Bridge and Creek Hopping Striped Bass

 October 5th, 2020: I stepped off Ian's skiff just before sunset and walked up the beach, pants rolled up to my knees, and more fishing gear than I could comfortably carry in my arms. My day was not over. I walked back to the car and readied myself for an evening of targeting stripped bass on foot. My saltwater fly fishing roots are in seeking creek and backwater "big schoolies", 26 to 36 inch bass. Not cows, not rats. Fish is this size range used to be much more abundant, and maybe they will be again though the current slot limit is, well... bad, and it won't help. Anyway, I was ready to buckle down and do the kind of fishing that got me into stripers in the first place for the next few nights. This was the first of many to come and I was starting out in a spot, on a tide, and with a fly that were all proven. Success was assured and success was had. 

With half a dozen fish around 26-27 inches to hand at the first bridge before it got too dark for reaction bites on a gamechanger, I moved to a more well lit bridge to swing Snake Flies and flatwings along and across the shadow lines, where hungry bass were waiting on station for silversides to swim through. Like trout rising to mayflies, bass held in strong current and moved left, right and up to intercept food. Fly fisherman used to fishing to blitzing schoolies take time to adjust to this sort of fishing, which really is more like fishing dries or wets to stationed trout. I love it. I love that there are so many ways to catch striped bass, so many different behaviors to decipher, and so many habitats to explore. The amount of variety within this one species is remarkable.

October 6th, 2020: I went west instead of east this night. I wanted to fish some areas I hadn't in a long while. 

The first spot I'd fished as recently as August but the others had all at least been 4 years. The last time I'd fished the finale stop, I'd not even yet caught my first striped bass on the fly. These were all bridges, one lit, two not. And they were all holding fat little schoolies. The average size was far smaller than the night before, but the fish were more interested in bigger attractor snake flies, which was more fun. One fat 25 incher stood out as the fish of the night. 

At the last spot, I stood on the bridge as I'd quit fishing and just watched fish working the shadow line. I was transfixed, leaning over the guardrail, watching stripers do what stripers should do. A lone car sped by me at twice the speed limit and I glanced at their taillights momentarily before looking back down to the water. I must have stood there 20 minutes before I realized I would have to head home or I'd get dangerously tired.

October 7th, 2020: The wind was howling and I went east again, but started in a place I'd not tried much after dark. I parked the car more than a mile from where I'd fish, and got out my bike. I then rode through the woods, dodging fallen limbs, rushing to the beach. When I got to the sand I concealed the bike and started walking. Partway own the beach a haunting shadow loomed. I turned my light back on and saw two beached sailboats, apparently abandoned by their crews, tilted at concerning angles, high and dry. 

I left that creepy scene didn't stop until I reached the mouth of a creek, and headed up to the first bend to start fishing. Signs of life were limited. I heard but two striped bass pop. I only had one follow and swipe, and it can't have been a striper. I could see the tail swirl behind the fly, and if the fish's nose was a foot behind the fly it was four feet long. This must have been a huge dogfish or average brown shark. I made one big swipe before turning away. I left a little disturbed, bound for the same bridge I'd fished after dark on the 5th. There, when he tie slacked, I had a tiny window of opportunity to get a true cow when a school set up on the up-current shadow line in the slow, lazy current. Big bass are, after all, much slower and lazier than small ones. One came up and inhaled my black flatwing. But it was off within seconds and the opportunity for a truly large fish was over, the rest dispersed.

A few small schoolies kept the skunk off that night. 

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

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