In Winter's Grip

 It was a damp, dark February night. Garth and I parked at a muddy pull off on a quiet New England back road and quickly geared up. I was going wader-less but warm, with long johns and sweat pants under a well weathered pair of khakis, thick wool socks under my leather work boots, and multiple layers on top as well. We both dawned nitrile gloves and pulled rods out of the car before disappearing silently into the woods. We wore no headlamps, as neither of us are inclined to pollute the darkness with artificial light during our nocturnal striped bass hunts. This particular outing was well into a long bender to decipher after dark feeding patterns of large holdover fish. The conditions, we thought, were ideal this time. We'd carefully put together puzzle pieces over the course of the winter: light, moon phase, barometric pressure, tide, frontal conditions... it was starting to fit together. It had been a long road to success, starting years prior for me with multiple failed after hours attempts. I'd eventually come to the conclusion that my holdover spots just weren't worth night fishing. Reinvigorated efforts came as a result of complete disbelief that that could actually be the case. These fish had to eat in the dark too. Holdovers in other places did. Eventually, with a push to be more patient and observant one night thanks to Garth. It would have taken longer to catch anything if one night he hadn't insisted that we sit for a while and let things settle. A condition change occurred as we bantered on the marsh bank and suddenly our discussion was interrupted by the sound of stripers gently swirling on bait. 

Those had been small fish though. I was adamant we could get something larger. We were hell bent on doing so. The appeal of putting up a 20 pound or bigger striped bass in the winter months and doing so on foot in the middle of the night with a fly rod was multifaceted for me. I've been an intensely devoted nighttime angler since I was a teenager and my comfort and confidence navigated all sorts of waters at night is very high. To do so for arguably my favorite target species in a time of year I hadn't figured out yet was very appealing. Add to that the difficulties of sub-freezing temperatures, ice, and even snow, and it gets more interesting still. There's also a patience and subtlety to targeting large holdovers in lower yield locations that demands focus and time. The fish eat delicately and infrequently, and though there isn't complexity to the flies required to catch them there is to the presentation. There's also a lot to be said for being able to blind cast as far as you can in the darkness with limited back-cast for hours on end for just a handful of subtle blink-and-you-miss-it bites. Throw in gobs of frost collecting in your guides and icicles forming in you beard on the worst of nights and you've got a recipe for a lot of guys staying home. And that's probably fair, it really isn't everyone's cup of tea. But f*** man, it sure is mine. I absolutely love it. 

This particular night we were on the cusp of a front and it really wasn't all that unpleasant out. The water was closing in on 40 degrees and the air temperature was a bit over that even after 1:00am. We covered ground briskly on our way to the river, almost but not quite capable of doing this walk with our eyes closed now. Eventually the trees gave way and the ethereal reflection of the clouds off the water's surface came into view. We quietly assumed or first casting positions and began to ply the dead still waters. 

Bites didn't come with any notable frequency that night, but my mind recorded the one that mattered like a bit of grainy super 8 footage. Some winter bass bites are barely a flutter. Others load up on it. This fish slammed the fly hard, as though it had come at it head on. My 6wt flexed under the weight and I uttered "big fish" and Garth hastily made his way over. The fight was a significant one, The fish had a fair bit of energy for being in that cold water. It was a little while before we did get a glimpse at her when we did, it was a moment of exceptional satisfaction. It was the sort of fish we'd come for. 

With new found confidence, we'd push ourselves to the limit the rest of the winter. In the end, we didn't best that fish though both of us just about matched it numerous times. Inevitably, we came out of that season with new questions. Chief among them being just what exactly out upper limit could be. Could we get a 30 pounder in January or February? How about a 40? There's really only one way to find that out. 

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