Inlet Tricks

Inlet Tricks - For Fish and Fishermen

Tricks for Fish

If you fancy fishing the open beaches, you know all too well about the effects of waves and sweep. If you are flyfishng, you frequently curse the wind. In an inlet canal, you can count on a strong tide.

Depending on the lunar phase and inlet topology, when the tide really starts to move, it sometimes feels as if King Neptune himself has just pulled the plug. Under these conditions, forget about bait fishing. Trust me, each year scores of anglers continue to try bait fishing the inlets. Most promptly lose their rigging as the current sweeps their line directly into a snag, or into the jetty (or, in front of a bunch of irate anglers fishing a few rocks down tide).

For inlets and fast water, I’ve learned to use bucktails. The bucktail itself seems simple enough - the complexity for most anglers comes when discovering how to work it. All artificials require some action imparted by the angler. But without a swimming lip, or a concave head, or a bottle-shaped body, the bucktail really doesn’t do much on its own. If the bass are not in an all-out frenzy (in which case a bologna sandwich will work) its up to the angler to do make this painted mass of lead look like something edible.

And just how does one get a bass to eat a hunk of lead? As with everything else about striper fishing - it depends. But please don’t take this as a cop out. After watching dozens of anglers consistently fooling bass, night after night, its safe to say that there is no one correct way to work the lead head. In fact, over time, each angler seems to develop his or her own special techniques. I suppose this helps explain why bucktailing is a true art with a dedicated following.

For me, its not a matter of jigging with a steady retrieve. Using that technique, the lead never seems to stay near the bottom of a deep inlet. A better approach for me is to let it drift and hop along the bottom. If you’ve ever drifted nymph patterns for trout, you have a fair idea of what is involved. The drift through the productive zone may only last a few seconds. The key is that you must be prepared to react to any bump that feels the least bit out of the ordinary. When you feel a strange bump, you strike. Between the current, the bow in your line, the bottom structure, and the weight of the bucktail, its sometimes difficult to distinguish a rock from a bone fide hit. Sometimes the line goes slack for a split second. Sometimes the bucktail just stops dead. Sometimes you can immediately feel a fish. Still, I am the first to admit eagerly setting the hook on what turned out to be a mussel bed.

When the fish respond, its great fun, and a real sense of accomplishment, even if you lose a few bucks (no pun intended). But be forewarned, if the fish are not cooperating, this drifting of bucktails can make the skeptical surfcaster begin to question his technique, and promptly resort to bait. Think of the same sequence over and over: cast, drift, bump, bump, bump, then reel in as fast as you can, so as not to foul with another fisherman or hang up on the jetty.

Now examine the nighttime factor - the time when you are most likely to be bucktailing an inlet.

With your vision limited, you are relying more on your other senses: primarily touch, sound and smell. This is a plus, as you are much more focused on the little bumps and taps as the bucktail makes its way along the bottom. When the wind is down, sound carries better. Every now and then you might hear a distant drag sing, or a fishermen swear as he hangs up on the rocks. One good thing about night fishing is that you can easily see if someone else has a fish. Generally speaking, when a fish is hooked and played, the lucky (sorry, "skillful") surfcaster will eventually use a headlamp or flashlight of some sort when the fish is close enough to be landed. When that light goes on, even if its a small light, everybody knows - you can see it clear across the inlet.

This is not always a good thing.

Picture yourself standing on some rock in the total darkness throwing a bucktail "somehwere" out there into the abyss. You are not catching, so your brain is thrown into an endless loop searching for a solution:

"Maybe they’ll start feeding when the tide moves better? Maybe when the tide slows down? Maybe I need to move down a few rocks? Maybe I’m just not reaching them? Switch to a two ounce? Maybe two and a half? Maybe its color? Maybe green with red pork rind? Maybe white with green? Maybe all black? Geez, do I even have black?

Every now and then you see a light from the other side of the inlet. This tends to make you crazy.

"Do they have another fish? What am I doing wrong? Maybe all the fish are over there?"

Tricks for Fishermen

One slow night, my fishing partner and I decided to conduct an experiment.

It was one of those "should have been here last night" kind of nights. No fish, no hits, no nothing. We both had work the next day, and could not wait for a change in tide to bring a change in luck. We accepted this as fact, and sat down on the rocks to have a soda and shoot the bull. On this night, we knew that many of our fishing buddies were on the other side of the inlet. Should I "signal" them? Then I thought of a better idea. I climbed down to the water’s edge and shined my light into the water. I moved the beam back and forth making believe I was trying to land a fish (those fishing our side were long gone by now, so I was not ruining the chances for another angler). Just to make sure others could see this, I unhooked my backup light. This "emergency backup" is a scuba diving light that throws a good beam. I shined it directly into the water. The folks on the other side of the inlet could not miss this light!

We laughed as we considered what our comrads across the inlet might be thinking. Did they see our lights? I suppose we were getting a little tired and silly. I went down to the water with my flashlight to "land a fish " again and again.

Then I got a little nervous.

Suppose they saw the "blitz" we were having and decided to come over to our side of the inlet? To get from one side of the inlet to the other is no easy task. At best, its a 20 minute trip involving driving through sand…several miles on the highway…two bridges. Certainly they wouldn’t be crazy enough to drive to our side of the inlet! Or would they? (Some of these guys are crazy enough to drive 2 hours each way during the work week for the promise of a fish.) We decided it was time to go home, but most importantly, we didn’t want to be around if someone did show up on our side of the inlet.

The drive home is always the worst, especially after a slow night. My fishing partner was fast asleep in the passenger seat. As I approached my street, I spotted a familiar truck at the light. It was Bob, another of our fishing buddies. I pulled up next to him and I rolled down my window.

"How’s the fishing?" I asked.

(I could see right away that Bob’s eyes were bright and he was wide awake.)

"I’m going back tomorrow night," he said.

"Oh, that good?" I replied.

"No, we didn’t have a thing," he responded. "But the guys on the west side were killing them…THEY MUST HAVE HAD TWENTY FISH, ALL IN THE SAME SPOT..I think Tony’s over there now."

I could not keep the smile from my face any longer.

"Say, where did you guys fish tonight?" he asked, with a puzzled look on his face.

I had serious trouble to keeping a straight face, and now my fishing partner was awake and laughing. I tried to compose myself to answer his question.

"Oh, we were on the west side of the inlet," I said.

"Then that was YOU! YOU had all those fish!" he demanded.

This sent me into uncontrollable laughter. By now, the traffic light had changed. We were just sitting at the intersection having this conversation at 1:30 am.

Bob’s face went blank for a few long seconds - then it hit him.

"Oh, you son of a bitches. I’ll get you back for this one." But now Bob even began to laugh as the whole picture came into focus. "Do you know you had the whole inlet going crazy?" he added.

I finally offered him the truth: "Bob, it was totally dead on the west side tonight."

We all laughed a few more seconds as we enjoyed the effectiveness of our little prank, but then a look of deep concern came over Bob’s face.

Was he worried about Tony? Did he forget something?

Then Bob articulated his dilemma: "We didn’t have fish, and neither did you...where am I gonna fish tomorrow night?"

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Sacred Cows

The big ones that didn't get away!

In every sport, there's a level of distinction that separates the men from the boys. In surfcasting, its the landing of a striped bass of fifty pounds or greater. A large striped bass, most likely female, is known locally as a "cow."

Here, we review some of the more recent 50 lb. cows landed by members of the Farragut Striper Club.

 52 lbs.
Kenny Kassan
October, 1986

Kenny couldn't wait to call his fishing mentor, George Wade. "George, I just want to thank you for all the screaming and yelling, all the times you had to correct me, all the things you taught me," George, still half asleep, didn't understand why this guy was calling him from Montauk in the middle of the night. Then it hit him - "Oooooh shit, Kenny, how big?"
 
 

51 lbs.
Mitch Sarro
July, 1990

When Manny Moreno got out to the jetty, he could see lights and lots of activity. Mitch Sarro was trying to weigh a big fish with his hand scale, but he could not lift it. You can see the mount and picture of Mitch's fish at his auto shop, American Muffler, located in Westbury, LI.
 
 

52 lbs.
Jorge Labrada
June, 1991

Jorge was fishing like a maniac, but could not connect with that big cow. His wife was getting on his case for going fishing so much. On this night there wasa club meeting. He said he was not going fishing, just to a meeting, but snuck his gear out the window. Yes, Jorge went to the meeting, but went fishing immediately after. Wonder what his wife thought when he came home with the big cow?
 
 

55 lbs.
Joe Micelli
September, 1991

Joe went up to the Cape for a week of fishing, but ran straight into a hurricane. He ended up fishing the bay side most of the week. He only caught one fish all week, but that's one fish hell of a fish!
 
 

55 lbs. +
Kenny Kassan
October, 1991

Kenny was fishing the north side of Montauk during a storm. He was throwing bucktails, his favorite. He hooked into a big fish that eventually washed in just down the beach. From out of the dark he could hear another surfcaster's voice, "Hooooooly shit!" The fish bottomed out all hand scales, but Kenny let it go. Many credible witnesses put the fish at closer to 60 lbs!
 
 

 52 lbs.
Mike Colon
November, 1991

Mike set out to fish the beach on the last day of the surf fishing contest. He was very disappointed to see that the surf was way up, and unfishable. He had no choice but to fish the back side of the inlet. Good move!
 
 

52 lbs.
Lief Gobel
October, 1992

Lief is not the kind of guy that gets excited about anything, he just takes it in stride. On this night, he decided he would like to keep a fish. He landed the cow, and put it up on the rocks. Later on that night Mitch Sarro stopped by, "Hey Lief, that's a 50!" "Hmmm, think so?" was his reply. The next day he weighed it in, and a 50 it was!
 
 

51 lbs.
Manny Moreno
June, 1993

Before Manny left to go fishing that night his girlfriend said, "Good luck, you have a date with a 50." She never said it before, and has not said it since. Except...

50 lbs.
Manny Moreno
June, 1998

Mike and Manny got out to the jetty at about the same time. The fishing had been slow. Mike surveyed the situation and decided he did not like the way the water looked. He reportedly moved to find a better spot. Manny stopped and made a cast.

50+ lbs.
Manny Moreno
October, 2001

On a night winds pushing 20 knots, Manny Moreno swam to a far off boulder on the south side of Montauk .  About an hour into his routine Manny hooked up with a cow of unbelievable proportions. As Manny read his scale and determined the fish to be around 48 lbs., Scott Hayes' voice could be heard shouting. "Her tail is still in the water!," he screamed. As Scott made it to Manny and the two weighed the fish, they were shocked to see it bottom out a 50 lb. Manley Scale. They marked the spot where the scale had bottomed out and quickly released the Cow into the raging surf. Upon tests once back inshore it was determined with the help of Nor'East Saltwater's John Skinner that Manny's fish was approximately 58 lbs.

 

 

I'll Remember

by Vito Orlando
 

I’ll remember those times on Nantucket
And at Great Point Rip;
I’ll remember the Galls
On our very first trip

I’ll remember Chatham,
And also Nauset Beach,
Casting to those Bass
That were just out of reach

I’ll remember Staten Island
With its bulkheads and eddies;
I’ll remember casting pencil poppers
From those Riis Park jetties

I’ll remember Plum Beach,
And the fish we caught there,
Those fishless nights at Breezy Point,
The long hours of despair

I’ll remember the wet suits
On the North Bar at night,
And catching bass on Jones Reef
A short distance to the right

I’ll remember Gin Beach
And your footprints in Shagwong’s sand;
I’ll remember driving all night,
To fish some far and distant land

I’ll remember the Light House
With its large jutting shoulders,
And you casting yellow darters
From its kelp covered boulders

I’ll remember your buggies
A total of four,
And at 2AM,
How you drove up to my door

I’ll remember Democrat,
And the Sore Thumb;
Tobay-Gilgo, and Cedar,
When from Jones Beach we would come

I’ll remember Sunken Meadow,
And Caumsett with all its flair;
I’ll remember Hortons Point
In the chilly autumn air

I’ll remember Block Island
With its cliffs so high
And fishing with you
Under a cold November sky

I’ll remember the time
My body so sore;
I’ll remember who was first
At my hospital door

I’ll remember a man
Never too tired to teach
And those long frustrating nights
On some far away beach

I’ll remember the other times
All too numerous to write;
I’ll remember those lost Bass
On your birthday night

I’ll remember that call
It was in the early dawn,
Announcing the end of an era
The bass and bluefish would mourn

I’ll remember a Surfman,
And a friend through and through;
Though these memories will remain golden,
Foremost; I’ll always remember you

Rest in Peace Buddy
 

Jerry Bernard, who never had a bad word to say about anyone,
made his last cast at 6:15 AM, December 9, 1990.

Jerry was one of the original founding members of the Farragut Striper Club.

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AN ENLIGHTENING TRIP
by Tom Alterson

 It was the first time under the light for the kid,
  His wetsuit clung tight, hooded top and no lid.

Korkers adhered to the rocks just below,
  He thought he’d fall down with each wave’s mighty blow.

But he didn’t fall down (not much at least),
  He fished pretty well (despite the heave, felt at peace).

A few of his plugs met their fate that cool night.
  He didn’t much fret as another soon took flight.

Tying on leaders in the dark was rough,
  But it didn’t stop the kid – he tried to stay tough.

His buddies were vets under that massive white light,
  But they showed him the ropes – didn’t let him out of their sight.

For they too had been raw at ‘THE END’ once before,
  They knew he’d break-in just like a new lure.

When he stepped from the rocks and went back to the bluffs,
  His pals didn’t hurry after or make a big fuss.

They saw he was spent - that first time can be harsh,
  He opted to cast a few eels in the wash.

A few moments later his pals came around,
 They saw his ankle was hurting, but that he tried not to frown.

With applause and support those two made him feel great,
 “Too bad all your fish tipped the scales at just eight!”

“Let’s hit North Bar,” Scott mentioned to Dom,
“I bet there’ll be cows – perhaps one for Tom.”
 

They jumped in the truck and made for the trail.
  Those three would’ve fished in sleet, rain or hail.

No cows were around for Tom at the bar,
  And despite the small fish, he knew he’d come far.

To fish with great guys was just such a thrill,
  He  learned so much under that rock-speckled hill.

They laughed at the cottage and they laughed in the pub,
  They joked with each other and the guys in Farragut Club.

George with his homemade lures in tow,
  Vito’s story of police work made Nick and Rich laugh so.

 That night at the bar was well worth all the jeers,
  ‘The Dentist,’ Dom and Scott shared stories and cheers.

Ann Breyer was great and Paul was some host,
  I met some real sharpies but no one did boast.

I heard from George Wade something I’ll never forget,
  “You’ll never stop learning no matter how old you get.”

I guess you can say Tom had a blast those few days,
  Hanging with friends – old and new – always pays.

The Striper’s a fish that we must always protect,
  Generations have treated that fish with neglect.

But the new guys are here to mend what was wrong.
  The Striper stock must once again become strong.

If we turn our backs now and ignore its precious plight,
  There’ll be no future kids tossing lures near that light…
 

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"A Salute to Ken Kassan"
by Dream Remington

It was on a dark night at Turtle Cove, I had just traveled around the world from my home in Istanbul Turkey to fish the legendary Montauk. I was so excited to get there as soon as possible that I took a cab from the airport directly to the light house.

I was tired and exhausted but I was a driven man, and I would land that cow I was dreaming about for years. I had some surf fishing skills, but I faced all the perils which all good surf fisherman face when they first fish Montauk, they realize that they are helpless against the point's obstacle course of impossibilities.

After crossing over the rocks under the light (of course with no corkers) and taking 3 major falls (good hits that would have broken normal men) I finally made it to Turtle Cove (at the time, I did not know about the back entrance through the parking lot).I arrived hyperventilating and ready to drop.I cast everything I had into Turtle Cove for hours (I tossed out everything but the kitchen sink) with no avail, only to be finally swept into the surf by a rough wave that scrapped me on the rocks like a potato on a grader, and almost took me for keeps.

I took off my wet clothes and dropped on the sand, trembling, defeated by my own ignorance. I had an emergency red flashing light which I switched on, and I lay on the sand half awake from my ordeal. Then I heard it! The splash of a big fishes tail in the wash.....Man! There he is! If I was gonna die, dammed if I wasn’t gonna go without catching that striper!

In another burst of foolish stubbornness (the mark of every possessed surf fisherman), I got up and put back on my soaked waders, snapped on a needle fish, and started casting like a lunatic on steroids.

Nothing! Man nothing hit! I started to pray, "Dear God I've come so far, I know the fish are out there, it means so much to me that I get one striper, please help me." Then I saw a towering dark figure standing clad in waders moving slowly by me in the shadows - 6ft 4 and then some, 340lbs and then some. This was a man sized surf fisherman!

I thought to myself "Hey! This must be one of the famous regulars of Montauk, he surely would tell me the right lure to use." But I also knew that "regulars" hate "yocks" (that means rank amateur fumbling fishing idiots), and I had to show him that I was at least "not a yock". So I started casting out 100 yards or more, as far as a could, with my best full casts to prove my authenticity as a surf fisherman.

"Good evening Sir! I said, then I went on to tell the tall huge shadowed "regular" of my adventures and mishaps.

"You came all the way from Istanbul Turkey to catch a striped bass?" exclaimed the regular.

"Yup, and let me tell you buddy I'm about ready to drop dead here if I don't catch anything" I said.

Later I learned that this truly gracious gentleman was none other than the famous legendary "Tin Squid" Mr. Ken Kassan. He was so kind, a true class and gracious person, he took me in his jeep and we fished into day break together, and witnessed one of the greatest blitzes (fall of 1990 <--remember that one?). I called him my "Abi," in Turkish this means beloved and respected older brother, and that is what Ken Kassan has always been to me. He has always shared his passion and knowledge of fishing with all of us (as Ken would say) "diseased" new comers to this wonderful sport, but most of all he has shown the kind of patience and guiding light that only a person of true wisdom can give.

On the false bar November 13th 1990 it was a pitch black night with the half moon coverd by clouds, it was cold, I was all alone that night but this time I was armed with the knowledge that my mentor, "Abi," Ken had given me. I crept out to chest deep water and threw out a 3oz white darter, I did nothing but let the current take it around the rip and then the slack tightened, 2 cranks later she was on (I screamed so f#&king loud the the guys on Murderer's Row all came running out of their campers), 15 minutes later 34lbs of striped beauty was laying on the bar. I stood in disbelief at what I had just done. Again I screamed "I hope you can hear me Kenny, big brother, I did it." A bunch of voices came from Murderer's Row: "Shut up, you will tip everyone off, shut the F%&%K up you yock."  Then I raised the fish over my head as the grumps turned to silence and everyone knew I was no longer a yock.

That was almost 10 years ago, I have caught "and released" a lot of bass since then, and this sport has grown more every year with the new wave of stripers around (and of course hordes of pesky yocks to deal with).  But when I fish I show the same respect and class to everyone that my mentor showed me, because I have learned that any person can learn to catch fish, but only a chosen few have the caliber to be true surf fisherman, and carry all that it represents. From Cuttyhunk to Oregon Inlet, from Nova Scotia to Nags Head, there is an unwritten code of honor and respect between all "true surf fisherman," a code that separates the men from all the other bums who can fish.

I salute my mentor, teacher, big brother and good friend Ken "the Tin Squid" Kassan. I am in Bahrain at this moment, in the middle of the desert, and as I look at the waves of sand dunes, I can not help but envision the white caps of Montauk, and the towering figure which was truly a "big man".

God must of heard my prayer that night because he blessed me with Ken's friendship.  Just thinking of you big brother Ken! (Surf Abi)

Tight Lines...

"Good luck with your new home in Nantucket"
 

The story of a surfcaster coming all the way from Turkey to fish Montauk is still one of Ken's favorites, and he tells it to all new surfcasters he meets.  Ken Kassan relocated to Nantucket in 1996, and is now a "Nantucket Local."  If you are fishing the beaches of Nantucket, keep an eye out for a truck with a MA license plate that reads "TINSQID."

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