Now you might be thinking I'm nuts based on that title, but it's true. Long after the last little tunny has left and the hopes and prayers for those mythical late season bonito have come up empty, a well kept, small scale hardtail bite manifests as winter begins. Old timers may talk about mackerel fishing in Long Island sound in the good old days, and though there is nothing like that apparently was- nor much of the wild late season fishing that could be had back then -there are still some Atlantic mackerel to be caught. Spurred on by whispers and a long held desire to figure out this very infrequently discussed bite, I went out mostly blind with a 5wt and small flashy streamers.
I've caught Atlantic mackerel many times in Maine, where they are present for most of the warm season in huge numbers. I'd also seen them in Massachusetts, but more as a baitfish than a target. I'd never seen one South of the Cape. Though these fish are pretty small compared to bonito or tunny, I welcomed the idea of catching a scombrid of any kind in a month when saltwater fishing is getting less and less diverse by the day. December signals the end of the fall abundance and species diversity as the water cools rapidly. But mackerel like this cold water, and that's exactly when they come around. Most of the time they are caught incidentally by folks fishing for herring. I couldn't be sure they were very targetable, but I liked the idea and was willing to risk skunking.
On my first attempt, skunking was exactly what I did. I ruled out some tides and times though, at least for one spot that looked like it had potential, and in one location I did watch people catch some herring and mackerel. The very next day I came back much earlier. The first spot was basically a dud, though I had a fish swirl on my fly at the end of one retrieve and on other brief hookup. I remained hopeful on the short drive to stop number two. There, I found exactly what I was looking for.
I must say I was almost surprised to catch one at all, even though I'd combed through what little information was available and poured over the maps for days prior. It felt like a wild goose chase, but there I was holding the goose. Many more came over the next few hours, and I felt pretty good about myself, especially since I was far from the only one fishing that spot and I was doing much better than anyone else there at the time. It does feel good, being the only one in a lineup with a fly rod and putting more meat in the bucket than anyone else.
And yes, I was putting meat in the bucket. Mackerel are wonderful table fare and plenty abundant, so I wanted to take advantage of this opportunity to try a new fish. When I was catching them sometimes two at a time, it was quite a good opportunity indeed.
Small though Atlantic mackerel may be, they still have that hardtail spirit. They pull really well, doing nice little runs and circling once brought in close just like their larger cousins. They don't have the weight to put on a big screaming run, but they makeup for that with an unwillingness to quit. They're excellent light tackle fodder.
I ended up with a pretty nice pile of them that day. When I got home and started processing them I found that the only baitfish they had in their stomach was juvenile menhaden. I'd expected small sand eels or even silversides, but there are indeed lots of peanuts still lingering around southern New England. The odds of encountering stripers chowing on them are still pretty good as I write this on December 12th. IF you know where to look...
I've been making regular trips for mackerel over the first weeks of December and will be continuing to as winter rolls along. It's become a short-term obsession. They're fun little fish, and I enjoy how obscure this bite is. Oh, and they were absolutely delicious.
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.
Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.
I've heard all manor of descriptions of what little tunny taste like, and very little of it good. Something I've learned throughout the years, though, is that most fish are very palatable and usually better than that. Being adept at handling the fish after you've harvested it, cleaning it properly, and cooking it appropriately make all the difference. Of course there are some fish that some people just won't like- everyone has different tastes. I used to be incredibly picky about fish. Now I think it's all about how they're done, though. I've eaten quite a few fish species that I've seen anglers turn their noses up to- walking catfish and sea robin to name two of the oddest. The only fish that was genuinely unappealing was chub mackerel, and that's just because we didn't get it on ice fast enough. So, naturally, it was only a matter of time before I brought home an albie.
The opportunity arose the morning of a gnarly storm that brought heavy rain and wind to southern CT. It was absolutely pouring just minutes after I arrived and there was very little sign of activity, but I wasn't there to sit in the dry car and wish I were home. I cast, and I cast some more. Then suddenly one of my retrieves was stopped by the abrupt take of the fastest fish a fly angler can tie into with their feet on the New England shoreline. And here I was, ready to fight it with a cheap Bass Pro Shops brand fly rod. The 9wt Heat did the job admirably, and soon I had a beautiful and hopefully delicious fish at hand. I'll say it one more time: expensive gear isn't pivotal to success. I'm having a lot of fun with that silly rod.
That was my only fish of the day, but that's all I really needed. I quickly bled it and left it out- no need to get it on ice, it was being pelted by cold rain. After being drenched to the bone and beaten up I went home with my little tunny in a bag in the trunk. I filleted it like one would any small tuna, and trimmed off the darkest bits of meat. That left rather a lot, about four meals worth if paired with another dish.
There are quite a few ways to prepare little tunny. If you're already used to cleaning and cooking tuna, I recommend treating a little tunny the way you like to prepare a bluefin, yellowfin, or blackfin tuna. Expect it to have a little less shelf-life than those species, but the same cooking or sushi preparation techniques are applicable. It'll also allow you to compare the quality of the meat to the fish you're already familiar with.
I cook mine essentially the same way I cook myself a burger. I put a splash of olive oil in a pan, sprinkle some salt and pepper on the piece of meat, and cook it until it's just a bit pink in the middle.
The texture and flavor is great. I loved it, and my partner really enjoyed it as well when she tried it. As long as you treat it right and eat it soon after it's caught, there's no reason not to eat an albie if you want to. And, frankly, lots and lots of dead ones are being thrown back in the water. Being an extremely fine-tuned, warm-blooded fish, little tunny have a very short shelf life when removed from the water. A lot of released ones die, that is very clear. I reckon the number could be as high as 45 to 50%. Grip n' grins are probably very close to a death sentence for these fish.
I know I've thrown back tunny that didn't survive, and though I don't subscribe to the idea that a fish that died after release has been completely wasted (nothing organic goes to waste in the ocean), I don't think it's a good look to be killing large numbers of a species for the sake of of sport and believing you're doing right by the species. Little tunny are one of the most abundant predator fish species in the Atlantic Ocean, if they're going to be killed by even fairly careful catch and release methods, we may as well eat them. Since they aren't, in fact, horribly disgusting as many people make them out to be, I'll likely be keeping every one I decide to photograph from now on, knowing full well there are some fly caster that will dislike me for doing so. That's a lot better than such a magnificent animal being eaten by invasive green crabs.
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.
Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.
Launching my kayak on one of the last legitimately hot days of the year, I expected to get into a variety of fish species and possibly some very unusual ones. What I was really looking for were Spanish Mackerel, and despite the fact that I found some of those pretty immediately, I couldn't catch the damn things. What I could catch were loads of blue runners. Blue runners are a fairly frequent late summer and fall visitor to Connecticut waters, though seemingly every year I seem to see a little bit of the same thing on social media... folks very surprised to see these fish around these parts. It's kind of funny how little fisherman actually know about fish, particularly fish they wouldn't fish for. Of course, I fish for everything, so I make it a priority to know as much as I can about as many fish as possible, and I knew blue runners regularly make there way inshore from the gulf stream each year when the water temperatures peak.
Mixed in with the blue runners, I got quite a few Atlantic needlefish. Needlefish are cool animals. I like strangely shaped fish, and needlefish certainly fit the bill. If you think pickerel are long and narrow, well... needlefish are aptly named.
Needlefish are also one of the small handful of fish I've caught that actively try to bite you when you catch one, so be mindful. They have lots and lots of teeth, and 'needle' applies just as well to those as it does to their needle jaw construction.
After a while the sun seemed to shut off the surface activity and I switched to bottom fishing with a sink tip and a Clouser Minnow. The conditions weren't ideal for kayak bottom fishing with a fly rod because there wasn't a breath of of wind. I rely on having a drift for this sort of fishing, because if gives me a lot more time with my fly down in the zone. Without a drift it was a fan casting game, which can work but isn't the most methodical way to cover water when fishing for scup, seabass, or fluke. It did work though and I was able to get some scup to bring home and eat. The most interesting result, though was completely unexpected. I kept having very strange takes. Initially I just thought I was catching bits of weed, because that's all it felt like. The fly kept coming up clean though. Finally, as I brought the fly up from the depths, I saw the culprit. It wasn't a fish at all, actually. It was a cephalopod. I'd wanted to catch a squid on the fly for a long time, and suddenly I was being presented the opportunity.
The problem I had was trying to stick the thing with a single heavy gauge hook. If you've seen anything designed for squidding you understand the issue. You need multitude of fine, needle-sharp hook points to reliably hook squid. Luckily this odd little creature seemed very determined to eat my Clouser and I eventually got the hook in it.
Getting to hold this utterly bizarre and shockingly intelligent critter for a few moments was the highlight of the day. I watched it rapidly changing color, manipulating its arms, and looking around at an alien world. Cephalopods are absurd animals, and it's remarkable to me that they will actually take an artificial lure given how intelligent they are. Maybe it's just a curiosity response? There's no way they still don't think a fly or lure is a real fish when they grab hold of it, their sensory system is much too complex. I have no idea, honestly. Squid are an endlessly intriguing animal. Though I certainly didn't get anymore that day, I intend to in the future. And it'll be with a fly rod, and some very odd and unique flies.
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.
Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.
I first heard the term 'ram induction feeding' from my friend Ian Devlin to describe how scombrid species eat small baitfish. Basically, they just slam trough tightly packed schools of bait and it gets funneled into their mouths. This feeding strategy can take on a few different looks, and when the fish are on very tiny "snot" bait it is a particularly remarkable thing to watch. The best example of this is chub mackerel, which routinely organize in compact (though large) schools and coordinate attacks on schools of tiny baitfish. We've had quite a lot of that in these parts over the last few years. Less frequently, little tunny feed in the same manor. A large school of them will bunch tightly together and propel themselves through the bait clouds, taking in the minuscule fish as they move. At times, in rough conditions, it can look like a huge pod of tunny is surfing a swell. Its a wild thing, and something I finally got to see and document this year.
Catching fish from these types of feeds can be very difficult at times, and there are two strategies that can be employed: One is sniping smaller pods moving along with large impressionistic lures, something I watched one well known angler do on the day these photos were taken. The same can be done with flies, but it's harder to make a quick shot if you aren't prepared. I'll cover this a bit more in a future post. Another strategy is to cast very tiny bay anchovy patterns into the bigger feeds. There's a level of luck to this since the fish are in such a large cloud of bait and aren't actually singling something out then chasing it down and eating it, but if the school is tightly packed enough and up and feeding when you get your fly in them, the odds certainly aren't bad that the fly ends up in one of their mouths.
It was during the days that this was going on that I got some of my only hookups this season, which isn't typically how it works. I usually like it better when there are roving pods, maybe boiling occasionally but mostly not visible. These are hunting fish, and they are often much easier to catch. Of course the fish I did catch on the day I took these photos was roving, I hadn't cast at breaking fish. But it was clear that the bulk of the fish were very keyed on something specific. It was very cool to see but didn't result in the best fishing. The same can't be said for the situation I was met with in the next tunny post.
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.
Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, and Noah for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.
Atlantic chub mackerel have been in Long Island and Block Island Sound each summer for a few years, but I'd yet to target them from shore until this August. Really I wasn't looking for them when I first ended up on the bite, I was looking for bonito. They had and still have yet to show in any notable amount in Connecticut waters. But on that first rainy morning I was looking for bonito, I ended up catching a huge chub mackerel, bigger than any I'd ever seen in photos. Though it gave me pause, it wasn't enough to make me pull my camera out in the rain... which I now regret. It was a seriously large chub mackerel and I may never see one like that again.
The next evening though I wondered if I might find some feeding at the same spot, on a similar tide, but with the sun setting. It turned out I could. This time I was using my 5wt rod with the specific intent of catching Scomber colias. I'd tied some very small, simple flies on fine wire hooks to try to avoid issues with missing or hooking and loosing chub mackerel that had become obvious over the last three years of fishing for them from boats. One was a simple small version of a Gartside Soft Hackle Streamer, and the fish both showed a strong preference for this fly and stayed pinned without fail. (I thought this would be solution, but subsequent tests proved less successful.)
With the skies ablaze at sunset and the tide dropping, I caught chub mackerel from "my rock" until I was content, which was conveniently about when they wandered out of range. A slow, steady double had retrieve was periodically halted by abrupt and violent takes, then jarring fights that tested the limits of my five weight rod. I'd used a five weight for these fish from the boat and my experience was that it was not much different than an 8wt. Not so from the rocks. This was exciting fishing.
There was once a time when catching a similar species from the rocks and beaches of southern New England wouldn't have been unusual. Atlantic mackerel used to make showing here. They still do sometimes in Rhode Island, on Long Island, and even on occasion in New Jersey, but really if I want to catch them from the rocks I have to go to Maine. That's the place. But now that these chub mackerel have made themselves at home in Long Island Sound, there's a great opportunity to catch a beautiful small scombrid in the surf at home. Of course, chub mackerel are actually bigger than Atlantic mackerel. I'm still not quite used to them, though they've been around for more than half of my time consistently fishing these waters. They still make me giggle and smile, as just about any pretty, hard fighting little fish does. Getting my first few from the rocks made me smile all the wider.
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.
Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon.
The day started as a simple mission to get a frigate tuna by any means necessary. There was an exceptional abundance of the species in Buzzards Bay, Block Island Sound, and into Eastern Long Island Sound this year, far more than normal. Auxis thazard is a very small tuna species, rarely exceeding a few pounds, and nearly identical to another small scombrid, the bullet tuna, Auxis rochei. Every specimen I saw clear enough photos of caught in New England this year were A. thazard, determined by the height of the corselet under the second dorsal fin. In A. rochei, the corselet is never less than 6 scales. I was with new Noah, here on out to be known as Garth so as to mitigate confusion. There's few people I'm willing to share scombrid rocks with, as they come at a premium in CT, and knowing the times and tides takes time. But Garth had proven to be trustworthy and conservation minded, and I knew he'd appreciate the fish for their rather astounding beauty. I'd already gotten to see him hooked up to a few chub mackerel from the boat, but from shore any scombrid is a different animal and there's nothing quite like your first. Mine was a tunny, so there wasn't much buildup. It was maxed out from the start. But Garth would get to practice on some smaller fish first. It wasn't a chaotic bite from the rocks. I got one chub mackerel and lost others, Garth hooked and lost a couple. A couple hours in I watched my friend Liam hook, fight, and land a frigate. That was the first I'd seen in person. It was a beautiful fish.
The whole time, Garth was telling Noah that the bite was crazy and that he should get don there. This was absolutely an exaggeration, and we mostly thought it would be funny if he dropped everything and hurried down to meet us. Which he did, with the boat. By that time he arrived the wind machine had cranked up a bit and I was pretty convinced that it would be smarter to stay on the rocks, but I'd also encouraged this so I wasn't just going to leave Noah hanging. That said, when, a big school of frigates began busting in the boat ramp pocket and we were drifting against the rocks, I said "f it" and got up on the bow and started casting, leaving it to the inexperienced Garth to resolve the situation. He did so y grabbing one of the oars and shoving off the rocks as hard as he could. This wasn't the right move, it pivoted the bow out hard and left the stern against the rock. This quick action sent me swiftly into the water. I scrambled back into the boat fly rod first, now thoroughly irritated as well as soaked and fishing I'd just stayed on the rocks. But what was done was done, I suggested we get ourselves in a line of travel of the blitzing frigates, anchor up, and let them come to us. Eventually this did work and I hooked and boated my first frigate tuna. This was my first new fish species in a very long time, and I'd almost forgotten what it feels like.
Pure joy.
Lifelist fish #165, frigate tuna, Auxis thazard. Rank: species.
That little fish started doing rapid tail beats shortly after I took the first photo of it, basically becoming an extremely powerful little vibrating machine, shaking my whole arm. This is something scombrids do sometimes when removed from the water, but it was the first time I'd seen it. I found it hysterical. The fish didn't stop until I put it back in the water. The release was hilarious, as I decided to simply put the fish back in while it was tail beating. I let go and it made two quick circles before straitening out and rocketing away.
As the tide progressed the number of frigate blitzes diminished and we began bottom fishing, which wasn't easy given the wind. We did get sea robins but not much else. After a while Noah and I began brainstorming and thought about the possibilities of the fishing in some marshy backwater areas we'd found lots of hickory shad in that time of year in years past. We decided to pick up and move, just to see. The same areas had held big stripers and bluefish as well, and numbers of smaller fluke. So there had to be something. What we ended up doing, oddly enough, was something new... crabbing. Just to see if we could do so effectively. With the heads and organs of the sea robins we'd kept as bait, we went after blue crabs because we never had before. And it as fun. We did get a few legal crabs but not enough to justify keeping them. It's good to know though that, if we decided to we could.
As we sped back through narrow creeks towards the launch on our way out, I sat on the bow and dangled my feet, realizing how lucky I was. I've got such good friends, I live in a fantastically diverse part of the country, and I've been afforded the freedom to explore it. Not everyone can say that. Fishing itself has dulled in it's luster for me some recently, partly because I'm just tired of some people and some notable negative aspects of "the fishing community", and more and more I just want to go do whatever I feel like. That's meant I've fished much less recently. But I'm happy. I'm exploring. I finding wildlife. I'm looking for undocumented snake populations, catching crabs, chasing storms, and falling off boats. And it's all great. I put "fish for you" in the footer of every blog post, but the biggest thing I've learned this year is that I haven't really been doing that, even when I thought I was. So this time, really think about what the following means to you, if you haven't already:
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.
Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon.
As most of you hopefully already know, I am a life-list angler. I target, document, and count the number of species, hybrids, and subspecies I catch, specifically on fly tackle. Because of that I spend a lot of time learning about and fishing for many different species of fish. This means I'm more adept at identifying and fishing for an extremely broad range of species than the average fly angler. This series will attempt to outline species identification, some life history, and methods for targeting with fly tackle. Maybe I'll get to every fish on my life list, but considering it is ever growing... it would take a while. Mostly, I hope this will get a few of you interested in going out and learning about or catching something new.
Come September each year, virtually every fly and light tackle inshore angler in southern New England is chomping at the bit watching for the first reports that little tunny, also called false albacore or "albies", have infiltrated our waters.
By contrast, in Florida and along every Gulf Coast state, most anglers just wish "bonita", the exact same fish, would go somewhere else and leave them alone.
Depending on where you live, Euthynnus alletteratus might be anything from a highly welcomed seasonal visitor to a ubiquitous annoyance. But wherever they are found, little tunny are a powerful, startlingly fast moving, beautifully colored pelagic blur.
Little tunny are the most abundant tunoid species in the Atlantic Ocean, existing in virtually all tropical and seasonably warm temperate waters. In the west the are found from Brazil to Cape Cod Bay (where they only occasionally wander through the canal) as well as throughout the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico; and in the East from Namibia to the water around the south of the UK, and throughout the Mediterranean. Some will say, even some otherwise very authoritative sources, that little tunny exist in tropical waters worldwide but this is not true. Euthynnus affinis, commonly called mack tuna or mackerel tuna, are abundant in the Pacific and Indian oceans and look nearly identical to little tunny in every way, but they are indeed a distinct species.
Little tunny are found inshore, nearshore, and offshore, nearly always at the top of the water column and in large schools except on the occasion that they wander into quite shallow water to feed. It is shaped much like other tunas and mackerels (Scombridae), with a torpedo shaped body. Its two dorsal fins and seven finlets, as well as its pectoral, pelvic, and anal fin can retract down tight, making the fish as streamlined as possible. Each fin fits perfectly into a slot on the fish's body. With a broad, crescent shaped tail, the little tunny, like every other species closely related, shoots through the water at astonishing speed. At a good clip these fish can exceed 40 miles per hour. These "albies" have white bellies, silvery iridescent sides, and olive to green to navy blue backs with black worm-like markings. There are at times dark spots just behind and under their pectoral fins, and indistinct vertical bars. They are an objectively beautiful fish. Like other tunas, little tunny are actually warm blooded and need to swim continuously to breath.
Little tunny feed in a coordinated fashion, organized schools of anywhere from just a few to hundreds corral baitfish from below then charge into the schools with mouths open, doing what Ian Devlin calls "ram induction feeding". With huge eyes they are also very adept at picking out and chasing down a single stray baitfish, even a tiny bay anchovy. This species feeds on small baitfish like silversides, anchovies, menhaden, and sardines, as well as small squids and, when they are near the surface of the water, small crabs and other crustaceans. On this diet they can grow to over 35 pounds, though depending on where you live you may never get to see one over 15lbs. Large little tunny can be found off the Carolinas and East Florida reliably at certain times of year. Mike Laptew has captured some incredible underwater video and photos of little tunny feeding for his seminar series "Focus on Fish" (Laptew Productions), and Peter Laurelli captured some extraordinary drone footage and included it in his 2018 short film SIFF18: Four Years For Life, which is worth watching every second of anyway:
Little tunny are offshore broadcast spawners. Depending where they are the may spawn anytime from April to November but typically spawn when the water is at its peek temperature. They are extremely prolific, living rarely as much as 10 years but producing millions upon millions of offspring during that time, one of a number of factors leading to their abundance. IUCN list Euthynnus alletteratus as a species of least concern. With a flavor that is generally considered undesirable there is a very limited commercial fishery for little tunny. They are a species with the sort of abundance and life cycle of mahi mahi, but they taste awful. So, though there are a few people here and there getting concerned about the increased frequency of articles about how to make an albie palatable, it is highly unlikely I'll be back here any time soon to talk about how badly we need conservation measures to be enacted to protect this species. That said, they are an ever more important fish for the light tackle charter industry here in the northeast. While striped bass numbers continue to decline, there's no fewer albies in the stock. Unfortunately though, they are not reliable here. Any given year there could be lots, there could be few, they could well not show up at all. Some years, like this year, they are highly localized, leaving shore bound anglers and boaters that don't want to burn hundreds of dollars of gas a week shit out of luck. In 2017 Noah and I caught our first little tunny of the year in CT on September 11th, and I caught the last on November 7th in RI. In 2019, I caught my only albies of the year in RI on September 14th and only saw them in CT one time, on the 15th of October. Little tunny are not something we can count on here, which is why it's so important to rebuild striper stocks if the inshore light tackle charters are to stay in business. And the reality is, as abundant as false albacore are, there is still an awful lot we don't know about them. I have yet to get a straight answer as to what they do after dark. They seem to completely vanish shortly after the sun goes down. Where do they go?
Catching little tunny on the fly isn't especially complex or difficult, but it does require the angler to be calm and collected under high-stress high-excitement situations. Little tunny feed fast and furious and fight fast and furious, if you aren't ready you WILL mess it up. In the Northeast, an 8, 9, or 10wt rod is preferable, while in the Carolinas, Florida, and the Gulf, a 11 or 12wt is preferable, not just because the fish are much larger on average there but because there are usually some sharks around that are going to try to eat a hooked fish. In the Mediterranean you are likely to use a fly rod that heavy or even more so because big tuna are sometimes mixed in with little tunny there. A reel with capacity for 200yds+ of backing and a smooth drag are necessary anywhere you fish for these speedsters. What fly line you should use is highly situational. Most will recommend an intermediate sinking line, but that's not really my style. I often fish a floating line for albies so I can skitter a fly on the surface. When I'm not fishing a floating line I'm either using some sink tip, or, especially when its windy or the fish aren't showing on the surface, a full sink. Whatever setup you choose, make sure it is something you can achieve a fast line-speed with. Making fast, long casts with as few false casts as possible is very important. Whether fishing from a boat or shore, a stripping basket is usually a good thing to have to minimize tangling and give you the ability to move around without having to reel up completely. My preferred leader is 8ft of 20lb Berkley Trilene Big Game, though sometimes fish are picky and I cut back 4ft and tie on 5ft of 15lb or 12lb, depending on exactly how picky the fish seem to be. That may seem very light for such a hard fighting fish, it really isn't. You can and should put an awful lot of pressure on 12lb tippet. I've actually used as light as 8lb in the past, and still landed these speedsters in short order.
Flies for false albacore are also fairly simple. Typical Clousers, Deceivers, and Surf Candies catch plenty of albies. It is a good idea to match the fly to the forage. Most often in southern New England false albacore are feeding on bay anchovies, peanut bunker, or silversides. Less often you need to imitate squid or butterfish. In many cases, matching very tiny bay anchovies is the key. A surf candy an inch long is probably the best fly for the job. Under flat calm conditions I've found a small gurgler is the best fly to catch tricky little tunny.
Under conditions like these, tie a size 6 or smaller gurgler on.
Finding little tunny is kind of a roll of the dice, as they seem to be both everywhere an nowhere at the same time. But they will generally be where the most food is, lie any predator fish. Good shore spots typically feature steep rocky drop offs, jetties, or piers, though beeches can sometimes also be productive. Look for schools of baitfish in the water, birds working, and the tell-tail big slashes that all tuna and mackerel make when they feed. Prime feeding windows typically run from sunrise until almost noon and for a couple hours before sunset, but I've seen little tunny feed heavily at all times of day from dawn till dusk, and under all sorts of tide and wind conditions. Moving tides are normally better, and an incoming tide is undoubtedly much better at breechways and inlets, but I've caught little tunny at slack tide on more than one occasion. One definite limiting factor is water clarity. If there is a lot of particulate in the water, if it is notably murky, you may as well fish for something else. These are sight-based predators, and they seem not to like muddy water.
Little tunny addict Mark Alpert works the end of a long jetty during a rare November bite.
Presentation varies as much as fly selection. The typical little tunny retrieve is a fast, continuous two-hand roll, and this does work most of the time. But not always. There are days or tides when the ideal retrieve is none at all: simply cast into breaking fish and let the fly sink. Other times, long, erratic strips work best. To make long strips into a stripping basket, hold your rod way out in front of you instead of into your body, it increases the distance you can strip between your rod hand and stripping basket. If and when an albie does eat the fly, keep stripping until the fish starts its initial run, then lift the rod to fight the fish. Never let go of the line with either hand until the fish is on the reel, but also make sure it can slip through your fingers without abrupt catches and stops that cause it to jump around and potentially tangle on itself, on you, on the reel, or on the rod. Remaining calm and collected is key, and it can be hard to do if you've never done this kind of fishing... in all likelihood you've never hooked a fish that fights anything like a little tunny. Keep a deep bend in the rod and fight the fish as quickly as you can. These fish can and will fight themselves to death if you let them. Once to the boat or to the rocks, grab the fish by its caudal peduncle, take photos as quickly as possible if you are going to, then release the fish either by plunging it in head first or, if it was a very short fight and brief time out of the water, just put it in the water and give it a little shove.
Mark releasing a little tunny.
Of course if you're in Florida, you don't need to worry about any of the presentation stuff, even the the little tunny down there are much bigger they seem to be much less picky and will eat just about anything you throw them. Use heavy tippet and fight them as hard as humanly possibly to keep them away from the sharks, and then kill that fish when you do land it and use it to chum in those same sharks so you can catch them on the fly. I'm only being a little facetious, I might actually be doing just that right now. But I'll never turn my nose up at a little tunny no matter where in the world I am.
Until next time,
Fish for the love of fish.
Fish for the love of places fish live.
Fish for you.
Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon.
