Collecting data the hard way, by Alexi

   

Sunset at anchor (Great Bay)

     Finally, our hands are salt encrusted.   Parched, dried, with many small cuts just a hair wider than paper cuts.  When wet they sting.  Ten shades darker than before the wrist, I stare long at my strange hands.

     After unloading the boats and lingering on my porch a friend rides by on his bike.... Jim says "You're red, glowing, like you were in the sun too long."  I think to myself  (Is there such a thing as too long?)
    We are crawling into the ocean.  At some point we will attend a meeting with a large bass.  For now,  we play with the children.  What's good and bad about it all?  Observe: the marathon is unfinished.  People stare at the crazed daze (our crazed daze).  Strangers fill in their t-shirts with winter fat while floating by in their kayaks.  I, however, am dressed for Alaska.   The marathon is half run and I'm ready to fall over.  To fall over would be so pleasant, but I keep going.  Eventually the pain is numbed.  We know we won't win the race, but at least we have to finish it.  We catch fish, but we want to know for certain that there are bigger fish.  We hunt.  In the dark.  In strange places.  In the wind.  In the city.  In the Bay.  We hunt.  Just seeking something to pull a little line.  That feeling, the adrenalin rushing.  The excitement.  The moment. The hooks are sharp and the knots are well tied.  The rod quivers in anticipation.  Around every bend.  In every hole.   There is hope.  There is a chance, so we keep going.  We are not motivated by food or economics.  We are not motivated by fame, or competition.  We are compelled.  No one will be waiting at the finish line when we're done.  Just the park rangers waiting for the trash boat.  "Did you get anything?"  The answer is clear due to the hesitation.  " Some bumps."
Expectations are always high this time of year.  It's spring striped bass fishing.  The time of year when cows or "Moose-fish" are caught all over the New Jersey back bays.  And sometimes they are very large, so be ready.  And so we were ready.  We've been ready.

     And now a quick synopsis of three trips in one week:

We started the fishing frenzy in the Great Bay.  The yacht building company was testing some ships. Their wake really messed up our plan.  We caught some short bass on bloodworms and clams.

     Then there was the worst kayak launch ever.  Delaware river by the Commodore Barry bridge.  (We wanted to launch on the Jersey side)

vertical rock climb with kayaks

We caught some catfish.  This trip really deserves it's own story.  But I'd rather not re-live that night.  The wind picked up (a lot!)  The current was against the wind and the waves were hard to hit in the right direction.  The fishing ended abruptly.

one of several catfish, no stripers

     Then there was real fishing.  Fishing I can get behind.  Fishing in Barnegat Bay.  We stopped at the bridge to fish the light line from our kayaks.

one of many bridge fish

The fish were feeding on top.  Mostly in the 20" range, but some a bit bigger.
 We left them biting, striped bass up to 27".   That really got our blood flowing.  I was confident that if we went to Snake ditch with our eels we were likely to hook into some bigger fish.  We went to the sedges.

2014 IBSP pass

This was our first sedge trip of the year.  We were skunked.   But it was still great.  There were seals on seal island.  Skimmers.  Pipers.  Osprey.  Clams. Mussels.  Jellyfish.  I really felt at home.  The water was cold, and the tide was strong.  There were bass around, but either we couldn't find them or they weren't on the feed.

Sunrise at Seal Island

It didn't matter.  It felt good to be back at the Sedge Islands.

Floating in Barnegat Bay

Susquehana Flats Jamboree: or "Day of the Basstronauts", by Alexi

     Kayak fishermen: a species related to but a distant offshoot from kayakers and fishermen.   Every once in a while they gather in large groups up and down the east coast.   It is unclear as of yet why they do this.  Generally solitary creatures, these occasional gatherings may serve, at best, as a way of sharing information.  One such gathering was the Susquehanna Flats Jamboree hosted by Mullet Miller.



    Steve and I woke up totally pumped.  We've had pretty good success in the Mullica for the past couple of trips and we were very confident that the warmer air temperatures would get things going.   We went into this tournament expecting the weather to be horrible, as that is how it's been the past according to sources.  However, the weather was as near perfect as it gets.

     I had decided to order 100 bloodworms from Maine.  I calculated that in three full days on the Mullica we would have used close to that many.

           
     What I didn't calculate is that tournament is fishing is different.  There are time constraints.  Constraints which are bothersome enough to us that it has become a major consideration for our participation in future events.  After-all, why do we do tournaments?  we can fish wherever and whenever we want.  We can look at Google maps and pull over at the side of the road and launch our kayaks for three days almost anywhere.  So WHY?

     We had to turn around after about half an hour of driving because I had forgot my tent.  I-95 was totally blocked northbound, so we went through  the back roads of Marcus Hook.  We probably drove past hundreds of 40" plus fish in that part of the Delaware river.  But that's just how it goes.  It took us almost all day to gather our supplies with stops at Walmart and the beer store, and getting lost at the State park.

    When we pulled up to the gate as I was registering Steve recognized a fellow kayaker from the NCKFA Oak Island Tournament.  We were staying at the same hotel down there and had a good conversation about other events like Jamaica Bay.   It's always a good feeling to run into friendly familiar faces at these events.  But really, we are there to fish.  And so we dropped off some gear at the State Park campsite we had pre-registered for, and found Mullet Miller who told us several options for launching.  We went into Havre de Grace and used the boat ramp there.

     We started pretty late in the day, so we fished through sunset in rough water and were skunked.

     Back at the campsite we were pleased by the lack of neighbors.  It was thursday night after-all.
     the next morning we got a casual start.  A little distraught by getting skunked, we tried a slightly different tactic.  We went onto the flats and pitched lures around splashing fish.  Only after a while we realized that these were just carp.  Again we were skunked.

     We had to be back at the captains meeting by five.  We left off fishing long before we normally would have.  I have a saying "you haven't really fished if you weren't out for at least six hours."  this is in response to people who go toss a lure for an hour, and then report that there were no fish.  Maybe this comes from my surf-fishing background, where you really have to put in the time.   So far, after two days, we still hadn't fished for more than six hours a day.  So here it is, 5 o'clock, and I'm drinking beers.  we spent more hours drinking beer that day than we did fishing, which is very unlike us.  Normally, when we fish, unlike what most people must think, we do not consume alcohol.
     There was quite a good speech given by the Heroes on the Water representative.  He read aloud a letter written by a female vet. describing her ptsd she had from sexual abuse while in the service though she had never seen combat.  

     Back at the camp, it being friday, we now had a neighbor.  He was blasting the worst kind of poppy dance country music you can imagine out his brand new hummer.  Things were starting to get ugly.  Any good feelings were quickly dissipating.   The wood wouldn't burn.  there were no fish.  the worms were all dying.  the peace and quite of the campsite was gone.  We were ready to leave.   We were ready to leave, or go fishing.  We should have gone back out and fished even though we had each had a couple of beers,  but instead we sat and drank more beers trying to drown out the bad country.

    Totally hungover we were at the launch at 6:00 a.m.  We thought this was early.  Apparently it wasn't.

At the boat ramp there was another tournament.  A "bass" tournament.  With "bass" boats.  250 hp engines on small flats boats.  They zip around from one spot to another casting white spinnerbaits at the shore with light spinning gear in the hopes of catching a 20" Large mouth bass.

An example of a "Basstronaut" 

They ALL drive new oversized pick-up trucks.  They ALL have fast boats.  They are quite aptly called by our intrepid host Mullet-Miller, the "Basstronauts."  He warned us of them at the Captains meeting, but now, hung-over, and seeing them first hand was quite an experience.  the good news was that they were mostly fishing in different spots than us.  

Me asleep on my kayak

     We were skunked.  Towards the end of the (half) day we ran into another kayaker that said he lost his phone, but that he saw what appeared to be a 42" fish caught.  With renewed hope we trolled tube-n-worm for another hour.  Then, with renewed disenchantment and disappointment we returned to the ramp.

    Here were the old men.  The local men.  The talkers.  These guys, if you listened, and gave them some time, had quite a bit of information.  At first some might find them annoying, but we had nothing to do. We were totally beaten. And so, as we took our time packing up all of our gear with our tails between our legs, we chatted.  We learned that generally it was early.   That live herring (which of course is off limits) is the key.  But mostly, that the big  fish haven't shown up yet.   Now that I've been there for three days and familiarized myself with the area I can also find this article much more useful.   http://walleyepete.com/advice/susquehanna-flats-fishing-tutorial/   

     The results of the tournament pretty much confirm this: 119 paid participants and a hand-full of guest participants and 4 striped bass were caught.  14", 28", 34", 46".

     Will we return to the Susquehana flats later this month to try to get a trophy bass?  All I can say is, probably.......