I’ll never forget my first kiss, the first time I got punched in the face or my first blackfin tuna on a jig. During winter 2006, I heard a rumor that Hatteras skipper Scott Warren was catching blackfin tuna on vertical jigs. In those days, few people fished Hatteras in winter, hardly anyone used vertical jigs and big blackfin were an anomaly. A few phone calls later, I was scheduled to fish on Warren’s legendary Big Tahuna.

Windblown and sea-smacked in the cold months, Hatteras is a seasonal ghost town. The tourists have long since left the isolated island off the coast of North Carolina, most of the charter boats are perched on blocks or visiting southern seas, and even the commercial fishing fleet is quiet.

The parking lot at Teach’s Lair Marina was empty that February morning when I pulled in a few hours before dawn. Only one boat was lit up at the dock, diesel engines already rumbling. I struggled to make out the faces of Warren and mate Kenny Koci (who later captained Big Tahuna) wrapped in sweatshirt hoods.

A few minutes later, Big Tahuna‘s anglers for the day piled onto the boat, and we were off through the pre-dawn twilight.

Known as the Graveyard of the Atlantic, Hatteras Inlet is no joke any season of the year. Winter is especially exciting. In addition to howling winds, a strong Gulf Stream current and huge rollers, the days are short and temperatures can be frigid. We started the day layered in fleece and nylon.

The 50-foot sportfisher rolled through the slop without complaint, carrying us to the fishing grounds — a series of seamounts that the locals call “rocks,” 22 miles southeast of Hatteras Inlet. Shortly after we passed over the color change from dirty-green inshore water to the deep-blue Gulf Stream, Warren slowed the boat, and the party emptied out of the comfort of the cabin.

Fishing Vertical Jigs for Blackfins

Big Tahuna motored in circles while the captain watched the fish finder. Six anglers lined the covering boards, 6-foot rods dangling foot-long metal jigs over the side. We waited for the signal to drop the lures as the boat rocked in the choppy seas. A sharp wind drove whitecaps into the side of the boat, dousing those in the cockpit with showers of warm spray on a cold day.

“Try this, six colors!” Warren called from the bridge. Six colors equates the depth at which he marked fish on the sonar to the regular changes in color on our braided lines. I flipped my high-speed conventional reel out of gear and watched the color on the depth-indicator line change six times, knowing that each color measures 30 feet.

I kicked the reel into gear and started jigging. Sticking the rod butt under my left arm, I turned the reel handle as fast as possible while jerking the rod tip. Three jerks into my retrieve, the jig was whacked in a fierce strike.

The slight rod tip bent to the water as line shredded off the spool. I moved the rod butt to my lower gut as the fish made its first run. When the line slowed, I began to retrieve. The fish continued to buck and run while I used every resource to gain line. As I jammed the rod above my groin, my forearm burned, and every run produced grunts and groans as the fish beat my ass.

One by one, the other anglers had hooked fish and now struggled similarly to gain line. In minutes, we were bobbing and weaving through crossed lines and quickstepping to stay standing. Koci raced from angler to angler while Warren called the dance from the bridge.

By the time I spotted the first silver flash of my tuna 10 feet below the boat, the whole bunch were cursing and laughing while slipping and sliding. Koci moved in to gaff my 20-pound blackfin and flip it into a fish box already bloody with spastic tuna.

The protocol was repeated for the next five hours. Make a drop; hook a burly blackfin; fight for your fish; dance, slide, yell and holler. The beefy blackfin were a perfect match for our medium-action jigging gear. The fish box began to fill up amid the fast-and-furious action. Bouncing around the mosh pit had me sweating and peeling off layers.

By the end of the day, the winds calmed and the chop turned to a rolling swell. Warren turned Big Tahuna toward Hatteras, and the crew ­shuffled into the cabin to lick wounds. I sported purple-and-black bruises; every muscle ached, and my hands were hamburger. I felt great.

Blackfin Tuna in the Atlantic Ocean

Blackfin tuna are the smallest member of the genus Thunnus (the true tunas: bluefin, yellowfin, bigeye and others); the world record stands at 49 pounds, 6 ounces, taken off Marathon, Florida, in 2006. The North Carolina state-record blackfin, taken in 2011, weighed 40 pounds, 11 ounces.

They might smaller than other tunas, but they’re prolific and tasty. Each winter, blackfin gather in the warm Gulf Stream water as it swirls over the rocky edge of the Continental Shelf, gorging on huge clouds of baitfish caught in the considerable current.

Also during winter, the cold Labrador Current pushes down the Atlantic coast from the north, colliding with warm, clear Gulf Stream water from the south. Where the two currents meet, the water temperature can differ up to 20 degrees.

On the cold side of the break, the water is dark, dirty green; the warm side appears clear blue. The current and waves are calmer on the cold side. In the stream, the current can run to 4 knots, whipping the sea into a frenzy.

Where the Gulf Stream pushes over offshore rocks and ledges, bait and predators line up to play out the food chain. Amberjack, false albacore (little tunny) and huge sharks mix in the melee, in addition to blackfin tuna. Amberjack and albacore put up a good fight, but they aren’t locally favored for eating. Most are released.

To avoid sharks, tuna anglers need to work fish to the boat quickly. That can be tough to do with a blackfin as they pull and run without mercy. Dally on the retrieve, and a man‑eater will eat the tuna.

Tuna in Changing Conditions

As Hatteras boats explored the winter blackfin bite, they discovered more than one way to skin that cat. Over the past 20 years, blackfin jigging has waxed and waned. Some years, the bite is hot; other years, it’s cold.

Changing conditions also affect how anglers target tuna. Capt. Andy Piland on Good Times, a custom 47 Carolina sport-fisher, has made a science of catching blackfin tuna. His former partner Capt. Tim Hagerich, who now owns Black Pearl Charters, insists: “You have five ways to catch a blackfin, and you’d better be ready to use each.” On any given day, Hatteras skippers might troll ballyhoo, work a greenstick, fly a kite, drop jigs or throw topwaters.

Fishing over the years, I’ve done it all with these captains. Sometimes we fish three or four tactics in one day. Changing tactics allows the crew to stay on the blackfin bite through winter and into spring. As the season progresses, the tuna seem to get more finicky.

Early in winter, blackfin feed deep in the water column, where a vertical jig matches the menu. The best jig bite starts in January and runs through March, when the water is dingier.

Read Next: Tunas of the World — An Illustrated Guide

In early spring, the water over the rocks clears and the fish turn their attention to chasing flying fish, and local skippers switch to trolling baits. While jigging for blackfin tuna has a certain maso­chis­tic appeal, the biggest fish often come to a trolled bait. “We catch blackfin up to 30 pounds trolling, when they won’t bite the jig,” Hagerich says. “The tuna will jump clear out of the water to grab a flying fish 5 feet in the air.” The key to fooling the tuna is getting a bait into the air.

“When it’s rough as hell, we catch blackfin on ballyhoo,” Hagerich says, trolling Sea Witches with medium ballyhoo at 6 knots so the lures leap and splash from wave to wave. When it’s calm, the fish respond to a rubber squid dangling from a greenstick. By late May, the water is clear and warm, and the blackfin become pickier. “The kite works best in the clearest water,” Hagerich explains.

Suspending two rubber flying fish from the kite line is the sneakiest way to fool blackfin. Hagerich cites many days when he spent hours jigging, trolling ballyhoo, and even fishing the greenstick until the crew put up the kite, and trophy blackfin suddenly exploded out of the water.

Battling a Monster Blackfin Tuna

Excited by the prospect of a near-world-record-size blackfin, I enthusiastically jumped aboard Good Times. Riding in the bridge, my teeth clenched tight and hands gripped the hardtop as Piland navigated the boat through the shallow shoals and crashing breakers of Hatteras Inlet.

Like professional guides, weekend warriors can’t pick their days, so I found myself rolling and pitching an hour and a half to the fishing grounds. Choppy, windswept rollers are tough on fishermen, but tuna treat rough water like an amusement park as they leap out of the water, chasing flying fish through the air.

Seconds after Piland slowed the boat, Hagerich deployed a dozen rods pulling Sea Witches with ballyhoo. In minutes, chunky blackfin began exploding on the baits. Piland continued to troll as line after line went down. Before he pulled back the throttles, most of the rods were bent over and bucking.

While the anglers cranked in big blackfin, Hagerich worked to keep the lines straight, gaffing fish and rigging baits. When I spotted tuna skying out of the water 10 yards off the stern, Hagerich grabbed a hefty spinning rod and shoved it into my hands. “Cast!” he ordered.

I launched the popper off the stern, somehow managing to clear the lines, outriggers, teasers and halyards. The 8-inch popper splashed down in the middle of the tuna air show. I pulled the rod and cranked the handle. The plug chugged, throwing a cup of water. I cranked; the lure popped again. On the third turn of the handle, a burly tuna flew out of the water to descend on the plug.

Excited, I hauled back on the rod — and yanked the plug out of the tuna’s mouth. “You got to let him take it,” Piland said, laughing from the bow. Feeling the pressure of 16 eyes watching my moves, I chugged the plug again, and the fish attacked.

This time, I slowed and dropped the rod tip to the fish. The line came tight, but I gave the fish a breathless pause before lifting the rod and putting on the pressure. The blackfin responded with another blistering run, jabbing the rod butt into my armpit and forcing me to cross the deck until my thighs slammed into the covering board.

The rest of the crew cleared the trolling lines, leaving me to battle a big blackfin tuna. As Hagerich shouted orders, Piland worked to keep the boat straight and my line in the clear. I put on the pressure, wedging the rod butt into my groin and stretching my forearms for maximum power to winch the stubborn fish from the depths. I got my first good look at the beefy tuna at the same time the fish had its first good look at me. My muscles had redlined, but the tuna found more fight in the tank; it turned and rushed for the darkness, line again disappearing from the reel.

Eventually, with the silver-and-black missile boatside, Hagerich reached out with the gaff, and swung a 25-pound blackfin tuna over the gunwale and into the fish box. My arms were like Jell-O and pudding filled my legs as the tuna continued to kick its tail like a jackhammer until the lid was closed. Piland quickly pushed the throttles forward, and Hagerich deployed the rigs.

No rest for the weary, but there’s no better way to stay warm in winter off Hatteras than pulling on blackfin tuna.

About the Author
Ric Burnley is an angler, editor, author and teacher who lives in Virginia Beach, Virginia. When he isn’t fishing or writing, he’s in the classroom teaching at-risk teenagers that the pen is mightier than the sword.

The post Catch Big Blackfin Tuna Off Hatteras appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

It should be noted that however long the catch took (from hookup to grabbing the leader at the boat), all of these records were approved only after the IGFA ascertained that no angling rules were broken in the capture of a fish.

Often with the application form in the record folder are letters from the angler, crew and witnesses offering additional information or testimony. That’s particularly true when catches are outlandishly quick. But most of those are made by anglers out to set records, with a crew well-prepared to act quickly and decisively once a potential-record fish is hooked. However, some “instant catches” are more serendipitous than calculated, as was the case with the two‑minute world-record tuna.

Monster Yellowfin Tuna Caught in 120 Seconds

The very thought of battling — especially stand-up from a dead boat — a 388.5-pound yellowfin tuna is enough to make most bodies ache. But for Curt Wiesenhutter on April 1 (no fooling), 1977, there wasn’t time enough to experience any pain, nor much strain.

Landing a yellowfin approaching 400 pounds would be a formidable task in even an optimal situation. But on a drifting San Diego-based long-range boat (Royal Polaris, in this case), among dozens of lines in the water around a rail high above the water, where an angler can’t easily follow a fish around the boat on his own, you might figure landing such a behemoth would be impossible.

Whether the catch was “sporting” is subjective, but the IGFA — after months of investigating and correspondence with the angler, captain (the late, legendary Bill Poole) and others — determined that the fish was landed without breaking any rules; it became the all-tackle world record at that time, and it’s still the men’s 80-pound record today.

Here’s how it went down. Wiesenhutter was soaking a live caballito (scad — a Pacific goggle-eye) off the port side of the 115-foot long-range boat when he was bit and then, as they say in California, bendo. In a letter to the IGFA, the angler explains, “The fish took 40 to 60 yards of line, then turned back at the boat.” It circled near the boat and darted under it, coming up on the other side.

His friend, Larry Ward, fishing in the starboard corner 30 feet across from the port side, said he looked over the rail and saw the huge tuna for whatever reason “laying on its side, splashing” water as high as the rails. Ward yelled that it looked like a record fish. By then, Poole was on deck and had gaffed the fish, but many more hands were required to bring it up the boat’s high sides, so three more crew/anglers (including Wiesenhutter, who apparently had set down his rod in free-spool), stuck the fish with gaffs, and eventually the group had the monster on the deck.

On August 30, 1977, IGFA president Elwood K. Harry wrote to Wiesenhutter to say his catch “now holds the all-tackle and men’s 80-pound-line-class world record.” That did little to quell the raging (within the angling world, particularly in Southern California) controversy surrounding the catch. San Diego fishing writer Chuck Garrison reported that Wiesenhutter acknowledged, “I have very mixed emotions about [this record].” But a record it remains.

Tarpon: A Tale of Two Records — one of Minutes and one of Hours

Angler Thane Morgan is proof that every fish, and the circumstances at the time, determines how a light-line battle will go down. The one fairly reliable prospect of such battles is that they will defy expectations, and often ruin the most carefully laid plans. Morgan’s battles with two current tarpon records, in 2011 and 2013, couldn’t have been more different. The Amarillo, Texas, angler never expected to land one record fish in just three minutes nor to fight one slightly smaller for six hours. Fishing with his friend Capt. Dustin Huff — son of famed Florida Keys guide Steve Huff — Morgan was determined to set a new IGFA fly-rod record for tarpon on 4-pound tippet and did, with a 119-pounder.

“We’d probably hooked a hundred on 4 that we never landed,” Morgan says. That changed on October 13, 2013, near Marathon in the Keys, when the angler put a mullet fly in the path of yet another big tarpon. At the sting of the hook, it “went crazy, jumping,” says Morgan. No big surprise there, but the pair was surprised when the tarpon “basically belly-flopped and came down stunned.”

They quickly ran up on the fish and put a gaff in it. At that, the tarpon took off, and took Huff with it, pulling him over the side and dragging him behind, Morgan says. Huff wasn’t about to let go. In about three minutes from when the fish was hooked, it was in the boat. (Morgan had, of course, paid for the tag necessary to boat a tarpon because he was explicitly fishing for a world record.)

Two years earlier, fishing with Huff, Morgan boated an 88-pounder on 4-pound that overtested, so it became a 6-pound world record. However, that fish required not minutes to land, but hours — 18 in total. At about 4 p.m., in outer Florida Bay, Morgan hooked a large tarpon on 4-pound line. Sometime late in the day, they discovered the gaff point had been rolled. So while Morgan fought the fish, Huff ran the boat while trying desperately to sharpen the gaff point using the only thing they had — a little fish-hook file.

Even with a good gaff, a big tarpon is hard to stick. In this case, “We probably hit it 12 times through the course of the night,” says Morgan. Three times during the night, the tarpon laid up on bottom in the Man O’ War Channel. On 4-pound tippet, it became an immovable object, Morgan says.

Finally, at noon the next day, 15 miles from where it was hooked, the pair subdued the fish. The bad news for Morgan: The line overtested. The good news: Breaking at 5.2 pounds put it into the 6-pound-tippet category, breaking Stu Apte’s existing world record for that class, so it became a world record after all.

Seven Hours Fighting a Bigeye Tuna

In 1986, legendary angler Stewart Campbell and Capt. Bark Garnsey ventured to Africa’s Ivory Coast to fish for blue marlin. At that time, they didn’t have a boat, so “we just kind of borrowed a guy’s boat. But the price was that he came with us.” The boat, its setup and its tackle weren’t really conducive to pitch-baiting, as they preferred, so they just trolled small lures on his outriggers, says Garnsey, on 30-pound line. With marlin in mind, they hooked a triple — of bigeye tuna.

They purposely broke off one in hopes of managing the double, but of course, the big fish wishboned the pair of anglers — Campbell and the boat owner. In order to follow the boat owner’s fish, Garnsey says, “we put Stewart on a French guy’s boat.”

Fortunately, the seas were calm, but it was still a tricky transition, with Campbell holding the rod under his arm as he climbed aboard and Garnsey yelling at the crew, who were trying to be helpful, not to grab the rod. Eventually, Campbell climbed back onto the original boat after the owner ended up losing his tuna, and finished the fight from there.

“When we finally got the fish in the boat,” Garnsey says, “it was almost dark. That was the first bigeye I’d seen at that time.

“I asked Pete Gray, who was with us, what he figured the world record for a bigeye on 30-pound might be. We ended up calling the marlin club in Abidjan and found it was around 240 pounds.” That made their 329-pounder the line-class record, as it remains to this day.

How did Campbell hold up over the course of that tough seven-hour battle? “He was bionic,” says Garnsey, noting that he later saw Campbell through much longer fights, including an estimated 750 blue on 16-pound line. Ultimately, that fish came up in the darkness under the boat and jumped, breaking off right there. That, Garnsey says, was a real heartbreaker.

The One-Minute Marlin

How does an angler come to land a 226.5-pound marlin in a minute? One instance happened this way. Saundra McMurray, at that time of Fort Lauderdale, Florida, was fishing out of Los Sueños Resort off Costa Rica on February 19, 2002, on the 63-foot American Custom Stephanie Lee. Aboard were Capt. Tony Carrizosa and three mates. McMurray was loaded for bear — with the equivalent of a high-quality peashooter, her Shimano TLD 20 filled with 6-pound line. Obviously, McMurray and her crew were out to break a world record.

Around 1 p.m., the stripe came up on the right-short teaser. “I picked up the [pitch-bait] rod and pitched back a mackerel rigged with a circle hook,” writes the angler in her letter to then-IGFA president Mike Leech to explain the circumstances. The fish whacked the bait, then circled and came back to hit it again. “I let him run, then locked up the reel. As soon as he knew the fish was hooked, Tony threw the boat in reverse, and I wound as fast as I could as the boat was flying backward toward the fish.” The marlin was “windshield-wipering” (thrusting its head side to side above the water) as the boat came back to it, says mate Barry Gottlieb.

In seconds, McMurray had wound the leader to the rod tip, and one of the mates grabbed the leader, yelling, “Caught fish!” By IGFA rules, of course, that was so. Two other mates, already standing by, immediately put gaffs into the fish, and Carrizosa, who had rushed down into the cockpit, added a third gaff. The fish was caught and now boated. Hard to imagine? The IGFA didn’t have to imagine any part of it: The angler provided video that showed the whole very fast and furious moment.

Sharks, Blues and Permit Fishing World Records

The five catches described above by no means represent all of the exceptionally brief or extended battles with record game fish. Here’s the short version of a few others.

BLUE SHARK CATCH, 7 HOURS

After spotting two big bronze whaler sharks lurking in the burley (chum) trail, Dave Kahlenberg, of Rotorua, New Zealand, drifted a bait back to them. He was fishing 8-pound line mono on a Tiagra 12, hoping to beat the 130-pound line-class record. The shark took; the angler set and then held on as the fish made a screaming 100-yard run. Then began the long battle. After several grueling hours, the fish cleared the water in a number of surprisingly high leaps. But it wasn’t until more than seven hours had elapsed, 12 or so miles from where they’d hooked up and far into the night, that Kahlenberg and his mate finally managed to get the shark on the swim platform. The record catch on 8-pound line in December 2010 weighed in at more than 400 pounds.

BIGEYE TUNA CATCH, 57 SECONDS

“I remember that fish coming in on the left long,” says Capt. Jason Pipe of that June day in 2008 off La Gomera, Canary Islands. “That fish” would go on to be the men’s 6-pound-test world record once the 357-pound blue marlin was weighed in. Angler Gary Carter put a pitch bait in front of the fish, and it was hooked. The marlin jumped, coming straight up, then began thrashing as Pipe thrust the 37 Bertram Bocinegro in full back-down mode. The blue came out again, “and mate Jason Brice took his gaff shot and nailed her in midair, right in the arse!” Pipe recalls. Mayhem ensued, but eventually the fish was subdued. Pipe recalls the time from hookup to the mate grabbing the leader as exactly 57 seconds.

PERMIT FISHING CATCH, FIVE HOURS

Fishing for a world record was about the furthest thing from the thoughts of Tom Sebestyen, of Deerfield Beach, Florida. In fact, he was just fishing for live baits with sabikis off Fort Lauderdale. When a couple of big, fast-moving fish went around his boat, Sebestyen grabbed a spinning rod that had on it the little yellow bucktail jig he used for blue runners. He tipped it with a piece of shrimp and cast in front of the fish. He saw the shape follow the jig down, then came tight on it, and instantly it was ripping drag, so Sebestyen and his pal Mike followed — and followed. Sebestyen says he kept a light drag and just persisted. During the dogged fight, Mike cast out liveys and caught a couple of nice kings. At 10 p.m., roughly five hours after the hookup, the pair landed the all-tackle world-record permit of 56 pounds, 2 ounces (since defeated, but the catch remains the men’s 20-pound-class record).

The post Fishing’s Shortest and Longest World-Record Battles appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

In the early 1990s I got my first look.

The wind honked out of the north on the first chilly day in September. It just felt fishy.

Running toward the birds, I thought at first the boils were stripers. But when the fish came up, I knew this was something different: Streamlined muscular fish with green backs slashed through baitballs at an ungodly speed.

Composure lost, heart pounding, adrenaline level through the roof, I made several casts, which went unnoticed. About an hour and 30 casts later, I finally came tight, and it felt unreal. Line peeled off the reel so fast I didn’t know what to do. I cranked down the drag a quarter turn and the reel literally blew up, falling to pieces on the ground.

Didn’t matter. I was hooked. This was well beyond anything I had experienced before. Straight-up tuna inshore. Mind blown.

False Albacore Allure

I am not alone. All along the coast, false albacore (technically, little tunny — also known as albies, bonito, fat albert, hardtails and funny fish) have been blowing inshore anglers’ minds, particularly those light-tackle advocates who favor sight-casting rather than trolling or bait fishing.

“They’ve developed a steady following up here,” notes Capt. Paul Dixon, of Montauk, New York. “We’ve got a fleet that thrives on their arrival every fall.”

That’s because they’re what many hardcore light-tackle anglers describe as the perfect quarry, offering an often awesome visual surface feed, a high but not impossibly high level of difficulty, and drag-burning runs that create instant memories. And for fly-fishers? Rarely do you catch one that doesn’t bring you into backing almost instantly.

“The visual element is unique,” notes Capt. Ian Devlin, of Connecticut, who characterizes albies as ram-induction feeders (consistent with tunas). They don’t just chase bait, they tear through it. “It’s a quick, spectacular burst and then they’re gone, and you’ve got to get up and run after the next pod.”

“It’s definitely about the hunt … the chase,” says Capt. Gene Quigley, of New Jersey. “That’s what makes it exciting.”

But albie fishing is more than just the high-adrenaline run‑and-gun. “My favorite part is seeing the look on a guy’s face when he first hooks up,” notes Capt. Doug Jowett, of Cape Cod. “These fish just go and go.”

The visual element is unique. It’s a quick, spectacular burst and then they’re gone, and you’ve got to get up and run after the next pod.

— Capt. Ian Devlin

“What we’re talking about here is access to a strong, fast pelagic,” says Dixon. “A straight‑up tuna, sometimes a stone’s throw from the beach.” And they can be caught with fairly light gear, including flies. In that context, the albie run is pretty extraordinary.

“They are challenging,” notes Capt. Brian Horsley, of North Carolina. Albies are notorious for being very finicky and boat shy. “Sometimes we fish ’em all day and only catch a few.” Indeed, you have to make good, fast casts under pressure. That takes skill and composure — of course, that’s part of the albie draw.

Because the schools ­generally show up around the same time and places each year, the anticipation builds. Anglers gear up in advance. And when the first albies show, word spreads like wildfire.

When and Where to Target the Fish

While false albacore certainly don’t generate the avid following in Florida that they enjoy in the mid-Atlantic and southern New England, the fish do swarm the Sunshine State during late spring and summer.

“The southeast wind brings them in,” says Capt. Dino Torino, of Jupiter, Florida. “We have them from late May through August.” It’s a different fishery, though: no running and gunning, or chasing fish. “You stay put, and chum them up.”

In southern New England and the northern mid-Atlantic, where undoubtedly most of the targeting occurs, albies can be found 20 to 40 miles offshore, in depths of about 180 feet, pretty much any time from June on, mixed in with other pelagics, such as skipjack, bluefin and yellowfin. Inshore — within a mile of the beach and in harbors and bays — they’re most certainly a fall-run fish.

“We catch a few in Nags Head [Outer Banks, North Carolina], in August,” says Horsley. “But we don’t really focus on them until they show in September off of Harkers Island [farther south, near Morehead City].”

These smaller fish, in the 5-pound range, generally appear right near the beach. As October approaches, bigger fish mix in. “November is when the real biggies show. … All fish over 18 pounds,” he says.

Moving north: Although albies are caught off Virginia, Maryland and Delaware, for some reason they don’t set up there, and thus few anglers focus on them. The fish anglers do encounter don’t seem to stay long, and are likely just passing through.

From central to northern New Jersey, the fish consistently set up, and that’s where anglers really start targeting them. “We have fish offshore a bit, on the lumps earlier,” says Quigley. “But inshore it usually happens in September, although it seems to be happening later and later every year.”

“November is when the real biggies show. … All fish over 18 pounds.”

— Capt. Brian Horsley

Off the Long Island side of New York Harbor, the migration appears similar. Ten years ago, a first run of fish might occur off Breezy Point, New York, in late August, and the numbers would escalate into September. But now, the fishery doesn’t seem to get going until October. “We’ve actually had pretty good runs in early November these last few years,” says New York Harbor Capt. Danny Reich.

Albies show up intermittently along Long Island’s south shore, but it’s really that area from Long Branch, New Jersey, to Breezy Point, New York, and inside New York Harbor that tends to hold the best concentrations of fish in the region.

Out east, false albacore tend to set up in some pretty specific locations. Shinnecock Inlet, New York, is a well-known albie spot, particularly for those fishing from the jetty.

And then there’s Montauk, possibly the best albie spot on the coast. They show up, sometimes in spectacular numbers, off of Montauk Point Lighthouse, and can be found crashing through bay anchovies at any point all the way west to town.

“Usually, someone sees them off of the point in August,” says Dixon. “But once September rolls around, they fill in and can be found in pretty good numbers all the way back to Plum Island.”

The North Fork of Long Island sees a good run too, and the entire Rhode Island and Connecticut coastlines host albies at some point. Cape Cod seems to be the northern version of Montauk, although less consistent. And we can’t leave out the fish that show off Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket in September.

Fall Live Bait Blitz

Where the albies show varies some year to year, but captains agree that bait generally drives the congregations.

Albies can be found feeding on many species: silversides, sand eels, juvenile menhaden, glass minnows, squid, small shrimp and crabs. Yet, without a doubt, the fish key in on bay anchovies in the mid-Atlantic. In Cape Cod, Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket, they focus on sand eels.

“Yeah, they blitz on ­silversides, but for sure, they come into the Sound with the anchovies,” says Connecticut’s Devlin.

Bay anchovies usually measure 1 to 3 inches long, with a silver underbelly and a reddish, copper-colored back. The copper color only becomes obvious when the baitfish school up in the hundreds. Horsley calls them “red bait.”

These prey fish spend warmer months in the bays and estuaries of the mid-Atlantic. But the first cool night often signals an eastward migration in which they flood the inlets and beaches, bringing albies right up to the surf line.

“Montauk’s entire ecosystem revolves around bay anchovies,” says Dixon. “Some years we get sand eels, but anchovies create the big albie blitzes.”

The angle of your approach is real important. Turn the boat parallel to the fish so that after the cast, the angler can stay tight to the line.

— Capt. Gene Quigley

“Well, they certainly aren’t easy,” says Cape Cod’s Jowett. “Every once in a while, you’ll get a day where they feed recklessly, but the standard is you maybe catch a few.”

Whether you hook up or not is sometimes about the approach, says Horsley. “You’ve got to come in slow, off plane, making sure you don’t wash them out.” Indeed, big boats that push a lot of water seem to catch fewer fish than the smaller, lighter ones.

“The angle of your approach is real important,” says Quigley. “Turn the boat parallel to the fish so that after the cast, the angler can stay tight to the line.” Because they’re up and down so quickly, get the lure or fly moving as soon as it hits the water.

“Aggressive guys don’t help the situation,” says Dixon. “Running too fast spooks albies and breaks up the baitballs.”

It’s understandably hard for excited anglers to avoid chasing every pod of busting fish, but guys who take the wait-and-see approach score the high numbers. “Sure, I chase fish sometimes, but I also try and stay put, and look for patterns,” says Reich.

If you can calm down, observe and put yourself in the right place, you’re more likely to find yourself in the middle of a blitz rather than halfway down the beach following a pod that will sound before you can get there.

Patient anglers get bites by blind-casting too. “When crowds get bad, I go to points of land, depth changes, outflows or just areas I’ve noted bait concentrations, and we blind-fish,” says Devlin.

John Skinner, a New York angler and author of several books on surf-casting, notes that from shore, you usually don’t get shots at busting fish. “Just about every fish I catch is blind-casting. You really just need to find likely spots and then put in the time.”

False Albacore Lures and Tackle

Because albies can be finicky, baits and their presentation count. Generally, you won’t get them with striper techniques.

The go-to albie lure for some time has been the Deadly Dick — locally called a tin, a small, slender metal lure with reflective tape — in the ½- to 3-ounce versions. For sure, it catches.

Skinner uses all sizes: the windier, the heavier. But he throws the 2-ounce version more than anything. “You gotta reel in as fast as you can,” he says. “You can’t out-reel them.”

Most of the strikes he describes as “spectacular,” right on the surface, as the tin skips across the water. “If you’re fishing them right, it’ll be too fast for stripers and bluefish.”

Boat anglers also use Deadly Dick lures. Their weight and wind resistance allows quick, long casts. However, any small, slender metal lure can catch fish; ones with reflective prismatic tape tend to work best.

On the other hand, the newest generation of albie anglers swears by soft plastics, such as a 6-inch pink or white Slug-Go-type bait. “It flies in the face of all of us match-the-hatch ­advocates,” says Reich. “But they do draw violent strikes.”

Soft plastics need to be worked much slower than metal, and with an erratic, twitching motion. If you want them to swim right, you also have to fish them on a weedless hook with no weight, which makes them tough to cast, particularly in any stiff wind. Albie Snax soft baits have developed a following. They’re heavier, so casting is less of an issue.

From a boat or the beach, most anglers use a 7-foot medium-heavy spinning outfit. While they aren’t terribly big, albies are quite strong. Choose a serious reel with a smooth drag, capable of carrying at least 250 yards of 20-pound braid. I’ve seen lesser reels blow up. Use 4 feet of 20- to 30-pound fluorocarbon for a leader.

For fly anglers, Bob Popovich’s “surf candy,” in tan or copper over white, and other epoxy bay anchovy patterns seem to work the best. However, in recent years, some have moved away from real colors to more flashy ones such as chartreuse and pink. Which flies work, and when, really depends on the mood of the fish.

Many anglers go with a 9-weight for tackle, but some move up to a 10 so they can land fish faster. The reel should feature a good drag system and hold at least 250 yards of backing with a clear intermediate fly line. Leaders vary, but a lot of guys simply use 6 to 8 feet of straight 20-pound fluorocarbon. For finicky fish, try 15-pound-test.

Don’t Eat the Albies

Up until the past several decades, false albacore didn’t garner much attention — from anyone. That’s likely because they’re mostly inedible.

I found that out the hard way when I brought one home and tried to cook a couple of pieces. The smell lingered for several days; my cat wouldn’t even eat it.

The meat on a false albacore is dark red. Some folks claim to eat it, but I can’t see how.

Such a trait might be a blessing. Nasty flavor could be the reason these fish remain so abundant and reliable inshore at particular times of the year. Some commercial pressure exists, but remains minimal, at least for now.

That leaves albie addicts an available source of their particular drug. From the surface feed to their hard, fast run, these fish keep us jonesing for more.

About the Author:
Capt. John McMurray is owner-operator of One More Cast Charters, in western Long Island, New York.

The post False Albie Addicts appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Whether trolling, drifting, casting or jigging, anglers’ lures ­typically mimic live prey. “Sometimes predators know ­whatever we’re pulling or throwing isn’t the real deal,” says Capt. Damon McKnight, “but when you put out a real fish with an actual heartbeat, it triggers their brain to attack.” This is particularly true for McKnight, fishing out of Venice, Louisiana, where oil rigs — often far offshore in ­cobalt-blue water over a thousand feet deep — present for ­predators ­permanent smorgasbords of live offerings. For most anglers, live-bait choices can be diverse. How can anglers be sure which to select and how to fish them? Pro skippers — spread far and wide — offer their advice here for live-bait choice, as well as tips to produce the most bites.

Atlantic Menhaden Baitfish

From Cape Cod to Virginia, menhaden are typically called “bunker.” While yellowfin menhaden sometimes get the moniker, it’s generally applied to Atlantic menhaden.

“You can throw a castnet on bunker, but they lose their slime coat and last only a few hours,” says Capt. Scott Leonard, who charters on Long Island’s south shore. “They actually last longer — a couple of days in a good livewell — when we snag them with a weighted treble hook, as long as their slime coat stays intact.”

“Striped bass eat prey headfirst, while bluefish go for the tail,” says Capt. John Luchka, in Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey. “Stripers lie beneath frenzying bluefish to get easy pickings. When bluefish bite the tails off live bunker baits, let them sink for a few minutes.”

Luchka hooks 5- to 8-inch bunker just ahead of the dorsal fin, or sideways through the nose if he wants boat mobility.

“Bunker tend to stay on top. If stripers are holding deeper, hook them near the anal fin so they swim down,” Luchka says. Alternatively, he drops live bunker 30 feet or deeper with 2- to 4-ounce egg sinkers, depending on current and desired depth.

Gulf Menhaden Baitfish

The name pogy applies primarily to yellowfin menhaden from the Chesapeake Bay through Florida, and Gulf menhaden from Alabama westward and southward.

In Louisiana, McKnight says of the Gulf species, “we catch menhaden in brackish water. They don’t last in the high-salinity water offshore. Recirculate livewell water, instead of transferring in new water, and they’ll last longer.”

McKnight holds the boat up-current of an oil rig and drifts live baits to it. “You have to leave menhaden in free-spool in the current, or they’ll just spin,” he adds. “Hook them either up from the bottom of the jaw or sideways through the nose.”

Herring Baitfish

Some anglers distinguish species, while others lump Atlantic herring, alewife (Alosa pseudoharengus), blueback herring (A. aestivalis) and other similar, anadromous (freshwater-spawning) shads together as generic “herring.” Unlike bunker, most herrings bite sabiki rigs.

“We see herring later in the winter or farther north,” Luchka says. “They’re more fragile. Don’t castnet them like you would bunker.”

Shad Baitfish

In New England, American shad are protected and American herring are tightly regulated because of their importance as bait to the commercial lobster industry. “When you can’t find menhaden, look for hickory shad near jetties where there is good tidal exchange of brackish water,” says Rhode Island-based Capt. Jack Sprengel. “Catch them on sabiki rigs or small bucktails, and fish them just like menhaden.”

Threadfin Herring Baitfish

Where Northeast bunker are generally heartier than indigenous herrings, the opposite is true farther south. Threadfin are caught in saltier water, so they keep well. “Just don’t put your hands in the livewell,” McKnight warns. “Use a dip net, or [else] sunscreen — or even the oil on your hands — can kill them.”

McKnight hooks threadfin through the back, ahead of the dorsal fin and just behind the bony skull, or through the nose in strong current or to bump-troll. “If I’m using really small hooks, I go right through the eye sockets, trying not to stab anything important,” he adds.

Threadfin are common kite baits in South Florida. “They jump out of the water when they’re chased,” says Capt. George McElveen, from his many years chartering in Islamorada, Florida. “That really triggers the sailfish to bite.”

Scaled Sardine Baitfish

“In common use, ‘pilchard’ or ‘sardine’ refers to a group of scaled sardines within the Harengula genus that occur from North Carolina through the Gulf of Mexico,” says George Burgess, director emeritus of University of Florida’s Florida Program for Shark Research.

Savvy fishermen differentiate these baitfish species. “Pilchards are great when fish get finicky,” McElveen says.

In South Florida, he’s referring to Harengula jaguana or H. humeralis. “Throw out a few free baits, and they’ll stay on the surface. Sailfish chase them around and get in a frenzy, and then we sneak a hook into one.” Other baits, particularly any of the scads, immediately swim downward, he warns. “Sailfish chase them, and you never see those fish again.

“We usually catch pilchards with cast nets along the sand-to-grass edges, either inshore or offshore,” he adds.

McElveen bridles pilchards for kite baits just in front of the dorsal fin. When they’re bump-trolled or he wants mobility with kites, that switches to a bridle through the nose. There is one exception, he says: “If you see a sailfish down deep, hook a pilchard in the belly. That makes them swim down.”

“When sailfish are balling sardines, or eating them on a wreck, sometimes they’ll swim right by everything else just to attack a sardine,” McElveen says.

“They’re our most ­difficult bait to find and catch.” McElveen says. “Sardines don’t live when caught in cast nets. We catch them with sabikis mostly offshore near the sandy edge along a rocky bottom or reef,” he says.

Anchovy Baitfish

Southern California’s cool water and strong upwellings bring nutrient-rich waters that sustain large bait populations, and the majority of fishing is done with sardines, anchovies and other live baits, according to San Diego-based Capt. Barry Brightenburg, most often by fly-lining (casting a bait with no weight from a drifting boat).

“Dolphinfish, albacore, yellowfin tuna and bluefin tuna offshore, and halibut, yellowtail, bonito and barracuda nearshore all love anchovies,” Brightenburg says. “You can carry a lot of anchovies in a livewell, but they’re really fragile baits.

“Fishing with them is becoming a lost art, but anchovies are often my favorite bait. They require light line and small hooks placed through a small bone at the back of the gill slit or through the nose.”

Pacific Sardine Baitfish

“Compared [with] ­anchovies, sardines are bigger, heavier baits that are easier to cast farther from the boat,” Brightenburg says. “Sardines are hardier, but they need more oxygen, so give them a little wiggle room. Don’t put as many in a livewell.”

Sardines and anchovies range from British Columbia through Baja. Often the choice between bait species depends on water temperature and El Niño cycles, Brightenburg says. Anglers often hook sardines through the nose, the back or near the anal fin.

Another species to consider: smelt ( Atherinops affinis). “Sometimes catching a few smelt can make your day,” Brightenburg says. “They’ll live in a 5-gallon bucket all day if you add water every 10 minutes,” he says. “Kayak fishermen catch them on sabiki rigs just outside the surf, and slow-troll them along the kelp edge for yellowtail and white seabass, or drop them with a weight for halibut.”

Surface Swimmers: Ballyhoo and Flyingfish

These two groups of surface swimmers are closely related to each other within the order Beloniformes. “Their tails have small upper lobes and bigger lower lobes to scoot along atop the surface of the water to escape prey,” Burgess says.

“Bigeye tuna, yellowfin tuna [and] swordfish won’t pass up a flying fish in the canyons,” Sprengel says. “Catch flyers in Hydro Glow lights at night with a dip net, and immediately put them down with 3- to 5-ounce leads. Fish them under a balloon or use a rubber band on the reel handle.”

“Ballyhoo don’t make good kite baits,” McElveen says. “They jump and get tangled in the line, so we put one out on a flat line. When the sailfish first show up in the fall, sometimes they’ll swim right past the kite baits and eat that ballyhoo.

“The hookup ratio is nowhere near as good with ballyhoo,” he warns, so he chooses other baits when he can. “If sailfish are eating ballyhoo, they want something with noticeable scales such as pilchards or herring, not goggle-eyes or cigar minnows with very fine scales.”

Ballyhoo live well when caught in a cast net, though using oatmeal mixed with chum and tiny baited hair hooks will catch the healthiest ballyhoo for use as live bait.

Goggle-Eye Baitfish

Commercial fishermen catch goggle-eyes at night when they school offshore, and then sell them for as much as $100 per dozen or more before some Florida tournaments.

“Sailfish seem to bite them better later in the season,” McElveen says. “They’re a big bait that puts out a lot of commotion over a large area,” which is more easily seen by both fish and anglers, and that extra mass helps keep kite lines tight on rough springtime days.

Cigar Minnow Baitfish

“Any of the scads roughly the size and shape of a nice Cuban cigar might be ‘cigar minnows,’” Burgess says. In South Florida, cigar minnows typically refer to adult round scad.

“We catch them on the edge of the reef with sabikis, but they don’t bite at night like goggle-eyes,” McElveen says. “They don’t do well from the kite, but while we’re kite-fishing, we might put a couple on the riggers or one on a flat line without weight, and they’ll swim down to cover the lower water column.” Also, he adds, “when the Gulf Stream comes in close to the reef and the water gets powdery, the way cigar minnows swim seems to make sailfish key in on them.”

Tuna Baitfish

While some scads look a lot like mackerel, and even take the name, true mackerel lack scutes, Burgess says. “Mackerel and closely related tuna always have a series of finlets behind the dorsal and anal fins.”

From Cape Cod through Cabo San Lucas, captains live-bait various small tunas, typically bridled through the eyes. Selecting a species — s­kipjack tuna (Katsuwonus pelamis), false albacore (aka little tunny, Euthynnus alletteratus), Atlantic bonito (Sarda sarda), medium-size blackfin tuna (Thunnus atlanticus) and small yellowfin (T. albacares) — often comes down to availability.

“On FADs, it’s hard to pull billfish off that ball of live bait onto a dead bait,” says Florida-based Capt. George Sawley. “Live bait is very productive, but it blocks the FAD to guys trolling. You have to have boats all working together with live bait, or all working together trolling.”

Sawley often tries live bait on offshore debris. “Use a sabiki and jig up whatever is on that debris,” he says. “I like to put one on top and another down deep on a downrigger with a breakaway.”

Sawley uses small live tuna in the southern Caribbean and Pacific when big yellowfin tuna are on the move. “Fill up your tuna tubes with skipjacks or small yellowfin inshore,” Sawley says, which he does by trolling a small planer ahead of a large sabiki rig with a spoon at the end. (He often makes his own jigs by whipping bucktail ­material to 1/0 hooks.)

“Drop those live baits in front of the yellowfin, putting one on top and one deep, and you’re going to get a bite.”

Small little tunny, frigate mackerel (Auxis thazard) and bullet mackerel (A. rochei, aka bullet tuna) can be particularly effective live bait. All three look very similar; fortunately, predators don’t seem to discriminate among the three.

Tinker Mackerel Baitfish

Along Northeast and mid-Atlantic states, tinker mackerel (also known as Boston mackerel or greenbacks) describes immature Atlantic mackerel (Scomber scombrus). In most of the rest of the world, the name refers to fully grown Atlantic chub mackerel (S. colias) and Pacific chub mackerel (S. japonicus). Besides that taxonomical distinction, all three variants of tinker mackerel are nearly identical in appearance and use as live baits.

“We always catch a few tinker mackerel with sabikis or small metal jigs on navigation buoys or offshore on the way out. Then, when we’re offshore running-and-gunning for tuna,” Sprengel says, “if we’re marking fish that won’t respond to topwater plugs or metal jigs, we’ll put one mackerel down with a weight and one away from the boat on a balloon or a kite.”

Live tinker mackerel are also great baits when striped bass are on the move, not sheltered behind structure, Sprengel says.

Off southern Africa, Booysen likes strong-swimming mackerel when trolling faster for yellowfin tuna, dorado or narrow-barred mackerel.

“Along the New South Wales coast, the leading edge of the East Australian Current creates a rich feeding zone,” McGlashan says. Mackerel and scads in thick schools stretch for miles, drawing in predators. “Crews can catch 10 striped or black marlin in a day, and the best way to fish them is with live bait,” McGlashan says. “Mackerel — we call them slimies — are the best bait for everything from marlin to yellowtail. Catch your bait on jigs, bridle them up, and work around the edge of bait schools.

“In addition to billfish offshore, mahi and makos respond well to live mackerel or scads,” McGlashan adds.

Off Southern California, “Pacific mackerel are very hardy if you catch them on a sabiki and use a dehooker to keep their slime coat intact,” Brightenburg says. “We use 8- to 12-inch chub mackerel ‘casters’ when sight-fishing offshore for striped marlin, and we slow-troll larger live mackerel to sunning swordfish. Inshore, live mackerel smaller than 6 inches are great baits for yellowtail, white seabass and halibut.”

Bluefish Baitfish

These relatives to jacks find their way into the spread in temperate waters worldwide. In South Africa, where they’re known as shad, bluefish have a 300-millimeter (12-inch) minimum legal length. “They’re large for a live bait, so they’re easy for predators to see — anything up to 350 millimeters (14 inches) works well,” Booysen says. “They’re not very lively swimmers, but they really wake up with a predator in pursuit. I use them for levis (a large jack), and we often catch amberjack and giant trevally using live bluefish on the bottom.”

“Giant bluefin tuna seem to really key in on 12- to 24-inch bluefish on a kite,” Sprengel says. “The same holds true for mako and thresher sharks. Bluefish hold well in a livewell, but only one or two for each 30 gallons, depending on the size of the bluefish.”

Croaker Baitfish

Croakers and spots (Leiostomus xanthurus) are common baits inshore where they’re caught in the soft, muddy bottoms along the U.S. East Coast.

As bycatch from Carolina and Virginia crab traps, they’re also exported as live bait.

“Most of what we used in the past — blackfish, fluke and flounder — now have legal limits too large to use as live bait,” Leonard says. “We catch croakers on the south shore of Long Island once in a while, but most are imported. For striped bass, I drift them near the bottom with a 2- to 3-ounce banana drail (a small, curved trolling lead) and 10 feet of leader with a snelled treble hook through the nose.”

Hake Baitfish

“They’re harder to catch than some baits, but whiting are a killer bluefin bait. Try a sabiki rig with a little meat on the hooks,” Sprengel says, of these northern bait and food fish. “Hook whiting behind the head, and fish with a breakaway lead off the rod tip or on a balloon at whatever depth you’re marking tuna.”

Scup Baitfish

These hardy members of the Sparidae family are relatives of pinfish. Sprengel bridles them through the eyes and fishes them for striped bass near the bottom in short drifts wherever fast current sweeps over structure. “Some people cut the spines off the dorsal fin, but you really don’t need to,” Spregel says. “Stripers take them head-first right down the hatch, spines and all.”

Mullet Baitfish

Live mullet are commonly used inshore but typically not offshore. However, they can be effective at times in any waters.

“Late fall and early winter, mullet move anywhere from 15 to 50 miles offshore to lay eggs,” McKnight says, when they become a preferred bait in the Gulf of Mexico. “For yellowfin, we’ll put live mullet on the surface, where they swim away from the boat, or we might bump-troll them very slowly, hooked through the nose.”

While several nearly identical species inhabit our coastal waters, most common are striped mullet (Mugil cephalus) in fresh or brackish water, and white mullet (M. curema) near the coast, Burgess says.

Eel Baitfish

Both American eels and their European cousins spawn in the Sargasso Sea, south of Bermuda, and make their way to the coast from Canada through the Gulf of Mexico, where they eventually live in fresh water until returning offshore to spawn. Bait eels are caught in freshwater rivers, and they’re available regionally in tackle shops.

Sprengel says, “They live for days out of the water. Keep them in a bucket with holes for water to drain out, and cover them with saltwater-soaked seaweed to keep them moist.”

“Stripers smash them,” Sprengel adds. “Use a leader about the length of your rod and just enough weight to hold bottom without hanging up.”

In the mid-Atlantic and northern Gulf, many anglers like to put live eels in front of cobia. “Later in the summer, throw an eel at a buoy or structure and let it swim down deep,” Virginia Beach fisherman Chris Fox says. He hooks them under the jaw and out the eye socket, without lead. When cobia accompany rays, he says, “if you throw a bucktail, you’re likely to foul-hook a ray. Throw a live eel instead, and hold it high in the water, away from the rays.”

Squid Baits

“Everything eats a live squid,” Brightenburg says. “Squid come out of the deep canyons and return to shallower water in the area where they were born to lay their eggs,” he says of his Southern California waters. “The females die, and that presents an easy meal for white seabass, yellowtail, rays and sharks.

“They’re easy to cast with heavy line and big hooks,” Brightenburg continues. “Fish don’t have to chase squid, so they expend less energy per calorie.”

Shortfin Squid (Illex illecebrosus)

In the canyons, squid snub a jig. “We dip-net them in the lights at night,” Sprengel says, of Atlantic squid. “Put them on a 15-foot leader with a circle hook right through the mantle. If there is any current, attach a bank sinker with a rubber band a few feet below the swivel.”

Longfin Squid (Doryteuthis pealeii)

“Inshore squid crush a jig,” Sprengel says. “We mark them as big clouds on the bottom machine. They last a week in a livewell with good circulation, but it’s best to put them near the stern and in the center of the boat,” Sprengel says, because motion seems to stress them.

Other Baitfish Species

Redtail Scad (Speedo) Decapterus tabl

These large, hard-swimming scads shine atop wrecks and prominent structure for big kingfish and wahoo. “Either put out four under a couple of kites, or troll one from each outrigger and one on a flat line. Put another down close to the bottom or wreck. Just tie a loop in the double line, about 40 feet from the bait, and connect an 8-ounce lead with a snap swivel,” McElveen says.

Horse Mackerel (Trachurus trachurus)

These scads range throughout the eastern Atlantic. “They’re known here as ‘maasbanker,'” says South African angler and fishing writer Jonathan Booysen. “Slow-troll live maasies hooked through the nose for yellowfin tuna and dorado. Add a wire trace with a stinger hook. For giant trevally, amberjack and bottomfish, I bridle them with a small cable tie and send them to the bottom.”

Yellowtail Scad (“Yakka” in Australia) Atule mate

In Australia, these go-to live baits are caught inshore on sabiki rigs, then bridled or hooked ahead of the dorsal or in the nose. “We use yakkas mostly inshore for mackerel tuna and smaller black marlin,” says Australian fishing writer Al McGlashan.

Blue Runner (Hardtails) Caranx crysos

“These small jacks get their nickname ‘hardtail’ from their particularly large, rough scutes,” Burgess says. Many anglers see them as alternative baits that prove particularly durable both in the livewell and on the hook, but they’re not really a bait of choice.

Not so, says McKnight: “You might see threadfin far offshore but not on oil-rig structure. We see a lot of hardtails on rigs, though. Sometimes tuna get keyed in to whatever they’re eating at that time on that rig, and you have to stick with that bait.”

There is a downside to blue runners. “You have to bump-troll or they’ll swim right to the boat and get wrapped up in the props,” McKnight says.

California Caballito

Blue runner relative green jacks (Caranx caballus) — called caballito along Baja California — are commonly used as live bait, as are tube mackerel (Decapterus macarellus) and a large scad known as chihuil. Long-range tuna boats operating out of San Diego often catch and deploy Pacific jack mackerel (Trachurus symmetricus), an offshore-dwelling scad.

The post A Guide to Saltwater Live Baits appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Gusts to 25 knots out of the ­southwest stacked 2-foot waves atop 3-footers. What should have been a beautiful late fall day was quickly becoming a misery trip as torrents of salt water blew over the bow with the frequency of a punk-rock drumbeat.

My wife released her white-knuckle death grip on the console rail just long enough to punch me in the shoulder. She started to yell what surely would’ve been an expletive when she was cut short by a curtain of Chesapeake Bay brine.

“Trust me,” I shouted over the wind blast. “Three more minutes of this and we’ll be in the clear.”

By “in the clear” I meant that we’d round Point Lookout into the lee, and the wave height would drop by two-thirds. I certainly didn’t mean to imply I’d be clear of her wrath — it was obviously too late for that. But the second shoulder punch told me that she didn’t quite realize what I meant: Being in the lee of a point of land versus being on the windward side can make the difference between utter misery and fishing in relative comfort.

Finding Refuge from Windy Weather on the Water

Experienced anglers certainly know how very important the combination of wind speed and geography can be. It’s a lesson learned early.

As a child, I remember rushing to the window the moment I awoke on Saturday mornings to look at the treetops. No movement in those higher branches meant calm seas; a few rustling leaves was OK, but swaying treetops meant that rousting Dad out of bed would be a wasted effort.

Most open-water outings depend on decent weather conditions, which deteriorate more frequently in winter due to repeated cold fronts. During those months, the Jet Stream tends to push south. Nor’easters develop along the East Coast, and polar air flows south until it collides with warm air from the Gulf of Mexico.

While wind speeds along most of the northern Gulf Coast average 5 to 6 mph during the summer, they build to an average of 9 to 10 mph in winter, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. The Atlantic coast averages 6 to 7 mph during summer and 9 to 10 mph during winter. And in Florida, average winds build from summer’s 7 to 8 mph to winter’s 10 to 12 mph.

Wind patterns can be somewhat predictable, and we can plan fishing around that. Any East Coast angler, for example, knows that a few calm days in a row often follow the violence of a cold front. But weather patterns have been changing in recent years; when it comes to wind speeds, they appear to be growing stronger over time. According to research performed at Australia’s Swinburne University of Technology and published in the journal Science, wind speeds have increased globally by 5 percent over the past 20 years.

However, a few places in the country offer a perfect combination of geography and prevailing winds. That is, they remain fishable in most or all conditions short of a gale — regardless of the season.

We chose six weather havens that deserve national ranking for both top-notch fishing, inshore and nearshore, and protection from wind and approaching storms.

San Diego Bay is Sheltered from the Wind

San Diego Bay benefits from a north-south orientation in an area that sees prevailing westerly winds virtually all year long. At just 1 to 3 miles wide, the bay never presents a very long draw over which westbound waves can build.

During winter, though, the bay can be hit by Santa Ana winds. These gusty, dry desert blows, which emanate out of the east, can compress while moving through canyons, and eventually peak at more than 100 mph inland. They’re commonly closer to 20 to 30 mph along the coast, but that’s plenty strong enough to hit anglers where it hurts. All that considered, San Diego Bay still gains a leg up when it comes to finding a lee, thanks to the intervention of man.

“San Diego Bay is 14 miles long and surrounded by land for most of that distance,” says Capt. James Nelson, a San Diego guide dubbed “the fish icon.” “Most of that land is incorporated, and downtown San Diego (on the northeast corner of the bay) has buildings to 497 feet high. This helps protect the bay from wind on most of the days that we would be on the water.”

Just what does Nelson target in San Diego Bay? A surprisingly wide range of species, including spotted bay, sand and calico bass; corvina; croaker; halibut; sharks; and even the vaunted West Coast bonefish.

“This makes San Diego Bay not only one of the best fisheries around, but also a comfortable place to be on a boat,” he says.

Louisiana’s Protection from the Wind

When it comes to twisting, turning waterways with lee shores aplenty, regardless of wind direction, a salt-marsh fishery can be tough to beat. And when it comes to salt-marsh fishing for species such as spotted seatrout, flounder, black drum and especially red drum, the Louisiana coast ranks high on the list.

While the Mississippi River delta offers a plethora of wind-sheltered ­locations, anglers must consider the way the wind affects fishing in the marshes. “Our area is strongly affected by winds [which pick up in the winter months but commonly peak during the spring], but what wind does is affect the waterways we can access,” says Capt. David Bourgeois, of Big Dog Fishing Charters, in Lafitte, Louisiana, just south of New Orleans. “When winds are strong from the north and west, water is pushed out of the Barataria Basin and into the Gulf of Mexico. During these times, there are plenty of oil-and-gas-field access canals that are productive for fishing, and where we can hide from the wind.

“However, we have to deal with very shallow water and have to be careful not only fishing, but when running to our spots to make sure we don’t hit any usually submerged items or run aground.”

South winds create the opposite effect, pushing water up into the marsh and bayous. “South winds that raise our water levels allow us to fish areas we couldn’t otherwise access, such as ponds, flats and shallow bayous,” he says.

Fishing Key West When Windy

Anglers in Key West — and throughout much of the Keys — benefit from the ability to fish either the Atlantic Ocean or the Gulf of Mexico, depending on conditions. Even when all the surrounding waters roil, captains can tuck behind small islands that block the wind.

“We’re pretty lucky,” says Capt. Rush Maltz, of Odyssea Key West Sportfishing. “In the summer, we have prevailing winds out of the southeast, and in the winter, lots of east and northeast. We also get a lot of cold fronts moving through in the winter, and winds blow at 20 knots or more. But we can almost always find a place to fish.”

When it’s blowing out of the east, and seas in the Atlantic stack up to 6 or 7 feet, Gulf waves might only measure 1 to 3 feet, he explains. “On days the Gulf is unfishable, we might still be able to run offshore in the Atlantic and catch sailfish.

“Sometimes we can stay right in the harbor, where it’s almost always sheltered, and catch tarpon, or maybe permit or cobia, and snapper are always around. You don’t always have to go very far around here to catch fish. As a guide, this is great. While most of the coast might be stuck, we have options.”

This does, of course, affect which fisheries may be targeted on any given day. While sailfish and mahi might be plentiful on the Atlantic side, fishing the Gulf might mean going for grouper or snapper instead. On days with too much bluster for either option, backcountry and flats areas offer species such as tarpon, permit and bonefish. In other words, taking advantage of this weather flexibility means remaining open-minded about target choice.

“Instead of just saying we’re blown out, we change it up,” Maltz says. “We can still have a great day of fishing. And nine out of 10 anglers have no problem with that at all.”

Hide in the Outer Banks from the Wind

Take one glance at a map of the North Carolina Outer Banks and you can see that whichever way a strong wind blows, anglers can find sheltered waters somewhere in the sounds, bays or along the beach. On an east or west wind, for example, the slot between Roanoke Island and the mainland in Croatan Sound, and between Roanoke and the barrier islands in Roanoke Sound, should be quite protected. If the winds hump out of the north, the waters south of Wanchese should enjoy a lee. And if a southerly riles things up, the waters of Kitty Hawk Bay should remain relatively placid. That shelter can extend, at times, out into the ocean on the northeast or southwest side of Cape Hatteras and the east or west side of Cape Lookout.

Capt. Joey VanDyke, who has mated on offshore boats out of Oregon Inlet and Hatteras and today runs inshore, offshore and bay charters on the 27-foot custom Carolina-style Fingeance, has seen every aspect of how, where and when to alter fishing tactics to keep casting right through a blow.

“We’re very diverse here in the Outer Banks,” he says. “We’re mentally and physically able to change it up at the drop of a hat. From one day to the next, we might go from sight-casting for cobia in the ocean to targeting drum up on the grass flats in the sound. When the wind starts blowing, we have a plan A and a plan B — and a plan C and even a plan D.”

While most anglers happily adapt, some ­tourists don’t always get it. “We try to explain it to clients; we try to break it down for them and help them understand why the wind can make one area or another, and even a particular type of fishing, less productive,” VanDyke explains. “Take sight-casting for cobia, for example. There are times when the water’s too churned up for that to work from a blow the day before, even though now it’s calm enough to fish for them. But chumming might still be an option.

“Or, we might need to focus on a different species entirely. Sometimes it takes a little while, and sometimes we take them out and let them have a look. But as long as people are willing, we have a very unique opportunity here to find good fishing in most wind ­conditions, almost year-round.”

Chesapeake Comfort from the Winds

Having fished the Chesapeake Bay my entire life, I’ve taken advantage countless times of its rather erratic shorelines and plentiful tributaries to find a lee regardless of wind direction. But the bay’s combination of shoals and channels means that wind doesn’t need a long reach to create a tight, nearly vertical chop.

A 1-foot chop can be uncomfortable in a small boat. Two-footers can pound out your fillings while running, and roll your boat from side to side like a carnival ride while adrift. If you’re not careful, you might soak your wife in salt spray and earn yourself a punch or two. But no matter the direction the winds blow — even during the winter, when wind direction is unpredictable and you’re quite likely to have a 15-knot breeze — fishable waters can almost always be found in the middle bay at or around the Chesapeake Bay bridges.

Spanning just over 4 miles from the western to eastern shores, the twin spans of the bay bridges feature literally hundreds of pilings, some as long and wide as an 18-wheeler, as well as two artificial islands known as “the rock piles.” The islands not only break the wind but also the waves.

If the wind is blowing out of the east or west, one side of the bay or the other is bound to be relatively calm. And if it’s blowing out of the north or south, one side of the bridge or the other is significantly calmer. When the conditions are fishable but still uncomfortable, you can always take a break in the lee of one of the islands.

Added bonus: The bridges offer some of the best structure in the entire Chesapeake Bay, and quite often, the striped bass fishing here excels. Throughout the year, anglers can pluck school-size stripers to 30 inches from around the pilings by casting jigs on light tackle, live-baiting, or trolling tandem and umbrella rigs up and down the lane between the two bridges.

In early spring and late fall, trophy-size fish migrate in and out of the area. In fact, the largest striper I ever hooked in the Chesapeake struck beneath the east span of the north bridge. We fought it for a solid 20 minutes before it broke 40-pound test with a rod-pumping head-shake, ensuring I’ll always dream of hooking a fish like that again in the shadows of the Chesapeake Bay bridges.

Martha’s Vineyard Variety

Martha’s Vineyard benefits from a ­combination of tall wind-breaking bluffs near areas with strong current, numerous nearby islands and a fairly consistent westerly prevailing wind pattern. This adds up to options — lots of options — when the wind blows.

“You can always find a lee, and you can always find a place where there’s wind in your face too,” says Julian Pepper, a senior staff member and 20-year veteran at Larry’s Tackle Shop, the oldest such establishment on the island. “If you’re a fly-fisherman and you need protection from the wind, you can always go somewhere like Chappaquiddick and fish near the bluffs, where there’s also good current and good fishing. Between the sound, the islands and the ocean, there’s almost always a good place to fish.”

While the Vineyard is best known for its striped bass fishery, which starts in May and usually hits full swing in June, in the fall, false albacore can be found close to leeward shores. Even in winter, fish like tautog can be found in waters close enough to the lee to remain protected.

“It’s at its best when you get a blow for a couple of days. That pushes bait in,” Pepper says. “And then the wind turns. You can be in the lee, have clean water and some of the best fishing around.”

Battling the Breeze

Even in protected waters, strong winds make fishing tough. Casting becomes an issue, trolling lines might be pushed into one another and the wind can blow big bends in your line, reducing the ability to feel a bite. Use these simple tips and tactics to catch more fish in the maelstrom.

• When throwing lures or bait, remember to position your boat to allow casting with the wind. If that’s not possible, cast side-armed and low to the water.

• When trolling, try to head directly into or directly with the wind. When the breeze hits the boat on its beam, lines are much more likely to blow into one another. If that’s not possible, place your heaviest lures with the most drag on the upwind side of the spread and your lighter lures on the downwind side to keep the light lines from being blown atop the heavier ones.

• When fishing topwater in a strong wind, walk the dog with a stickbait rather than choosing a chugger or popper. The more abrupt jerk needed for popping some lures can lead to lots of cartwheeling (and the associated tangles).

The post Fishing Success in Windy Weather appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Because braided line has such a thin diameter, the importance of knots used to connect braid to a length of mono or fluorocarbon leader takes on greater significance. Most anglers choose to use a leader with braid, but based on the results of this challenge, it would seem that many are losing 30, 40 and even more than 50 percent of the braid’s breaking strength at that knot. On the other hand, some knots retain 90 to 100 percent of the braid’s strength. The fundamental purpose of this knot challenge is to share with Sport Fishing enthusiasts which knots are the strongest and how they are tied.

How We Tested 53 Fishing Knots

Before we look more closely at the winning knots, here’s how the challenge worked. Those who answered our call for participants could enter in either the light-braid category (15-pound braid to 30-pound fluorocarbon leader) or the heavy-braid category (50-pound braid to 80-pound fluorocarbon), or both. All were sent the same braid and leader so everyone would be working with the same materials.

Specifically, entrants used Spiderwire Stealth Blue Camo Braid in 15-pound-test and Spiderwire Stealth Glow-Vis Braid in 50-pound-test as their main line, tying to Berkley ProSpec fluorocarbon leader in 30-pound and 80-pound, respectively. The 15-pound Spiderwire braid actually broke at 34.4 pounds, on average; the 50-pound Spiderwire broke at 62.8 pounds. That means knots would have had to break at 34.4 and 62.8 pounds to achieve 100 percent strength.

Keep in mind the bottom-line goal of this challenge: Determine the strongest possible knots to connect braid to leader. Given that objective, there were few restrictions. Some tied a double line in the braid, some did not. A few applied glue to their knots. Whatever worked was fair game, as we can all benefit from that knowledge. Those who elected to tie a double line (most often with a Bimini twist) then had two knots to test; they were submitting a “knot system,” if you will.

It was essential to determine which of the two knots tested weaker; that registered as the “weak link” in their system, and that knot was the one that would determine the strength of their method of connecting braid to leader. (In some cases, the weaker knot was the Bimini twist; in other cases, the knot connecting the doubled braid to the leader proved weaker.)

Each entrant submitted three samples of the same knot, so the strength measured represents the mean of the three break tests.

The Best Knots for 15-Pound Braided Fishing Line

As the charts you’ll see a bit farther down show, the strength of these knots was pretty much all over the place, from 100 percent to as little as about 17 percent. For lighter braid (15-pound tied to 30-pound fluoro), here are the three strongest knots, in order.

PR Bobbin Knot — 84.3 Percent Break Strength

Tied by Capt. Bryan Dietz of Merritt Island, Florida

Improved FG Knot — 80.9 Percent Break Strength

Tied by Capt. Tim Simos of Fort Pierce, Florida

FG knot — 73.4 Percent Break Strength

Tied by Ralph Green of Mount Pleasant, South Carolina

The Best Knots for 50-Pound Braided Fishing Line

For heavier braid (50-pound tied to 80-pound fluoro), here are the four strongest knots, in order.

GT Knot — 100 Percent Break Strength

Tied by Chad Nisely of Painesville, Ohio

PR Bobbin Knot — 99.5 Percent Break Strength

Tied by Bryan Dietz of Merritt Island, Florida

Improved Bristol Knot — 92.1 Percent Break Strength

Tied by Doug Olander of Winter Park, Florida

Improved FG Knot — 82.1 Percent Break Strength

Tied by Capt. Tim Simos of Fort Pierce, Florida

Two Charts Showing the Strongest Fishing Knots

What to Consider When Tying Fishing Knots

Knot-tiers are becoming more sophisticated, at least based on comparison to a similar Sport Fishing knot challenge years ago. Most of the winning knots here aren’t simple or quickly tied (many best tied the evening before a fishing trip rather than on the water in a hurry in rough seas), but the results speak for themselves.

Another change from the previous knot challenge is the prevalence of single-line knots among better entries. That is, years ago, most of the strongest knots tested were formed from a double line made with a Bimini twist, such as a Bristol (aka Yucatan or no-name knot). This year, only one such knot scored among the best. All other top knots tie the single-strand main line directly to the leader. The FG knot has become quite popular, for example. Also, it should be noted that the time some anglers took to tie elaborate knots connecting doubled braid to leader wasn’t effectively spent since their Bimini twists broke first.

It seems that tying knots approaching 100-percent strength might be inherently more difficult with lighter braided line. The percentages of the two best results with 15-pound braid were in the lower 80s, while three entries with 50-pound braid tested between 92 and 100 percent. (Two knots finished among the top three in both light- and heavy-braid categories, but tested weaker with the lighter braid).

It’s not just the knot; how it’s tied is strategic. That is, in some cases, very similar or even the same knots tied by different entrants tested far differently, suggesting slight variations in how they were tied could make a considerable difference.

Albrights and double-uni knots are very popular — but are they the best knots? One result consistent in this challenge was that Albright and uni knots to connect braid to leader scored pretty low. Lots of anglers — and pros — swear by them, and certainly, a knot you can tie efficiently, with lots of confidence, is important. But the Instron tester suggests anglers can do better.

How to Tie the PR Bobbin Knot

How to Tie the Improved FG Knot

How to Tie the GT Knot

How to Tie the Improved Bristol Knot

Top Fishing Captains Favorite Knots

I asked these charter captains and guides how they choose to connect a braid main line to a fluoro or mono leader. Here’s what they said:

The post Strongest Fishing Knots Connecting Braid to Leader appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Tunas are part of the family Scombridae, which also includes mackerels, large and small. But there are tunas, and then there are, well, “true tunas.” Two groups (sometimes known as “tribes”) dominate the tuna species. One is Thunnini, which is the group considered true tunas, characterized by two separate dorsal fins and a relatively thick body. The 15 species of Thunnini are albacore, bigeye, black skipjack, blackfin, bluefin (three species: Atlantic, Pacific, southern), bullet, frigate, kawakawa, little tunny, longtail, skipjack, slender and yellowfin. The other tribe is Sardini; these tunas — the dogtooth tuna and several species of smaller true bonitos — are somewhat more mackerel-like (notably with a more elongated body and a row of sharp, conical teeth). Below you will find complete breakdowns of the various types of tuna in the world.

ALBACORE (Thunnus alalunga)

Easily identified, having by far the longest pectoral fins of any tuna, albacore are also noted for the lightest, whitest flesh among tunas. Circumglobal, albacore prefer temperate (versus tropical) seas and rarely venture near shore. They’ve long been a popular target for California anglers, particularly off the central part of the state, but their availability in the summer varies greatly from year to year. Later in summer and fall, albacore move up into waters off Oregon, Washington and British Columbia but are often too far offshore for most sport-fishing boats.

BIGEYE (Thunnus obesus)

Bigeye may be confused with yellowfin, but their yellow finlets are edged in black and their eyes may indeed be a bit larger. The bigeye may also be more robust in its body shape. But the single sure way to distinguish the two species is underneath the skin: The bigeye’s liver is striated (striped or streaked); the yellowfin’s is not. Found worldwide, this prized game fish is also an important target for commercial longliners.

BLACKFIN (Thunnus atlanticus)

The most common tuna of the Florida Keys and South Florida, blackfin tuna are found in tropical and warm temperate waters of the western Atlantic Ocean. Anglers target them from Brazil to North Carolina, including the Gulf of Mexico, but most of the world records hail from Florida.

A blakfin’s pec fins reach somewhere between the twelfth dorsal spine and the origin of the second dorsal fin, but they never extend beyond the second dorsal fin as in the albacore, explains the IGFA. A blackfin’s finlets are uniformly dark, without a touch of the bright yellow often present in other tunas.

The blackfin is a schooling fish that feeds near the surface, mostly caught while trolling ballyhoo or jigging with artificials. Overshadowed by yellowfins where the two species overlap, blackfins are still a fine-tasting tuna that draws praise when served properly.

BLACK SKIPJACK (Euthynnus lineatus)

This species is one of the few tunas limited to the eastern Pacific, found in waters off California to Peru. The black skippy can be identified by the four or five broad, straight stripes that extend horizontally along its back. A hard-hitting, fast-moving predator, smaller skipjack are popular among anglers for use as live bait for billfish and large yellowfin. The strong dark-red flesh is not appealing to most fishermen.

BLUEFIN (Thunnus thynnus)

The king of tunas, giant bluefin are for many anglers the ultimate prize among all game fishes. Ditto for sushi eaters, who at market may bid hundreds of thousands of dollars for a single giant. There’s some irony in the fact that before the latter part of the 20th century, sport fishermen had no use for giant bluefin, which at best were used for pet food, being considered unpalatable. Go figure.

Bluefin mature at about six years of age, around 300 pounds. Atlantic bluefin spawn in the Mediterranean and Gulf of Mexico. Researchers discovered and confirmed a third spawning area in the western Atlantic called the Slope Sea. They’re not terribly picky eaters, devouring even very small baitfish, and invertebrates, including starfish, have shown up in stomach analyses.

Bluefin range from far offshore to near-coastal waters. The three species of bluefin (Atlantic, Pacific and southern) tolerate a great range of temperatures and migrate great distances, across both oceans. Satellite tags have revealed transatlantic crossings in less than 60 days. Decades ago, giants made a reliable migration each May off Bimini and down the Florida Strait, but that suddenly came to an end after the 1960s. In recent years, Southern California anglers have been catching bluefin of sizes exceptional for those waters.

BONITOS (Sarda spp)

In addition to the Atlantic bonito, there are three other species of Sarda (Pacific, striped and Australian). These four true bonitos are related to dogtooth tuna and share that species’ shape — more elongated than other “true” tunas — and somewhat non-tuna-like sharp-toothed dentition. All are small coastal pelagics; all make outstanding light-tackle game fish and (even if not universally appreciated) fine table fare as sashimi or cooked. (Not to be confused with little tunny/false albacore, often called “bonito.”)

DOGTOOTH (Gymnosarda unicolor)

That the Indo-Pacific dogtooth (along with true bonitos — basically smaller versions) belong in a different group from bluefin, yellowfin and relatives isn’t hard to imagine. Unlike those true tunas, dogtooth are longer, leaner and maybe even meaner. Per its name, check out its dentures, most impressive of any tuna. Also, dogtooth are far more solitary, and unlike most tunas are not a schooling species. Finally, they prefer to haunt steep reef slopes; anglers needn’t travel far offshore to tangle with doggies. A fine eating fish, dogtooth are known for their brutal power when hooked.

KAWAKAWA (Euthynnus affinis)

Known as mackerel tuna in Australia, the kawakawa — native to the Indo- and western Pacific — is similar to the little tunny of Atlantic waters. It is also a dark-meat species, though popular among many anglers for food, as in Hawaii. Kawakawa are, typically, tremendous fighters for their size. Kawakawa mostly inhabit coastal reefs and may even move into estuaries.

LITTLE TUNNY (Euthynnus alletteratus)

A fish of many names, little tunny are known as false albacore off the U.S. Northeast and mid-Atlantic states, where they’re a very popular game fish among light-tackle and fly anglers. In the Southeast and Gulf, they’re mislabeled bonito, and generally avoided. Yet they are tremendous fighters for their size, battling in classic tuna fashion. Little tunny are readily identified by the wavy lines along their upper back, behind the dorsal, and the spots between pectoral and ventral fins. Small tunny are also popular as baitfish, drifted live or trolled dead. They form and feed in tight schools, often churning the surface as they gorge on baitfish. The dark-red, bloody meat of little tunny keeps them out of fish boxes.

LONGTAIL (Thunnus tonggol)

The longtail inhabits the Indo-Pacific, quite near shore, even prowling estuaries and river mouths, where it often roams in large shoals. A popular game fish among Australians, the species is there labeled northern bluefin, though it is not a species of bluefin.

SKIPJACK (Katsuwonus pelamis)

With distinct horizontal stripes limited to its lower half (and no stripes dorsally), the skipjack is readily distinguished from other small tunas. One of the most widely dispersed of small tunas, the skipjack is found in all temperate and tropical seas, where it often forms huge schools. Not all anglers realize that its light meat should make it a preferred species for the fish box. The skipjack is of huge importance globally as a commercial species, with great tonnage ending up canned.

YELLOWFIN (Thunnus albacares)

Named for its bright-yellow finlets, the yellowfin is fantastically popular among anglers who fish tropical seas around the world. Their habit of schooling and feeding at the surface makes yellowfin particularly exciting targets for run-‘n’-gunners. Yellowfin are decidedly bluewater pelagics but may move into coastal waters at times. The fast-growing tuna can reach 200 pounds in seven years. Anglers in eastern Pacific waters take advantage of the yellowfin symbiotically feeding with dolphin (porpoise). From years spent as an observer for the Inter-American Tropical Tuna Commission, California photographer, writer and angler Bill Boyce says tuna definitely follow dolphin (not vice versa). The tuna seem to understand that dolphin will find the baitfish; the tuna then help corral the bait, pushing it to the surface.

OTHER TUNAS

The post An Illustrated Guide to Types of Tuna appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

When it comes to sharks, anglers just can’t seem to get enough of ’em. Somewhere between 400 and 500 different species of shark swim in our oceans, in depths from mere inches, over shallow flats, to thousands of feet; from the hottest equatorial seas to freezing waters over the poles. Some never grow to a foot in length, while some man-eaters exceed 20 feet.

This gallery offers a look at 15 shark species important to sport fishermen — most of them likely to be encountered and/or targeted. Some are wild on the hook — offering a performance as exciting as any species of game fish in the world. Many are unspectacular but dogged fighters. But no matter how they fight, bringing a big one boatside offers one of fishing’s more dramatic moments.

I’ve included the all-tackle world record for each species. Some species are part of the International Game Fish Association’s line-class-record system.

BLACKTIP AND SPINNER SHARKS

• Blacktip (Carcharhinus limbatus) world record: 270 pounds, 9 ounces, 8 feet long (Kenya, 1984)
• Spinner (Carcharhinus brevipinna) world record: 208 pounds, 9 ounces (Texas, 2009)

Blacktip sharks and the closely related, very similar spinner shark, are among the most widespread and cosmopolitan of “sporting” sharks, found in all the world’s temperate and tropical waters and ranging from flats they share with bonefish to deeper offshore waters. These active and agile predators are popular with anglers who at times catch them casting topwater lures and flies and enjoy their spirited fight and, often, their repeated leaps. These species are responsible for most of the annual shark bites reported by Florida beach-goers when they follow mullet runs into the murky waters near shore, and the flash of an arm or foot may attract their attention.

BLUE SHARK

• Blue (Prionace glauca) world record: 528 pounds — 10 feet long (New York, 2001)

The long, slender and aptly named blue shark is nowhere a stranger, being circum-global in tropical and temperate waters. The wide-ranging sharks of offshore waters can be a nuisance. Their fight is less than spectacular, though bringing a big one to the boat can get exciting. Arguably one of the least-desirable sharks for eating. While attacks on humans are rare, blues are in the “potentially dangerous” category.

BONNETHEAD SHARK

• Bonnethead (Sphyrna tiburo) world record: 32 pounds — 3½ feet long (Florida, 2013)

In essence a small, inshore hammerhead, the bonnethead prefers estuaries, flats and bays in tropical and temperate waters of the New World, along both western Atlantic and eastern Pacific coasts of North and South America. Flats anglers can sight-cast to them as they search the sand with zigzag turns looking for anything edible. Agile little bonnetheads will hit lures and flies, and offer great light-tackle sport.

BULL SHARK

• Bull (Carcharhinus leucas) world record: 697 pounds, 12 ounces — 8½ feet long (Kenya, 2001)

Unquestionably one of the most dangerous of the world’s sharks, the bull is also one of the most ubiquitous: Anywhere in the world there’s a tropical or temperate coastline, there are bull sharks. Bulls move freely far up rivers and into lakes. The thick-bodied, powerful sharks when hooked offer a reasonably stubborn but unspectacular fight (though the release might be lively).

GREENLAND SHARK

• Greenland (Somniosus microcephalus) world record: 1,708 pounds, 9 ounces — 13-plus feet long (Norway, 1987)

Unlike other sharks on this list, the Greenland shark is restricted to the far-north reaches of both sides of the Atlantic and up into the most northern Arctic waters. These sharks have been aged up to 392 years; sexual maturity occurs at around 150 years. Very limited sport fisheries in fjords, sometimes through the ice, have offered a handful of anglers the unique chance to land one of these monsters, which they do more for the novelty than any sort of real fight. Given this species’ habitat, humans are safe from Greenland sharks.

GREAT HAMMERHEAD SHARK

• Great hammerhead (Sphyrna mokarran) world record: 1,280 pounds — 11 ½ feet long (Florida, 2006)

Anglers may catch any of several hammerhead species besides the great hammerhead including the smooth and scalloped varieties, but S. mokarran is the largest. It roams the world’s oceans, ranging from shallow nearshore waters to offshore. Attacks on people are exceedingly rare. A fair opponent when hooked, though studies have shown that hammerheads are particularly prone to mortality when released, even if they appear healthy. Note that all three of these hammerhead species are widely illegal to harvest, with the scalloped hammerhead added in 2014 to the federal Endangered Species List.

LEMON SHARK

• Lemon (Negaprion brevirostris) world record: 405 pounds — nearly 8 feet long (North Carolina, 1988)

Widely distributed, lemons prefer shallower coastal waters, and they’re definitely the big dog of the flats. Lemon sharks can be chummed near a skiff in a couple of feet of water on the right tides, and sight-casting to them and hooking up in such clear water is explosive action. Although Lemon attacks on humans are rare, they’re not unheard of. By law, lemons must be released in the waters of most coastal states where they occur.

MAKO SHARK

• Shortfin mako (Isurus paucus ) world record: 1,221 pounds — 11 feet long (Massachusetts, 2001)

Found in most of the world’s temperate and tropical seas, the mako shark is truly one of the ocean’s great game fishes. This fastest of all sharks often goes ballistic when hooked, repeatedly making memorable sky-high somersaulting leaps. They’ve been known to jump into boats, and frequently chomp on outboards’ lower units. Makos will devour live baits but also track down marlin lures trolled at high speeds. Makos are also considered excellent eating. The species certainly has the potential to present a danger to people. The longfin mako, I. paucus, is less common and stays farther offshore.

OCEANIC WHITETIP SHARK

• Oceanic whitetip (Carcharhinus longimanus) world record: 369 pounds — 7 feet (Bahamas, 1998)

Common in tropical, temperate and cool-temperate seas worldwide, the whitetip is one of the requiem sharks; its close relatives include the bull, bronze whaler, dusky, silky and tiger. These open-ocean hunters are fast and aggressive, and many’s the offshore angler who has lost a prize to them. At the same time, when hooked, they’re quick, tough opponents. Whitetips definitely present a danger to humans.

PORBEAGLE SHARK

• Porbeagle (Lamna nasus) world record: 507 pounds — 8 feet long (Scotland, 1993)

Sometimes call “fat makos,” the porbeagle is indeed closely related to and more robust than the mako. They also inhabit cooler waters, in the entire North Atlantic and southern hemisphere. Like the mako, the porbeagle is an outstanding game fish, though far less common, and is also fine eating. A limited targeted sport fishery off the U.K. has resulted in some fine catches in recent years. It is also valued as a food fish. The cool waters that porbeagles inhabit preclude much contact with humans, hence they’re not a likely threat.

SALMON SHARK

• Salmon (Lamna ditropis) world record: 461 pounds, 9 ounces — 7 ½ feet long (Alaska, 2009)

Basically the north Pacific’s version of the north Atlantic porbeagle, the very similar salmon shark is a cold-water version of the mako. Like many large-shark species, the salmon shark is warm-blooded, heating its blood well above ambient water temps. Targeted fisheries are limited, mostly to areas where the sharks follow runs of salmon in close to the coasts of Alaska. Salmon sharks offer exciting, sometimes aerial, action for northern anglers.

THRESHER SHARK

• Thresher (Alopias vulpinis) world record: 767 pounds, 3 ounces — 9 feet long (to fork of tail) (New Zealand, 1983)

The common thresher shark is found in nearly all seas tropical, temperate and cool-temperate around the world. It ranges from bluewater to nearshore shallows in some areas, such as Southern California beaches, seasonally. The long tail is used to herd and stun small fish. Threshers are excellent eating and tough opponents when hooked; they often leap wildly. The less common bigeye thresher (A. superciliosus) may get slightly larger: The world record is 802 pounds from New Zealand in 1981. Threshers are not considered aggressive to humans.

TIGER SHARK

• Tiger (Galeocerdo cuvier) world record: 1,780 pounds, 14 feet (South Carolina, 1964) AND 1,785 pounds, 11 ounces (Australia, 2004)

One of the largest active shark species, tigers sharks inhabit nearshore and even inshore coastal waters worldwide. They’re not a true pelagic, open-ocean species. Tigers of well over 6,000 pounds have been reported. While impressive for their size, tigers are not terribly unpredictable or flashy fighters when hooked. They’re known to ingest just about anything edible and many things not, and they’re widely implicated in many attack on humans.

TOPE SHARK

• Tope (Galeorhinus galeus) world record: 72 pounds, 12 ounces — 5 feet (New Zealand, 1986)

Tope range from shore to deeper ocean waters in all oceans, particularly in temperate and cold waters. As sport fish, these sharks are particularly valued in areas where cool waters preclude a great variety of game fish species, notably the British Isles as well as South Africa and southern Australia. Anglers in these areas target tope for their quite-respectable fighting qualities.

The post Shark Fishing: A Guide to Popular Species appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Most of us are familiar with the adage, “All fishermen are liars.” But occasionally an outing is so grand, you don’t need to lie about it. We actually had such a day, starting with the first trip of the year in late spring. A light southwest breeze tufted western Long Island Sound as my buddy Elliott Taylor and I accelerated out of Branford Harbor from the Connecticut shore. We made a turn to the south and headed toward Branford Reef, 4 miles away. As we closed within a half-mile of our ­destination, we spotted the unbelievable: a 50-acre swath of working birds and breaking fish. And only two other boats were on them.

By the time we had reached the ledge and motored up-current of the structure, the depth-finder screen showed almost solid red from all the life below us, and schoolie striped bass were busting all around. For once, pinpointing a rip’s “sweet spot” didn’t matter — the entire expanse was one giant sweet spot, and we scrambled to get our tackle in the water as if we might miss the bite.

Taylor grabbed his spinning outfit and flung a large, chrome spoon into the nearest melee while I went with my light conventional outfit rigged with a 4-ounce diamond jig below a soft-plastic dropper. I free-spooled toward the bottom but never reached it.

And it was amazing. We were drifting across an area that held a mass of small stripers stacked like cords of firewood. The bottom composition and depth didn’t matter, with baitfish dispersed throughout the water column. Almost every drop or cast produced multiple hits, so it became a challenge to retrieve a lure without catching a fish. This fishery, as in other recent years, lasted most of the season.

“On Veterans Day,” says Connecticut marine fisheries biologist Justin Davis, Ph.D., “I took a trip out of Niantic in eastern Long Island Sound. The birds and fish started about halfway out of the bay and continued east almost to the mouth of the Thames River in New London — about 3½ miles. It was incredible. There were schools of thousands of fish all over the place. A couple of times, I just stopped casting and stood on the bow to watch.”

Even the most dedicated trophy-bass angler would abandon his hunt for the amazing action that school-size fish can offer, for those who know how to find them.

Catching Schoolie Striped Bass

“Schoolie” bass earn their nickname because small stripers feed and travel in coherent schools. Once they reach the 3-foot-long range, they gradually become more independent, and true trophies, or “cows,” are solitary, opportunistic predators.

“When the bite is on,” says Capt. Dixon Merkt, who — who is retired after guiding for more than 45 years out of Old Lyme, Connecticut — now fishes for fun, “the number you can catch is almost unlimited. But you’re not casting to individual fish; you’re seeking schools where you get hits cast after cast after cast. These bass are cookie-cutter fish where volume is your objective, not size. Reports of two anglers releasing 75 to 100 fish on one tide aren’t uncommon.”

Unlike other inshore species in southern New England, such as bluefish and tautog, schoolies — loosely defined as those stripers up to the 28-inch minimum legal length — are active before the water temperature reaches 50 degrees, and these fish stay active well below the 50-degree point in late fall. This is a largely untapped sporting opportunity for anglers looking for early- and late-season action to replace dwindling numbers of cool-water targets such as cow bass, winter flounder and blackfish.

“In spring,” says Capt. Chris Elser, an expert with nearly 30 years of guiding experience, “most of the schoolie stripers near my home port of Stratford [Connecticut] are products of the resident Housatonic River holdover fishery, but we do see migratory fish arriving by mid- to late May most years. Late in the season, I’ve had crazy action in open water as late as the middle of December. Of course, that’s weather permitting — some seasons have started late or been cut short by cold and wind.”

Elser continues: “We’ve had excellent action on light tackle outside the river between West Haven and Norwalk, where we’ve found huge schools of 12- to 28-inch stripers in 30 to 50 feet of water. They’re feeding near the surface on small baits. The birds are the clue, and they make it easy to find the fish. On a good day, we can land more than 100 bass.”

Striped Bass Populations

Anglers, guides and biologists have observed a recent and troubling decline in big-bass numbers since their resurgence 20 years ago. Several factors are implicated, including black-market harvesting, excessive commercial landings, lack of adult menhaden, mycobacteriosis disease, a shift in migration patterns, environmental factors, and predatory seals.

“I still see large bass in our region,” Elser says, “but they’re not as widespread as years ago, and there aren’t as many 30-plus-pound fish. Also, more big fish are migrating via the South Shore side of Long Island versus passing through Long Island Sound. But I believe the current limit is OK to keep the population healthy. Most of the anglers I know practice catch-and-release for stripers of all sizes, though I see nothing wrong with taking a good eating-size fish — which sometimes mix with the schoolies — home for the table. The big breeders should be quickly and carefully released.”

Forage Species

So many schoolie predators in an area require an abundance of small prey, which southern New England has been fortunate to be able to provide. Bass target what’s available, and the forage base changes by season and region.

“In western Long Island Sound,” Elser says, “as May rolls in, so do sand eels, the primary bait source creating the inshore fishery that light-tackle anglers crave. The fall fishery depends on the arrival of peanut bunker and bay anchovies, and we’ve had consistent schoolie striper action for many years now during late September through the end of October. From November into December, when the weather allows, herring, butterfish and occasionally mullet keep schoolie and larger bass interested.”

The usual summer doldrums didn’t set in this past season in eastern Long Island Sound, with a mass of tens of thousands of schoolie bass staging in the famous Sluiceway, a rip at the mouth of the sound, through late July. This remained a closely guarded secret for the first few weeks. “They were on small herring in the Sluiceway,” says Capt. Dan Wood, a longtime top guide in the eastern sound. “It was a wonderful opportunity for experienced and inexperienced customers to get into great action. They didn’t need to cast well or far to reach the fish.”

Along the big islands such as Block and Nantucket, types of baitfish similarly vary. “Our primary forage for bass is sand eels in spring and fall,” Willi says, “and we have squid throughout the season. Silversides move in during August into September to round out the feast.”

Striped Bass Lures the Pros Prefer

Almost any baitfish imitation produces strikes during a frenzy, but schoolies can be selective at times, and every pro has his or her favorite artificials for drawing bites.

“My all-time favorite lure,” Elser says, “is a 6- to 7½-inch Slug-Go on a light jig head. I also entice them with a 7½-inch unweighted Slug-Go, working it on the surface, rod tip up, with a walk-the-dog presentation, making a slight wake in the surface film. For anglers new to working soft plastics, I switch to hard crank baits such as the 5½-inch Rapala X-Rap. I prefer white or bone color for my artificials.

“I also enjoy working the surface with the Stillwater Smack-It popper,” Elser adds. “Last on my must-have list is a ½-ounce chartreuse Rat-L-Trap. The latter two work great when the bass are feeding on peanut bunker. When the sand eels arrive, my go-to soft plastic is a 4.6-inch Hogy Sand Eel on a weighted, 3/8-ounce swimbait hook.”

At Block Island, Willi has his schoolie favorites too. “Eighty percent of our fishing is with soft plastics due to the sand eel presence,” he says. “My go-to is the Bill Hurley Cape Cod Sand Eel in olive. We also favor the 6-inch Slug-Go in rainbow trout and the RonZ in olive.” For topwater action, I like the Rebel Jumpin Minnow and Heddon Super Spook, both in bone. For swimmers, we toss a yellow or silver Magnum Bomber or a Daiwa Salt Pro Minnow.”

Tins also produce well consistently. My friend Taylor and I like flinging flat metals such as large Kastmasters or Hopkins jigs, which resemble peanut bunker, a primary forage species in bays and estuaries. Tins cast well in a stiff breeze, and hold up to small bluefish when they enter the mix.

“If you’re not having much success with a standard lure,” Merkt says, “I suggest tying a dropper fly off the leader. It simulates a baitfish chasing a smaller prey and sometimes dramatically increases productivity. The fly often outproduces the lure, and sometimes we get doubles on the same rig. For dropper flies, I like chartreuse Clouser Minnows.”

Running the Reefs for Striped Bass

If you’re on the hunt for schoolie bass but they’re not showing on top, the most consistent place to find them is near the bottom on shallow reefs within about 4 miles of the mainland.

Pinpoint structure where the depth rises and falls abruptly. During a moving tide, motor up-current of the rip line while watching your depth finder. When the reef disappears into flat bottom, cut the motor and drift back toward the rip line.

Free-spool a small diamond or lead‑head bucktail jig until it bumps bottom, then immediately engage the reel. Retrieve a diamond about 10 cranks, drop back down, and repeat. With bucktails, pros use a standard yo-yo motion bouncing along the structure. Continue drifting until you’ve cleared the hump and covered the down-tide side of the reef. Bass often strike as the lure flutters toward the bottom, so be ready for a quick set.

Increase your chance of action by rigging any soft plastic on a 3/0 bait-holder hook attached to a dropper 12 to 18 inches above a diamond jig to simulate the predator-prey visual that Merkt suggests with dropper hook with fly. Doubles aren’t uncommon with this rig.

A good jigging outfit is a medium-action, 6½-foot rod attached to a small conventional reel like a Shimano Tekota 300 or 500. Spool it with smooth, 20-pound braid, and tie on 3 feet of 30-pound mono leader.

Back in Branford that late spring day, Taylor and I lost count after the first 30 fish, and we spent the next two hours motoring from one busting pod to the next, fighting ravenous stripers, and stopping only to change leaders or take a slug of iced tea. I’d say we released 70-plus schoolies on that tide, while keeping two 28-inchers for the skillet. And that’s no fish tale.

The post Fast Spring and Fall Fishing for Striped Bass appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Recipes are great for both cooking and fishing — follow this set of instructions, and you’ll get that desired result. Professional chefs, however, understand which flavors combine well to create their own delectable dishes. Charter captains, who fish many days consecutively, through varied weather, temperature and tides, similarly understand how a lure’s specific characteristics — its flavor, if you will — mix with given water conditions to convince fish to take a bite.

With that in mind, I asked 11 striped bass experts to pick their favorite striper lure and explain when and how they fish it. I also asked each why he believed that particular lure to be so mouthwatering to striped bass in those circumstances. Sure, pro anglers typically name as their go-to striped bass lure one made by a manufacturer who sponsors them. But knowing it has proved consistently effective for them, then understanding why — both their “recipe” (what to fish, when and how — as well as their reasoning) — will help all striper enthusiasts increase their success. Here are the best striped bass lures you can buy today.

Quicklook: Best Fishing Lures for Striped Bass

• Hard Baits
  • Gibbs Danny Surface Swimmer
  • Rapala Skitter Walk
  • Sebile Magic Swimmer
  • Rebel Jumping Minnow
  • Shimano ColtSniper Jerkbait
  • Strategic Angler Cruiser
  • Tsunami Talkin’ Popper
  • Yo-Zuri Mag Darter
• Soft Baits
  • RonZ Original Series
  • Lunker City Slug-Go
  • Storm WildEye Swim Shad
  • Berkley Gulp! Shads and PowerBaits (for East and West Coast Fishing)

Hard Baits

Gibbs Danny Surface Swimmer

Where, When and Who Along Long Island on New York’s southwestern coast, from Jones Inlet to Fire Island, Capt. Al Lorenzetti targets striped bass on current edges along inshore sandbars from late May through mid-July, and then again in October and November.

Lure Choice and Conditions “When I’m anchored ahead of a rip, the blunt tip of the Danny, plus that metal lip, gives it a wobble that stripers want to pounce on, even with minimal forward motion through the water. Just the current makes the plug work.”

Read Next: Striped Bass Fishing in New England

How and Why “One angler on one side of the boat just holds the lure right in front of the edge of the rip. Another angler on the other side casts behind the rip and reels right up to it. The most experienced angler in a group of three then throws between the two and reels the plug right along the rip line, just fast enough to make it wobble. It lays over side to side and looks like the slow-moving bunker or shad that frequent those rips.”

Size and Color 3½-ounce in yellow (which is intended to resemble bunker)

Unique Rig Bend the metal lip down, not quite to 90 degrees, to keep the lure on top, where it’s easier to keep an eye on it as well as see spectacular striper surface bites.

When to Switch “Casting into the wind, the line tends to foul the Danny’s front hook, and if I can’t get close, like at a breaking inlet bar, it doesn’t cast far enough.” At such times, Lorenzetti goes with Gibbs’ Polaris Popper. “It doesn’t foul, and I can throw it a country mile.”

-Lorenzetti is a pro staffer for Gibbs.

Rapala Skitter Walk

Where, When and Who North Carolina sounds — really, one huge, shallow inland sea — provide stripers year-round, with “dynamite action from late April through November,” says Capt. Gary Dubiel.

Lure Choice and Conditions If he knows where to cast, and stripers are either in shallow water or actively feeding on top, Dubiel says the distinct, loud rattle of the Skitter Walk attracts bigger fish than most other lures will.

How and Why “Use a lot of rod tip and reel slowly” — the classic walk-the-dog, Dubiel says. “Rock the bait aggressively side to side to move that big rattle inside, and keep it moving toward you with slow momentum. The rhythmic noise and motion seem to trigger fish.”

Size and Colors 4 3/8-inch with a white or chartreuse belly, or — in particularly dark, tannic water — a model in orange hues

When to Switch In choppy water that muffles noise, or when fish are deeper or more scattered, Dubiel prefers the louder sound and heartier surface action of Storm’s Rattlin’ Chug Bug, a cup-faced popper, which he says is also easier for many anglers to fish properly.

-Dubiel is a pro staffer for Rapala.

Rebel Jumping Minnow

Where, When and Who Beginning in May, striped bass show up on bars and along marsh edges on the Merrimack River, just south of the Massachusetts/New Hampshire border, says Capt. Chris Valakatgis.

Lure Choice and Conditions “On a calm day, you see the Jumping Minnow on top, even if it stops, and you hear the rattle. That helps get you into a rhythm and adjust your retrieve until you find the cadence that entices bites.”

How and Why “Start with a slow walk-the-dog motion, then use slow twitches of the rod tip to make the bait swing out wider to the side. If stripers are breaking on the surface, try speeding up the cadence and tightening the zigzag.”

Size and Color 4½-inch in bone

Unique Rig Replace original hooks with larger No. 1 or No. 2 trebles to handle 40-inch fish, but crush barbs to aid releasing smaller schoolies.

When to Switch “The Jumping Minnow is so light, it’s hard to cast in any wind, and if it’s choppy, you need a lure with more surface commotion to stand out,” Valakatgis says, so in those conditions, he switches to the rear-weighted Cordell Pencil Popper for better casting and heartier action.

Sebile Magic Swimmer

Where, When and Who After spawning in the Hudson and Delaware rivers, stripers return to the coast beginning late in March and hang there through June, says Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey, Capt. John Luchka.

Lure Choice and Conditions “When adult bunker are around, the fast-sinking Magic Swimmer targets fish on the surface, midwater and all the way to the bottom,” Luchka says. Stripers are drawn to the vibration the jointed body creates and, the guide says, it looks like an injured fish once the fish get close.

How and Why “They’re not super ­aggressive until they’ve had a few meals. Cast the lure outside the edge of the bait school so it looks like a wounded bait separated from the school. Let it sink, then bring it in slowly a couple of cranks and pause, a couple more cranks, and pause. They crush it on that pause.” A faster retrieve entices those same fish after they’ve eaten and become more aggressive.

Size and Colors 7½-inch, 3-ounce fast-sinking in bunker, or the brighter American shad color in murky water

When to Switch When smaller prey are prevalent, Luchka prefers “Sebile’s Stick Shadd, which is a bit rounder, and better matches the body shape of peanut bunker.”

-Luchka was a pro staffer for Sebile, back when the company was producing lures.

Shimano ColtSniper Jerkbait

Where, When and Who Chris Fox’s flexible schedule gets him on the lower Chesapeake Bay as regularly as many pro captains where, from October through early December, he parlays that expertise into frequent striper, trout and redfish slams, all from one lure.

Lure Choice and Conditions Near the mouth of the York and James rivers, green shrimp — which are actually white — show up thick in shallow water near man-made structure such as old pier pilings. “The ColtSniper’s lip drives the lure underwater a foot or two, where the long, skinny body and white color match the shrimp.”

How and Why From deeper water, “cast it up on a flat and just reel it in slowly. It flashes white as it wobbles and rolls side to side. The fish usually hammer it right at that drop-off,” he says. As the water temperature falls below 50 degrees, “I slow the retrieve drastically, almost to the point of boredom,” he says — until a 40-inch striped bass piles on.

Size and Colors 140 mm (5.5 inches) in bone color with pink highlights underneath

When to Switch When the fish hang deeper than the ColtSniper will reach, “I switch to a sinking version of Hayward Tackle’s Genesis and twitch it for a walk‑the‑dog action.”

Strategic Angler Cruiser

Where, When and Who Along Cape Cod’s eastern shore and north past Cape Ann, Massachusetts, from mid-May through mid-July, tremendous currents from 12-foot tides over bottom with minimal structure to hide behind force striped bass into huge, roaming packs. They’re “more like open-water pelagics” — not their normal ambush hunting style, says Capt. Dom Petrarca.

Lure Choice and Conditions For about an hour on either side of slack tide, Petrarca says, “the stripers push the mackerel to the surface and attack from underneath. The long, wide Cruiser makes a lot of surface noise and offers the mackerel profile that bass are keyed in to.”

How and Why “Every couple of cranks, give a light twitch to the left [for spinners with the handle on the left side]. The wide body is weighted so the narrow nose digs in and it kicks out to the side, then comes back in an S pattern,” Petrarca says, which mimics the quick lateral movements of ­mackerel fleeing predators.

Size and Color 10-inch in a blue- or green-mackerel pattern

Unique Rig Owner Stinger 3/0 treble hook plus a Gamakatsu 8/0 live-bait hook at the tail

When to Switch During ripping currents between high and low tides, striped bass change hunting tactics. “They stack up, looking like a long wave on the fish finder in the middle of the water column.” That huge wall of striper mouths swimming with the current sucks up any unfortunate prey it rolls across. “Get in front of the school, and drop a 3- or 4-ounce jig.”

-Petrarca is a pro staffer for Strategic Angler.

Tsunami Talkin’ Popper

Where, When and Who Capt. Scott Leonard starts his season in May on Long Island, New York’s central south shore, and he moves to Montauk and beyond as the fish migrate east from July through September.

Lure Choice and Conditions “The Talkin’ Popper fishes really well when it’s flat or fairly calm — 12 knots of wind or less. It casts well too when stripers are up tight to the beach and hard to get to.”

How and Why “Cast along the outer edges of the bunker school, where big bass tend to be. Pop it, let it settle, then pop it again, while reeling nice and slow. The slower the better for bigger fish,” he says. “The way it splashes, it looks like a wounded bunker separated from the school, and stripers climb right onto it.”

Size and Colors 3½-ounce in yellow, to mimic ­prevalent bunker

When to Switch “When conditions are rougher, with a lot of surface commotion already, I’ll go with a surface swimmer like the Gibbs Danny.”

-Leonard is a pro staffer for Tsunami.

Yo-Zuri Mag Darter

Where, When and Who Capt. Carter Andrews fishes far and wide for The Obsession of Carter Andrews television show, but he often returns to New England during peak early‑summer striper fishing.

Lure Choice and Conditions The Mag Darter fishes really well in strong New England currents. “It doesn’t roll to the side like a true lipped lure,” he says. “With the magnetic weight-transfer system, super-long casts maximize my opportunities farther from the boat.”

How and Why “With just a slow, steady, straight wind, it darts really well side to side,” which he says entices striped bass in most conditions. To spice it up, though, “on every second or third crank, I give it just a little twitch.”

Size and Colors 6½-inch in bronze or bone, or, at times, holographic pink

When to Switch “When I’m up the rivers, in calmer conditions with less current, I can throw the 5-inch Mag Minnow like a dart,” he says, to more accurately target specific points and pockets of marsh grass where striped bass might lie.

-Andrews is a pro staffer for Yo-Zuri.

Soft Baits

Hard baits require specific angler actions to convince stripers they’re a natural food source. “Soft baits already look and feel real,” says Rhode Island charter captain Jack Sprengel, who offers several hot tickets.

RonZ Original Series

Early in July, as fish move into deeper water off Block Island, Sprengel says, “they’re often using current breaks behind structure to carry feeding opportunities to them. The original RonZ series lure’s tapered body swims just from water moving across its body.” Simply drop a 6- to 8-inch lure from a drifting boat, choosing the weighted head based on drift speed. Alternately, “cast into the direction of the drift and let it sink to the bottom, then slowly jig it all the way back to the surface.”

-Sprengel is a pro staffer for RonZ.

Lunker City Slug-Go

Beginning in May in Narragansett Bay, “when they’re in shallow water and easily spooked, it’s tough to beat a soft-landing, slow-moving bait like the original Slug-Go, presented at or just below the surface,” Sprengel says. A 6- to 10-inch bait should be rigged with a single-hook head. “Less is more. Don’t botch the presentation by adding too much input. If the strike doesn’t come right after it lands, retrieve any slack, give it two sharp twitches, pause, and repeat.”

Storm WildEye Swim Shad

Regarding another favorite of Sprengel’s, he says: “Near a jetty or pier, a weighted paddle-tail shad with tight but erratic action, such as Storm’s swim shad, sinks quickly down into the strike zone along and between structure contours.” Start small, 4 to 6 inches, or as large as 9 inches to target large stripers. “Reel slowly and let the paddle tail do its job.” Sprengel favors these swim shad in bright colors on bright days and darker colors on dark, overcast days. “Hold the lure over your head,” he suggests, “and see how it contrasts with the sky — as fish will see it.”

Berkeley Gulp! Shads and PowerBaits (East and West Coast)

With a West Coast spin on striper fishing, widely known Northern California fishing journalist Steve Carson says: “On major rivers, the 8-inch black PowerBait Maxscent Kingtail rigged on a ½- to ¾-ounce jig head replicates local eels. In the California Delta, Berkley’s 4-inch Havoc Sick Fish and 4- or 5-inch PowerBait Ripple Shad are good for blind-casting at known holding areas, or cast the Gulp! 5-inch or 6-inch Saltwater Jerk Shads into visible boils. Carson adds, “Shad- or trout-replicating colors are usually best, though chartreuse can be very effective in dirty water.”

-Carson is a pro staffer for Berkley.

Back on the East Coast, pro tournament fisherman Capt. Seth Funt (@teamthreebuoys) says, “The fish in Long Island Sound in March and April are tuned in to worms and small sand eels,” so he opts for a ½- or ¾-ounce Spro Prime Bucktail Jig in pearl, tipped with a 4- or 6-inch Gulp! Power Worm in pumpkin color. “It gives them a big, fat sand eel to get excited about. Just twitch, twitch, pull, and then let it fall a little. Worms and juvenile eels don’t swim along like baitfish; they just move with the current, so present it the same way.”

Try Them Out for Yourself

No matter your preferred striper lure, the key is to match it to the seasonal patterns and feeding behaviors of the striped bass you’re targeting. With the right lures and some well-timed casts, you’ll be hooking into plenty of these hard-fighting fish in no time. So get rigged up with some proven striped bass lures and get out on the water — the next trophy is waiting for you.

The post Best Striped Bass Lures appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.