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Elf Tales

A couple of months ago, on a Sunday night, I stayed up very late and watched the Academy Awards Show.  It was not an unusual occurrence; I watch it pretty much every year.  Both my wife Nancy and I like the movies, and even though in many years I don’t stay awake for the whole thing, I usually enjoy it.  There are often phone calls between my wife and our daughter and son-in-law to discuss the show while it is on air, and in years past at least, usually some wise cracks from my wife when I watch the female stars a little too carefully!

BIG FLIES

This year was a little different.  First, I stayed awake for the whole thing….mostly because the show was not nearly as long as usual, or seemed not to be.  And second, one of the phone calls during the show was to a good fishing buddy.  Normally he would frown and joke when I told him I was watching the Oscars, but this year, because he is temporarily slightly hobbled and therefore pretty bored, he said he was going to watch the Academy Awards.  I needed to call him to see if it was true. Nancy placed the call and sure enough he was awake and watching.
 

So what does this have to do with a “fishing tale” you might ask?  Well, when Nancy handed the phone to me I was greeted with the following:  “Johnny (a name that goes way back between my buddy and me and has a history of its own) I can’t wait for our pilgrimage.  It’s like the quest for the holy grail!”  I did not know what he was talking about and I told him so.  “How could you forget?” he asked.  “Did you not invite me to go to Orvis this weekend to check out the world’s heaviest and deadliest weighted stonefly nymph!!??”  And it all came back to me.  The weekend before I had suggested that we might take a ride to Manchester so that I could get advice about some Orvis equipment that had come into my possession.  I thought that, in addition to answering some of my questions, it might be a good change of pace for my buddy and a relief from the ennui that I knew had at least partially set in during his recuperation.
 

I had also mentioned that in a recently-arrived Orvis circular there was an article about a “heavyweight” stonefly pattern that was tied by a “lifelong fly tyer, rod builder, and fly fisherman” who was “a former research biologist” with “a degree in fisheries and wildlife biology.”  On top of all that, the article recounted tales of catching big brook trout in a remote stream in Maine, a state to which my buddy would soon be travelling.  All of this really got his attention…..the trip had become a quest….a pilgrimage!  And I guess when it was couched in those terms, I got hooked too.  To top it off, I have some experience with big heavy flies, and frankly, I like them. 

Early Summer Stripers — A Block Island Diary

By Steve Culton
© 2007

There’s nothing much to do on Block Island, RI, other than, eat, drink, sleep, read, go to the beach, bike, walk, surf — and of course, fish. I had fished for years on the Block, mostly on the bottom for fluke. After a time, though, I yearned for something bigger. Better. Different. And I knew exactly what it was that I wanted: Morone saxatilis — the striped bass. Elegant, but in a brutish sort of way. Powerful, but painfully shy. Best of all, ready, willing and able in these waters.

It took me three years to catch my first striper on a fly rod — not due to sloth, horrendous bad luck, or lack of fish — but rather because of the circuitous route I took to get there. The first year, I was spin casting with big soft baits. All I ever managed to do was attract bluefish. The next year I had graduated to various hard plugs, and again, failed to hook a striper. By this time, though, I had noticed that there were anglers who were catching bass; what set them apart from me was the fact that they were fly fishing. So, armed with this intel and a new sense of purpose, I borrowed a 10-weight for the third year, and this proved to be the difference maker.

My first fly rod striper was a 34” beast that took a small olive and white baitfish pattern. I remember being excited and scared at the same time — I had never landed a fish this big before, let alone on a fly rod, and I could almost feel the adrenaline course through my body as the line screamed off the reel. The bass took me way down into the backing before I realized the drag was set too lightly. Upon beaching him I let out a whoop that echoed across the harbor and back past the dunes. I had only known the pull of trout and char, and this new species had me addicted from the first titanic whack it put on the fly.

Our yearly, early summer family vacation to the Block is tailor made for striper fishing. This time of year, the waters around the island are usually choked with spearing and sand eels, and striped bass are notorious nocturnal feeders. So, with the boys in bed by 8:30 or so, and Mrs. Fisherman loving the quite solace of reading before falling asleep, I’m in the water most nights by 9:00PM.

Imagine being able to fish for stripers several hours every night for a whole week. Here’s what happened when I did.