Running Out The Clock in Rhode Island

In November in recent years, it is rapidly becoming clear to those still chasing stripers around from Falmouth to New Haven, on Block, and at Montauk that the big blitzes and migratory fish are about done. There’s no longer a big late season biomass like there has been historically. The chances of getting a cow out front in November or December in these places has plummeted. The bluefish aren’t here, either. The herring run that was so good at the end of the season just four or five years ago has not manifested in a while. So for those of us who need striped bass fishing about as much as we need oxygen, the late season has become a race against time just to catch a few small fish or find one last blitz before they’ve all tucked into their wintering estuaries or headed south. Every year now I try to keep on the migratory stripers as long as they are around- even though they’re usually tiny.

Rhode Island is so special in the final days of the fall run. The snowbirds have all left, and South County becomes a quiet, chilly, wind battered surf casters’ playground. Though the fishing, in my experience, becomes much more tricky once those massive October blitzes are past, there’s nothing like looking out over those long stretches of sand and that cold ocean hoping to see a few schoolies busting or some gannets diving. On one cold November day with the 2020 striper season winding down, I stood at Watch Hill at false dawn leaning against my car, looking east and smiling. I felt good. This was my last hurrah. Rhode Island had been sporadic for me, I wasted too much time tunny hunting and missed numerous huge striper blitzes as a consequence. But today there were no other species to distract me. It was all about the bass.

I headed out along the beach, eastbound, before stopping to take another look at a spot where the parking was less than legal before the sun rose. I hopped out in my sweatpants and slippers and walked out to the beach. I looked up and down, then out of the corner of my eye I could have sworn I saw a splash in the wash not far to my left. I watched that spot a bit and sure enough, there was a swirl. I ran back to the car, rigged up with haste, and rushed back out to the beach. I wanted to get one of these fish before whatever locals were still around could get up and decide they didn’t like my parking location choice. They were still sporadically rolling when I got back out there, but for whatever reason I just couldn’t seem to get a grab. Oh well, I had to move along anyway. 

The next stop, though decidedly lacking in evidence of feeding fish, produced a couple stripers in short order. The skunk was off but I wanted more. Soon, I could see birds working out some distance to my west. I momentarily considered giving chase, but they seemed to be moving closer. They were, and soon I could see the fish splashing underneath, but they never came anywhere near in range and seemed like they probably wouldn’t so I was soon moving again. 

At the next spot, I’d clearly missed the action. Even though the sun was still low, it had evidently been up long enough for the dawn bite to come and go at this beach. I talked to one surf caster that had caught a nice low end slot fish, watched fish blitzing out of range, and had one strike but left there without a fish. I tooled around for a while without finding fish before meeting up with my girlfriend and eventually deciding to go back to where the morning bite had been. I hoped there’d be an evening blitz there for her to see and fish with me. There was a blitz there again, a bit more impressive than those I’d seen in the morning.

Though there weren’t fish breaking tight to the beach initially, I started catching bass that were cruising the wash. Then, later in the evening, they were breaking in the wash, too. It was simple fishing with a floating line and a clouser, and pretty good for a little while. Not crazy, but satisfying. It was better than a lot of my last runs to Rhode Island in the last few years. 

I ended the day not all that differently than it started. I was still smiling, and still looking east. My girlfriend sat next to me. The sun was falling low in the sky. A few stripers were still splashing, and a few gulls were still frantically trying to pick off the bait fish from above. The fall run wasn’t over here, but soon I’d be looking behind me. That’s where the fish were going. 

 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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Edited by Cheyenne Terrien