Angling Publications - Index

Angling Publications - Fly Fish America - September 2007 Issue - Index

Fall beach fishing is like a good
short story you can't put down. There is
the rising action, the climax, the falling
action and the end. Some times it's fast,
other times it's measured, but at all times
it's a page-turner.
When fall actually starts depends on
who you ask. My calendar tells me that
fall begins on the Autumnal Equinox,
the 22 nd of September. The significance
of that day is that the day and the night
photoperiods are nearly identical in
length. Yet for most, Labor Day triggers
the beginning of fall. During this
pivotal weekend, summer beach shacks
get boarded up, Tevas get traded in for
textbooks, and vacationers reluctantly
return home. Seasonal hotels and restaurants
respond by shortening their work
week and their hours. It gets progressively
harder to get a cup of coffee, but I
take comfort in my quiet town without
bumper-to-bumper traffic.
I am a fisherman and for me fall begins
with the Striper Moon, the first full moon
in September. It's the first major push of
the striped bass migration. Some frontrunners
trickle south sooner, but the first
big body of bass moves on the Striper
Moon. Some years it is early, some years
it is late. Regardless, one thing is for sure:
the biggest shore-caught bass of the year
are landed around the Striper Moon.
I used to think that there were three
phases of fall: early, middle and late. I
used to think that the early phase was
warm, the middle phase was cooler, and
the late phase was the coldest. I no longer
think that way because there are too many
nuances to keep track of.
On some days the winds blow WSW.
Winds from that direction are summer
winds, warm and welcoming, a little
Southern hospitality coming from far
below the Mason-Dixon line. The cloud
ceiling is high, and the eggshell-blue sky
is dappled with puffy, white cotton balls.
Sometimes when the winds shift around
you'll see mare's tails splashed around the
blue like a painter gone mad. On other
days the wind blows WNW. Winds from
that direction bring the Canadian chill.
They're the winds that move ducks and
geese and woodcock down the Eastern
Flyway, and they are the culprits that
change the color of the sea from green to
gray. On a few days, northerly winds make
swells and flotsam clutters the beaches. I
never know what the day will hold until it
is upon me and I look out my window.
Somewhere in the middle of the everchanging
winds is an oasis known many
centuries ago in Europe as Saint Luke's
Summer. In our modern day we call it Indian
Summer, the time in October when
the fall feels like summer. History alleges
that this two-week warm spell was the
time when American Indians harvested
the bulk of their crops. The first person
to coin the phrase Indian Summer was a
Frenchman writing in 1778 in rural New
York named St. John de Crevecoeur. As I
walk around the beaches once inhabited
by Wampanoags, I wonder when the tribe
marked the beginning of fall?
Fishing a beach in the fall is as much
a part of fishing as catching a fish itself.
I like how hazy, hot and humid becomes
clear, cool and dry. I like the sand under
my feet. I like the solace of the beach, my
only companion being the birds. And I
watch them; big flocks spread out for
what seems like miles. I watch the terns
repeatedly dive on small bait, the gulls
shriek and pick up scraps, and the gannets
plunge-dive 50 feet from the sky to grab
a herring. When I learned that gannets
have air sacks to cushion them from the
impact with the surface I lost respect for
them. I regained it when I considered
that they swim with their long wings to
catch a meal. They're tough birds, even
with air bags.
Fall on a beach means lots of bait that
stages and gathers on the various moons.
Silversides, sandeels, glass minnows, herring,
peanut bunker, anchovies, mullet
and butterfish pack up their bags and
start heading south for the winter. Their
cycle predicts good fishing. I follow the
advice of anglers who came before me:
"Fish the points on full and new moons,
and fish coves on the quarters.? Bait stages
in coves during half moons and moves
on full moons. Bass and blues lie in wait
to corral them against structure, on the
surface, or wherever they can. Every living
thing needs to store fat for the winter, and
the fish are no exception. Plus they need
some gas for the long swim home.
A beach serves as a corridor for migratory
fish, and so I love fishing the bars the
best. My favorites are the offshore bars that
run parallel to the beach. Offshore bars are
not connected to land, and have hard-running
currents blowing through on both
sides. They are like small islands, with
fish on both sides. Sometimes I find that
the stretch between the beach and the bar
is chock-a-block full of bass. Other times
the fish are on the outside edge of the bar.
Regardless, there is something wild about
standing on a bar with water all around
and the promise of big schools of stripers at
my feet. On a calm day I'll paddle a kayak
out to the bar and get out and wade. On
a rough day I'll pass. Swimming back to
shore in the fall isn't too appealing.
I like onshore bars, but they are more
civilized. Onshore bars connect with the
beach and wading out is easy. They typically
run at an angle based on the dominant
current. I start to work my way out to the
point an hour or two before low tide and
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