginning to race a little as she sounded and laid on her side, to this day I feel confident saying she was at least very close to 50 if not over. She was all of 50 inches and built like Magnus Ver Magnusson, as she glided toward me, I stepped into the water so I wouldn’t have to strain any of my tackle trying to drag her onto the rocks. I could see that the fish was only hooked on one hook point and it wasn’t exactly a rock solid connection, but I didn’t panic. I had her coming in, the line was tight, the plug was visible, she was barely a rod length off the tip and appeared to have given up. Then she rolled over and tried to turn to dive. She disappeared for a minute and then… the pencil, unceremoniously, popped up in the widening rings of her last splash. Gone. I was so crestfallen that I called my fishing partner at 5:45 a.m. when he was away on a family vacation to Florida. Given the fact that he was going to Disney that day, and most certainly would have preferred dental surgery, never mind fishing a hot tide at the Canal, he didn’t provide the type of sympathy I was hoping for.
 
So much has to go right before you even get the chance to screw up the landing, and because of this, we don’t get enough opportunities to practice landing giants in the surf. This is where so many hearts are broken. And too many of them break as a result of complete panic. I once took my aunt, Betsy, on a fishing trip aboard a friends boat in the Housatonic River. We were catching stripers in December and as the morning turned to afternoon, the bite cooled off. I think Besty kind of tuned out for a bit and was just, kind of, dangling her small soft plastic over the side while daydreaming when her rod went down with authority. This fish put on a real show, ripping drag, staying deep and really putting her to the test. Then the fish surfaced, it was not a striped bass, it was an Atlantic salmon! Betsy totally lost her shit! She actually dropped the rod and practically dove over the side, for a split second, I thought I was going to have to grab her ankles! I insisted that she CALM DOWN, grab the rod and let me land the fish, which, luckily, we were able to do.
 
So, how do you prepare for this moment? If you haven’t—yet—landed what you consider to be a real giant, (and just to be clear, there is no cut-and-dried definition of ‘giant’ here) then let me just tell you now, it’s not likely to be a ho-hum moment, unless you’re heavily medicated at the time. Big fish, look HUGE when you compare them to the average catches that all surfmen make on a typical night. And if that doesn’t get your heart racing, then… why the hell are you doing this? This factor is only multiplied when the fish is caught in full dark, and only comes into view when it glides into the halo of your light.
 
This may sound like the musings of a person who has totally lost touch with reality, priority and what really matters, but when the season gets close I use visualization to prepare myself for that first big one of the season. For the sake of the exercise, start by stretching a tape measure out to 50 inches and look at it, I mean really LOOK, now imagine the width and girth and power of a fish that size. Now imagine the mouth of that fish, the eye, the gills and then remember that it will be alive and pissed off when you reach for that jaw to land the fish. This is the moment that so many people botch, because they are not mentally prepared.

By Jerry Audet

I think as we continue to write and talk about these “In Pursuit” series you’re going to hear a lot of similar themes and sub-themes. In fact, as Dave and I work on these and discuss them before and after posting, we often realize we’re even having pretty significant impacts on each other.

I have been thinking a lot about “commitment”- a theme that Dave has hit on several times in his posts. It can be called a lot of things- dedication, obsession, sticking it out, determination, being insane…whatever. And as a philosophy it’s the most important aspect of hunting, and being successful in, big fish. I do not feel there is a lot of room for debate with this. It’s pretty much fact.

However, there’s another aspect of commitment that I think is also very important. I think it’s probably slightly less so than mental commitment, and I’ll get to that, but still very important. This might be a little controversial of a post, but I think it needs to be said.

Physical commitment: I think it’s something we know, but sometimes don’t want to admit. I think it’s often something we don’t want to talk about. It’s uncomfortable, because it makes us look at our weaknesses. Our physical weaknesses.

I want to make this extremely clear up front- I am NOT trying to chastise or shame anyone. Everyone is free to be how and who they want, both as a person and as a fisherman/woman. This post is my opinion. It is one aspect of how I am successful in how I fish.

However, I will say I often get the same reaction to my discussion of this topic. It usually goes something like this:

“Wow, you fish really hard. How do you do it? I just can’t.”

To which I reply “I work really hard in the offseason. I run a lot, bike, ski, and do strength training. I have built up a base of fitness over almost two decades that allows me to “push through”. I eat healthy and try to keep my weight down. Sleep is always an issue, but when I’m not fishing, I take that seriously too.”

The response is almost always the same, averting their eyes they say something like “I just can’t do that. You’re lucky.”

Or, if they don’t say “lucky” they’ll say “young” or some version of that.

Trust me, there’s no luck in this...Ok, ok, that’s not exactly true, my parents are still both good athletes (although they came to it later in life in their mid-40’s), and my sister is an outstanding cross-fit and weightlifting athlete, so I do have good genetics. However, I was also a chunky kid (husky pants and all) and I have to be careful about my diet, regardless of how much I work out. I’m not “blessed”, I just work really damn hard. People who know me well, know that I spend a lot of time working hard to be fit.

I used to do all my exercise and training for other reasons besides fishing, of which I will not get into here- and not all were because I enjoyed exercise. In fact, I often still don’t feel like going out and running when it’s 20 degrees in January, and I really (really) don’t enjoy doing weights inside my house or at a gym. I hate working out inside. And you will never, ever find me on a treadmill. Or the “dreadmill” as I call it. But, I try very hard to stick to my exercise plan each day, week, and month during the “off season”. In my opinion, it’s got to be done.

Why?

Because it allows me to fish longer, harder, and more days in a row without breaking down physically. I can go further to access spots that would be out of reach, physically, since I am relatively fit. I can throw huge plugs for 5 or 6 nights in a row, for 6 straight months, without hurting my shoulders, back or elbows. And, while this may have mattered less when the fishery was good, I think it’s becoming more and more important in this current “lack of fish” climate. You have to go further, harder, and longer to get good fish. And with access seemingly drying up as well, we’re in a “double punch” scenario. You either chose to fish the same handful of spots everyone else can (which is a topic for another time) or you figure out creative ways to access quality areas. For me, this often results in parking further away and utilizing my legs.

In fact, my best nights from last year (and the year prior) have been from spots that take at least 40 minutes of biking or walking (or a combination) before I can even begin to fish. Being fit and not balking at an hours of “investment” before I even fish has allowed me to find “secret” spots and fish areas that are (I believe) either not fished or very under-fished. In fact, two of my spots I’ve been fishing for a long time now and have yet to see a single angler!

This makes them mine, and I genuinely feel it has helped with my productivity. I think, perhaps, I’m even into fish at one of the spots that are residents that perhaps don’t even see as many lures during the season and as such are more willing to make a mistake in taking mine. I admit this is a relatively shaky theory, and I wouldn’t want to debate it with Dave, but it’s interesting how well I will do from this spot while anglers in adjacent areas lament about how there’s no fish.

Being strong, and especially having good endurance, is critical to all of this. I think many hardcore anglers downplay how hard they work. I know “Crazy” Alberto has talked about this openly before, and written about it, as has DJ Muller, so I’m not the only one and this is not an original idea. However, I think it’s harder to be honest about, versus the mental commitment discussion, because you have to admit and work on your weaknesses. And even just admitting them can be tough!

Now, I know some of you are thinking “not worth it” or some version of “but I have a spot X that I catch good fish and I just get out of the car and be fishing in 3 minutes”. To address the first point, you’re not wrong! I am not saying you have to be fit and work out, I’m saying that it is a way I am successful in catching big fish. Also, if you don’t care about catching big fish but just want to catch numbers, many more options open up to you. And you don’t have to fish as much either, because there’s a higher likelihood of success with less trips and less hours of fishing each trip. To address the second point, If you live on the coast, have exclusive access somehow, enjoy fishing easy access places like the Cape Cod Canal or Montauk light house (aka crowds), or even breachways, etc. than you have options for “physically easy” fishing (still have to mentally work, just not as much physically). However, even in these cases, being able to spend hours on your feet, very late into the night, over many nights, can be physically taxing. And, again, casting huge plugs (or bait is even worse) on heavy gear is tiring.

Which leads me to why I’m putting this in “Fly 25”. I think fly fishing is even harder. It’s always amazing to me how much more sore I get from casting the relatively light-weight fly rod in comparison to the heavy 11-foot surf stick. The higher repetition of false casting, especially with a double haul, results in a term called “pattern overload” which does extreme amounts of muscle injury. Also, the phase of the double-haul is an eccentric (lengthening) movement, which does additional damage. All this jargon means it makes you fucking sore. And maybe it’s fine for one night. But what happens when you have a great night, and want to go again…but are so sore you can’t? To me, that is an unacceptable outcome, and I want to mitigate it as much as possible by being as strong as possible.

Actually, this is sort of the nexsus of my entire point, and also the admission of what is essentially a problem at times. I cannot resist, I cannot stop, and I cannot accept not fishing as much as possible. And to do this, I have to stay fit. I’m so obsessed, so addicted, I can’t stomach the thought of not being able to fish a good tide or bite because I’m “too tired”. Yes, this is not necessarily a great thing (especially if you’re married or have a high-stress job), but nevertheless, it’s part of the drive and commitment to catch more, and larger, fish.

However, you don’t have to be 10 percent body fat, be able to run a 6 minute mile, and bench 300 pounds. You don’t have to be able to score a 300 on the PT test (although, that’s not a bad idea!). In fact, trying to look like Brad Pitt from Fight Club is a total waste of time. I would suggest instead of doing crazy hours of exercise, an angler use that training time doing something fishing related- scouting, researching, and preparing for the season. In full disclosure, I do enjoy long distance running, but I don’t do that because of fishing (I do that because I like it). In fact, I think my running in the winter can hamper my preparation sometimes- too much of a good thing, as they say.

However, doing things like power walking for an hour, doing some pushups and chair dips, and some core exercise (planks are king!) can be huge in increasing your ability to fish really hard. Basically, I would recommend 3-5 hours of aerobic (e.g. biking, hard and fast walking, elliptical, hiking, XC skiing, etc.) and a 1-2 total hours of strength-training work a week.  You’d be amazed how strong you can get by doing just 20 minutes of strength training a day, with just a handful of exercises. No need to even go to a gym, just fit it in when you can. If you’d like suggestions, email me and I am happy to give you some actual exercises or training plans. Anything, is better than nothing!

I know. It’s not exactly fun- even for me who has been doing it a long, long time and enjoys some aspects of it. And it’s yet another thing to fit into the day amongst all the other crap we have to do. But, if you think of it as investment in your season of fishing, it is easier to commit. I do, truly, believe it makes a difference in being prepared and able to hunt for larger fish. When you’re tired, you get sloppy. When you’re sloppy, you make mistakes. You lose focus. These things play directly back into what Dave was talking about in “Colemans law”. Every time you cast, you have to be ready for that hit. Because if you aren’t: you lose 9.9 times out of 10. And I just don’t like those odds. If your back is aching, or you’re falling asleep at the wheel (as they say), your ability to analyze even goes down- it’s not just about casting or being able to walk into a remote spot. In essence, it’s a snowball effect, that all piles up to decrease your chance at success.

Let me close with a very recent example, which is where the photo is from in this post.

I was fishing for Northern Pike a few weeks ago. I had been fishing for over four hours, casting relatively large lures from shore and had walked a couple miles wading in water up to my waist. I had nothing much to show for it- a handful of moderately sized pickerel and one baby bass. I was getting tired, hungry, and bored. I went all the way back to the car, about a mile which took a long time wading in the water. I didn’t want to leave, so I grabbed my fly rod and started to work the shore again hoping the change in tactic would reinvigorate me.
It didn’t.

I went back to the car again after about 20 minutes. I was sssoooo done; I was over it. However, as I stood staring at the cove I was parked near, I saw a good number of bugs hatching and rising from the surface. There was actually a lot of surface action from small sunnies as they slurped down the emerging bugs as well. This, in combination with the waning day light and the extremely warm early spring weather, just screamed “big fish”. Everything just felt “right”. I instinctually felt it.

But, my God did I want to just leave!

Instead, I sucked it up, I drank some water and ate a Clif Bar and grabbed my spinning rod again. My arms were tired and my legs starting to get there too. But I went back out and started to cast a large jerk bait anyways.

Ten minutes in, and I had my largest bass of the year so far, as pictured.

Needless to say, I was pretty glad I had sucked it up. I stuck it out until full dark- almost 45 more minutes- and had a few more moderately sized pickerel and then called it a night.

As I drove home, this post came to me. The only way I was able to do this, to stick it out, was because of the “investment” I had made over the winter through my running and strength training. Those nights of running in the dark in 25 degree weather. Those afternoons sweating it out doing strength training in the basement, absolutely miserable. If I hadn’t, no doubt in my mind I would have got in the car and left- and not caught that fish.
​
And yes, we should be fishing “smart” and not just “hard”. But sometimes, you have to fish hard to fish smart. And to do that, you have to be fit.

By Dave Anderson

For this week's installment of my 'Pursuing 50' series, I'm talking about the concept of chasing the ghost. The ghost is the fish, but not just any fish, it's THE FISH, it's that biggest fish of the year or your lifetime. I have found a lot of valuing in 'dumbing it down' to chasing one singular entity, rather than trying to catch one of the thousands of giant bass in the ocean, I focus on the fact that I'm really only trying to catch one. This has helped me see the difference between the general act of fishing and hunting for a trophy--hunting is selective and it means that I'm able to focus on that one big fish. Making the switch to hunting big fish is largely based in your mindset, I think this concept will help you get there. Hopefully I'm right. 

By Jerry Audet

In the next installment of “Casting Cork” I figured I’d give you a little snippet of my thoughts on the hook.

Obviously the hook is important. The most important thing about it is it has to be strong enough for your application. If you’re going to throw a bigger popper, I think you need to consider saltwater grade hooks. However, if you’re making smaller poppers (like size 4 I’ve show here), you can get away with very typical freshwater stuff. In fact, using a slightly smaller hook can help in casting, further decreasing the chance of spinning, which I’ll talk about at length in the next video. I also believe a smaller hook can also help in situations where the fish may be pressured and leery of hitting an fly or artificial. When I first started using these, I lived on a highly pressured body of water, and I found using a size or two smaller hook than “typical” resulted in more strikes. So a thinner wire hook can be an asset, even though I'd rather err on the side of thicker than thinner.

Next, the hook has to be long enough that you can tie feathers (or bucktail) on to the back of the hook before it starts to bend downwards. This allows the feathers/bucktail to stick out straight behind the popper, which allows for better casting and better action (and a more realistic profile).

That's really it! Beyond that, if you’re trying to do this on the cheap like I am, it really comes down to what can you find that is the best deal! You do not need special popper hooks. I like to scour discount and closeout retailers to find hooks that will work. You might be surprised by some of the fish I’ve caught on my poppers, where the hooks cost me less than 10 cents each! In fact, for my small poppers, I like Eagle Claw hooks that cost less than a cent a piece.
​
Again, these are meant to be cheap and easy to make. It doesn’t have to be complicated. And, as you'll see in the coming months, the fish don't seem to care at all.

Next week look for a new installment of "Fly25" from me.

By Dave Anderson

So what does it take to catch bigger fish with some level of consistency? A word that jumps right out at me is ‘dedication’. But I feel like dedication carries too much of a positive connotation. When you’re dedicated, people look at you give that little fist-pump look that tells you that they respect your devotion to the cause. And people admire you for putting your heart and soul into it. Dedicating oneself to catching a big fish really doesn’t earn that same level of admiration. You’re more likely to get that look of not-totally-sincere sympathy, more like they feel bad for your parents or your wife. I picture mothers whispering to their sons through cupped hands while staring at you with big, worried eyes—the implication being that they are telling them, “don’t end up like him!” I get it. I’ve always said that if I had gotten obsessed with the stock market instead of fishing, I’d be growing a nest egg past $10 million by now. But I chose this instead.
 
So maybe a better word would be obsession. The basic definition of obsession is having thoughts that continually preoccupy, or intrude upon, a person’s mind. Yes! This sounds about right. If my life can be used as a model, then obsessive is a perfect adjective. My days are filled with vacant stares that foretell constant in-head conversation. I’m always thinking about some plug design or a needlefish modification or how I can better position myself in that rip or where the body of fish I’ve been chasing might show up next. These constant mental contortions—I truly believe—keep me deeper in the game than the average guy. I always have a toe in the water and keeping my mind churning over these things that mean NOTHING to almost anyone else keeps my finger on that pulse all the time. Even when I go through slumps or periods when I can’t fish for some reason, my mind never seems to deviate from these thoughts.
 
Then there is that dirty word that no one likes to hear in the same sentence as obsessive… compulsive. If you’re compulsive, you have urges. Urges that you can’t help, feelings that spurn you on and—almost—force you to do something. I believe that when the surfcaster is at his best, he is both obsessive and compulsive. I believe these urges are a result of sharper instincts; they are brought on by things that we can’t always put our finger on. Things like the wind, temperature changes, a smell in the air… suddenly there is this burning fire that compromises all other thoughts. And our minds set themselves to figuring out how to get out of the house—as fast as humanly possible. I have learned through experience that these compulsions are almost always valid and you should listen to them whenever they grace your mind with their presence.
 
The last word is another that you might not want to hear in a sentence with obsessive and compulsive and that word is committed. Obviously, I don’t mean being committed to an institution for your obsessive/compulsive nature. But if you really want to up your big fish game, you have to be committed to actually doing that. Like I said in my last blog post, you can’t do both, you can’t fish for bites and target giants at the same time, they’re two very different choices. So if you really think that you’re cut out for hunting big fish, then you have to ask yourself if you can commit to catching far fewer fish in a season in exchange for a higher CHANCE of catching a big fish, because it’s certainly not guaranteed. As I have progressed through my life as a surfcaster I have found that ‘just catching fish’ does less and less for me, it’s still fun, but it’s just not the same as having to think, and ruminate and TRY. I get the most satisfaction out of targeting big fish—that’s just who I am.
 
If you think you have it in you, I applaud you. If you don’t, I totally understand. They don’t call it a grind for nothing. The fact is you probably already know the basics of targeting big fish, but 95% of anglers just can’t commit at the required level to implement what they’ve learned. It’s one of those things that you’ll instinctually know it when you’re truly in—if you’re enduring a tough season but still sticking it out for that big fish reward, regardless of whether it comes or not, you’re well on you way. Fishing for big fish is like taking on a second, full-time, job. Are you willing to take that on?
 
If you are, I’m excited for you and I may owe your spouse an apology.
 
Tell her I said, “sorry”. 

By Dave Anderson

To follow up on Coleman’s Law, the next thing I wanted to talk about is what basically boils down to staying in practice. One of the reasons that I feel like I want to talk about this is that a couple weeks ago I caught myself, not staying in practice. I don’t mean that I wasn’t fishing enough (is there ever enough?) what I really mean is practicing the mindset of targeting big fish exclusively. I’m a big believer in the idea that you can’t do both, you can’t fish for numbers while also targeting a trophy fish; everything about those two practices is completely different. This doesn’t mean you won’t catch a big fish here and there when fishing for bites, you will, but those catches are purely coincidental, a random result of time spent fishing. If your goal is catching bigger fish consistently, then you have to make a change and focus on actually targeting bigger fish.
 
The other day, I caught myself leaning off the wagon. It’s April now and there’s no chance of catching a big striper in local waters, this is when I shift my focus to the ponds. I do this because bass are bass, the motions and thought processes and the way I’m looking at the shoreline and structure and even how I’m presenting to these things is largely the same. Also, I don’t want to wait and go into the prime of the season feeling rusty. I want to be in the mode. I want to have a good feel for presentation and have my head in the right place as far my expectations go. And this is where I faltered a few weeks back.
 
I went out with the sole intentions of just catching some fish—sue me, what a terrible idea, right? In truth it’s not such a terrible thing, as long as you don’t do it too much. If you do it too much though you can—unconsciously—ratchet your expectations in the wrong direction. I went out there, threw some jerkbaits, caught a handful of fish, all around the 2-pound mark. It did feel good to bend the rod, but when I was thinking about it later that night—I found myself scheming a way to get back there to catch more fish. I was starting myself off on the wrong foot, I was fishing for bites. Using these methods (jerkbaits, jigs) is a way that I feel I can guarantee some fish, but I’m just hoping that a big fish will show up and take my offering, it’s hoping not targeting. And this ‘hoping’ business undermines the mindset. So the next time I went out I brought only swimbaits, and I’m not talking about Keitechs, I’m talking 2- to 5-ounce baits, 6- and 8-inch Huddlestons, 8-1/2 inch Glidebaits… these are not the biggest baits on the market, I’m not throwing a 13-inch Hinkle Trout, but these baits are big for New England and they are large enough that 90% of the fish they swim past will not attempt to eat them—only the bigger fish will feel that they’re able to take them down. This is targeting bigger fish—these baits mimic alewives and trout and large yellow perch, the stuff that these weighty prespawn females will expend the energy to eat. And I left myself no fallback plan, I couldn’t wimp out and throw a jerkbait because I wasn’t hooking up, I only had big baits in the bag.
 
Then I proceeded to fish for an hour without a single hit. But there’s an electricity that comes with targeting big fish. It’s a vibration that keeps me alert and focused, I feel excited with every crank of the reel. This is being invested in the method; this is the stuff that I live for. I know that I’m giving up dozens of fish but I feel excitement in my chest, and I know that when that hit comes, it’s going to be a good fish, and if I do it enough, I will connect with a great fish.
 
Then I came upon an area where there was a change in the shoreline; I had an instinct that a good fish would be there. I know the spot well, it’s deep with a steeper incline than the rest of the shore around it, it’s also a noticeable change in the continuity of the bank—it’s more of a bump-out than a point but it’s different enough to draw predators. I threw that Hudd out there and felt so connected to it because I had been practicing for an hour, observing the bait in the water—seeing its reactions to different movements with the reel and rod. A Huddleston is a lot like a needlefish or a darter in that it doesn’t give much input back, you can’t feel it working, you just have to trust that it is.
 
So I whipped that Huddleston out there and I let it settle right to the bottom and I starting working it in slow lifts, swimming it five or six feet at a time and letting it settle back down. As the bait neared where I believed the rise to be, I lifted my tip a little and guided the bait up the embankment and—BAM—I hooked up with a decent fish. It wasn’t the biggest fish of my life, it was a 4-pounder—but it was a quality fish and bigger than anything I took on my last trip and it made the whole trip worth it. By the end of the day I had only one other hookup—another solid fish—that came off. But I felt great about the results because I stuck to my plan and the plan worked, I had willingly gone in knowing that I might only get one chance and I caught one solid fish instead of a handful of buck bass.
 
My whole reasoning for doing this is that I know it will carry over into the surf when it’s time. If I was going for numbers all spring long, my brain would be subconsciously programmed to expect a certain level of action and when you’re programmed to expect something and you don’t achieve it, your concentration suffers, you begin to question your methods, you start to zone out and look for shooting stars… or whatever else you might do to when your focus is compromised. Then you’re no longer fishing, you’re just casting, going through the motions, you’re not ready, you’re not invested, and it’s all because you, unknowingly, taught your brain to expect more action. By staying with the tougher methods that target the bigger fish you have lowered your action threshold and raised your patience level—both really good things if you’re serious about trying to ‘go large’. You’ve given yourself to the method and accepted the fact that your numbers will go down significantly, while also knowing (believing) that the end result will be more big fish and just maybe THE FISH you’ve been hoping for all these years you’ve been fishing the surf. This is the foundation on which the big fish mentality is built and it doesn’t come easy, but it’s totally worth it.

By Jerry Audet

The first of my projects, as previously alluded to in the first post describing “In Pursuit”, is to finally land a 25lb striped bass, from shore, on the fly rod. If you missed that post, you can find it here. For the next couple weeks, I'll be starting each post with this standard statement so those who missed it can catch up. The short-premise of In Pursuit is that it is an honest, informal, journal-like documentation of a season’s worth of chasing specific angling goals from both Dave and Jerry.

I was driving home this weekend after a less than successful night-trip fishing for holdover striped bass (only a couple small fish), half listening to Howard Stern on the radio, and started thinking about this “In Pursuit” series. I was rolling it around in my mind, and started considering why I haven’t already begun fly fishing for stripers in 2019. After all, these fish I’m targeting are likely very catchable on the fly for a few reasons. As I have proclaimed to Dave several times, “this spot would be PERFECT for fly fishing”…as we continued to bang away at it with Redfins.

As I mulled this over, I started to come up with all the reasons why this location in particular fit very well as a “fly fishing spot”.  As I built the list in my mind, I had a very simple- but likely critical- thought which popped into my brain.

The theory goes like this:

I have a handle on what big fish want, and have been successful in catching them on plugs. I know I need to fish the moons, tides, and certain (specific) conditions. I know these things. They have become so ingrained in me, they are essentially instinctual. This instinct helps make me a better angler. Dave and I have talked a few times about what makes a great fisherman. One of the things we agree on is that the better the angler, the faster and more effective they are at dissecting and capitalizing on a new spot. While I am not insinuating that I am the best by any means, it has been very satisfying in the past few years to identify new spots on satellite imagery or nautical maps during the winter, show up in person in the spring, and have success (albeit more or less, depending on the season and the spot). It makes me feel like I know something- even if it also feels like the more I learn, the less I (we) actually know.

However, for some reason, I tend to just throw all this knowledge, intuition, and instinct away when I fly fish in the surf.

This is what occurred to me when I was driving home at 1 am on Sunday. It dawned on me that for the last few seasons I have been subconsciously categorizing my spots. I definitely already knew I was a spot “collector”. I like to have all kinds of options with different kinds of terrain and conditions, covering the spectrum of striper habitat. I like this because it gives me options, and allows me to, as John Skinner puts it, “have a play for any condition”. And, I’m always looking for special spots which very few, or no, anglers fish for a whole host of reasons- which could be an entire series of posts in itself.

What I hadn’t realized up to this point, at least overtly, was that I was also building a hierarchy of my spots; spin vs. fly.

That is, I have identified and sorted some of my spots as “fly fishing only” spots. As the name insinuates, they are places I only fish with a fly rod. For the most part they are locations I have deemed 1) to only hold small to moderate sized fish, and 2) places I feel I can cast my offering easily into some kind of deep (relative) or moving water. This means they often are sidled up next to a drop off, or at some kind of outflow, and are sheltered from strong winds.

And this has worked great…for catching numbers of fish. It’s served my purpose so far really well. I have become adept at casting, fighting, and landing fish on the fly rod in these spots; or dealing with a stripping basket when I have to wade up to my belly button; or how to fish moderate current with a sinking line; or how to use a popper in a seam to draw strikes deep into the night. Etcetera. These select spots have lead to hundreds of fish, and some great memories.

What they haven’t led to, and likely never will, is landing a really big fish on a fly.

The key thing that occurred to me while driving: if I didn’t fly fish I likely wouldn’t fish many (or any) of these spots every again. One in particular I am thinking about has yielded exactly 1 39-inches fish (on the spinning rod, 5 years ago), and everything else has been 36-inches or under, with the vast majority under 28-inches. It can be a fun “hit every cast” spot if conditions are right, and it’s one of my oldest spots to boot. So I continue to fish it for nostalgias sake, but only because the fly rod has made it justifiable; that is, it has made it fun. I think, otherwise, it would feel like a waste of time. At the very least, I would fish it a whole lot less.

But therein lies the problem. As I stated in my previous post, fly fishing has always been the second class option to the plug and surf rod. Moving forward with this goal of finally getting a quality fish on the fly rod, I need to find ways to integrate it into what I’m already doing with the surf rod. There can no longer be this huge dichotomy in my “fly fishing spots” and “surf rod spots”. Sure, there are definitely spots at which I will never be able to effectively use a fly rod. One I can think of I’ll never reach the fish, ever. Not even shooting 30 yards of backing. Another, I believe I would struggle to get my line down deep enough from shore; the combination of deep water, good current, and a very consistent swell would make it exceedingly challenging even with very heavy sinking shooting heads.

However, I need to get creative at all my other spots. The challenge is often casting distance, especially with very large flies. The runner up is not getting broken off once I hook a big fish. To combat both of these, I think I will need to really focus on calmer nights as the a) lack of wind will allow me to cast further, and b) the calm surf will allow me to wade/swim out further so I can get around structure that would break me off from casting perches closer to shore. I think this will allow my surf spots to be more accessible to the whippy stick. Further, it will likely even strengthen and support the use of the fly rod, since the calm conditions often call for a more subtle and nuanced approach.

The hard thing will be giving up those prime tides when I “know” I could be landing big fish on the plug, and instead chose the fly. There is certainly some risk there- risk of both smaller fish, and less fish overall. However, when I made the switch to hunting bigger fish on the plug, I had to change my mind set- and at first, it also lead to fewer fish. So why wouldn’t I have to do the same thing as I make the identical transition with the fly rod?
​
And so, I think my mantra for the up-coming season will be: There are no fly fishing spots; It’s all just surf fishing.