Garth and I dumped the canoe in last few hours of October. There'd been some large striped bass around and I'd been using personal watercraft to explore new territories. A couple days prior I'd caught my largest surf striper, a roughly 44 inch 30-plus pound fish. Minutes before that fish another 40 incher had come to hand. This was in daylight... I was a bit taken with that and felt the need to ply the same waters under the cover of darkness. Access was tricky but Garth and I found our way in.The canoe would be our ferry, the fishing itself would be land based. We just couldn't get where we planned to fish by wading outside of extreme low tides, and we'd inevitably not be able to do the fishing we wanted to in such a scenario. The canoe that Drew Price fished on the waters of Lake Champlain was now getting two young anglers onto the dark waters of Long Island Sound, where we thought we might just have a chance to run into a sea monster.
There's often a deeply ominous feeling when I climb out onto the furthest rock I can reach to cast into a powerful rip. The water is rarely calm, certainly not on the most productive nights, nor is it clear. A headlamp provides some security but it mustn't be on long and I've learned to do nearly everything I possibly can without one. That darkness envelopes you, as does the sound of the incoming tide flushing around the boulders. All this rock was left as the glaciers receded and is now home to a plethora of baitfish, crabs both native and invasive, the odd lobster, oysters, muscles, and of course striped bass. My hope was that within this particular pile of current ravaged, life encrusted granite, there could be a truly huge striped bass. My mind created all sorts of other creatures though, and as I scrambled onto my rock of choice I looked back at the dry land behind me nervously. The point I was on formed a ridge extending out toward deep water. It's descent was quite gradual, meaning I'd needed to wade a long way through unfamiliar territory to get where I was. I knew the holes between some of these boulders could be surprisingly deep. I also knew that seals and brown sharks like to hunt this same water. Though I knew that rationally these large creatures posed no threat to me, the ingrained fear of that which I couldn't see crept up. The intent, really the necessity of pulling on a large striper prevailed though, and any unwarranted fear faded in the pursuit of a striped bass of a lifetime. Expectation overshadowed reality out on that point that night. One take from a bass of unknown stature was all that resulted.
I had other tricks up my sleeve though. Nearby a shallow muscle bar marked the passage between island and mainland. Despite being very shallow it was enticing structure with good current and multiple ambush points. We picked our way out into the rushing current. I was keenly aware that much of bottom I trod on there was a living mosaic of mollusks. I tried not to drag my feet or step too hard. When I could I walked on what sand I could find. The current here was perfect for swinging, and I worked the water by casting down and across with my large white Hollow Fleye and simply letting the tide carry it. Large stripers are lazy and bait often doesn't suspect pursuit under the cover of darkness. A slow and deliberate presentation will often beat out a fast retrieve.
It was just a few minutes into November when I felt a pull. I pulled back hard and buried the hook. The fish's actions were deliberate and slow. It didn't really define its size, though I knew it wasn't small. My size guess changed again and again as I waded into the shallows, walking the fish back to where I could land here. When I finally did get her on her side in about five inches of water where her silhouette was just visible, I could see that she was a good one. At 39.5 inches and 20 some pounds she was easily my largest November bass. It can be all too easy to ignore the bass in front of you when you feel confident that there are much, much larger ones within a mile of where you, and I'd had a such a good October that I'd started to tire of the smaller fish. I wanted a 40 pound striper on the fly, on foot. And this wasn't it. But I realized her significance... she was a reminder to stay on my toes, to expect the unexpected. I thought there was a chance big fish could occasionally slide onto that muscle bar, but if I'd had to pick one spot in that area to fish that night it would have been where we started and we would have gotten skunked.
And we almost did. That was the only fish we laid hands on that night. It proved the importance of exploring all the possibilities of a spot, analyzing it critically, and fishing thoroughly and with intent at all times. Though I'd try again, that muscle bar never produced another striper this fall. The point nearby did give me some opportunities. It will take a few seasons at least to really grasp the dynamic of this new-to-me water. After fishing it an hour more that night we paddled the canoe back to our starting point. The whole way I was formulating approaches, considering conditions, and picturing the fish I knew was out there somewhere not far away. Scales as big as quarters. Mouth wide enough to swallow a fluke. I need to catch her.
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