Cutty Cows Come Calling
 

I know many of you folks have fallen in love with Cuttyhunk, here's what happened during my recent visit last weekend:

My wife Donna, my German Shepard, Sasha and I were staying at the legendary Cuttyhunk Fishing Club and we had the entire place to ourselves (thanks to Oriel Ponzecchi who purchased the club and saved it from being raised and turned into condos). We had made the pilgrimage: to premiere my new video with Lefty Kreh, to do some additional filming and diving, to celebrate my wife’s birthday, and to surf fish the world’s greatest location for striped bass.

Occasional gusts to forty knots with wind swept rain out of the east made the stay in the rustic clubhouse both spooky and romantic. When the wind would blow just right from the east, a couple of clapboards would vibrate and produce a sound, not unlike the bugling of a bull elk…the fact that the sound emanated from the stag’s head that adorned an old bureau made it particularly eerie!

It’s always a thrill staying in the same place that Grover Cleveland, William Howard Taft and Teddy Roosevelt did; the fact that they came here to fish for stripers was just bully with me.

On Saturday we met up with our good friends Ed and Wendy Hughes and their black lab Jake. The regular ferry service had been cancelled, but they managed to make the crossing on one of the islander’s fishing boats. Now there were two of us compulsive/obsessive fishermen trying to keep our wives happy, while trying to refrain from dashing out the door and spending all our time fishing. We scored a few points with the girls on Saturday as the wind continued to howl and a driving rain persisted through the night.

Sunday morning Ed grabbed his fly rod and headed for the west end of the island. I couldn’t join Ed because I had an appointment to film some of the outstanding reference material and exhibits that were on display at the Historical Society. After spending an hour and a half shooting pictures of all the huge stripers that had been caught in the past, I couldn’t take it any longer. I packed up my camera, thanked Shelly for opening up the museum for me, and then raced back to the bass club where I jumped into my waders and headed to the shore.

It was still blowing at least fifteen to twenty from the east and the air was filled with a cold, wind-whipped drizzle. I only had two images left on my digital camera’s memory chip, and with the crappy conditions, I decided to leave it at home; besides, I didn’t want to lug any more gear than I needed to.

As I headed away from the Club, I wondered if I wasn’t making a mistake by not fishing where the old “Home Stand” was located; lots of fifty-pound fish have been taken from that location. No! I would head straight to one of my favorite areas. Over the past five years I dove this shoreline many times and had an idea of where the big fish would be.

For those of you not familiar with Cuttyhunk, walking the south side of the island is a bit challenging -- it is littered with stones the way most beaches are blanketed by grains of sand. The rocks vary in size from softballs to bowling balls and they seem to always move underfoot. What makes it even more difficult is that instead of watching where you are walking your eyes keep wandering over to the water where giant boulders peer out of the surf…each one looking more like a fish magnet than the other. Half way to my favorite spot I had to stop and make some casts. The area looked fantastic! It was one of many short points that punctuate the southwestern side of the island and it featured a boulder field that was awash with the combination of a high tide and three-foot surf.

I tied on a Hab’s two and a half ounce, yellow needlefish with a red head, pearl belly, and yellow bucktail. It looked so enticing as it dangled (thanks to a non-slip loop knot) from the end of the twenty five pound test fluorocarbon leader (yeah, I know I should have been using forty, but I thought Ed was bringing a full selections of leader material – moral of the story, bring what you need) that acted as a shock leader connected via a modified Albright (Crazy Alberto knot) to my full spool of fifty pound test PowerPro line. I tried to get a solid footing on the pile of stones that made up that stretch of slanted shoreline, and then, with a snap of the eleven foot Ron Arra, XSRA 1322-2 graphite rod, the needlefish landed to the right side of a reef. I s-l-o-w-l-y cranked the handle on the spinning reel and watched as the needlefish surfed down the face of a well-sculpted wave. Before the next wave caught up to the lure, a striper leaped out of the water and pounced on the plug. It put up a nice tussle but was quickly subdued…a beautiful linesider somewhere around twenty-five pounds. I tossed it back into the foam and quickly shot off another cast.

As I steadily retrieved the lure across the surface I couldn’t help but wonder if I was doomed – generally, when I catch a fish on the first cast, it’s not a good omen, it’s usually quite the opposite. Sure enough, on my next cast the line parts at a wind knot and the lure goes off into Vineyard Sound. I knew it, I knew it, it would be all downhill from here! Damn that fish for hitting my first cast!

I turned to my plug bag and yanked out a very special offering. Mike Fixter, a California based, custom plug maker had sent me an oversized “Pikie” in the same color combo of yellow and red. I tied it on with a non-slip loop knot that would insure that this giant swimmer would swing and sway with every shake of its head. This heavyweight lure, with a metal lip, would offer enough resistance to prevent the dreaded wind knots that sometimes occur when you reel in a lure slowly and the line doesn’t go on the reel under tension.

I heaved the bulky white cedar offering into the suds and slowly cranked the handle of my Van Staal 250. The metal lip dug in and the fanny of the plug waggled back a forth like a Hula dancer in slow motion. I walked down the beach and from the center of the small cove I tossed the lure over a mind field of submerged boulders. As each wave receded, you could see the water boil over the tops of these massive stones. The drizzle was unrelenting and the overcast was so thick it was like perpetual dusk. The waves continued to roll in and crash against the last stand of big boulders that lined the very edge of the shoreline; the spray was shooting up 10 feet into the air and was hitting me smack in the face…I was in bass fishing heaven! You couldn’t ask for better conditions.

I made a long cast just to the left of rock that stuck out of the water like a rounded pyramid; the lure swam down the face of a wave and then disappeared in the wash. The lure reappeared for a few seconds and then disappeared in an explosion of white water. I dropped the tip of the rod slightly, keeping the line tight by reeling like a mad man, and then I leaned back against the weight of the fish. I was firmly attached to a cow that continued to thrash the water in a violent display of power and determination…I could clearly hear the ruckus, even amidst the sound of crashing waves! I just stood there in amazement as the fish continued slapping its broom-like tail against the water, beating it into froth. The show seemed to go on forever, until finally the fish managed to get its head down. Now that massive tail was driving the fish into deeper water, and fortunately for me, it was making a beeline away from the rocks. The Van Staal’s drag worked flawlessly and the only sound louder than the drag’s clicker was the sound of my beating heart. After that first short run of about 40 yards, the fish turned to the west and ran my line up against one of the big boulders. I could feel the line rubbing against the stone as the stretchless braid telegraphed a sickening “zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz” vibration right down the graphite rod. Now, I’m very aware of just how hard my heart is beating and I’m determined to turn the fish. I kept a low rod angle and was trying desperately to minimize the chaffing against the rock. It was no use and I couldn’t turn the fish. To my right stood an eight-foot high stone, a third of it was underwater and the side facing me had a number of ridges and convenient crevices. I scrambled up the rock and with the added elevation I managed to keep the fish near the surface and finally turned it. As it doubled back I reeled furiously and prayed that line was only on one side of a rock and not buried between two boulders. When the fish ran past the rock the line sprang free and now the fish was starting to tire. I slid off the rock and started to pump the big fish in. Using the wave action to my advantage, I coaxed the fish through a narrow corridor of clear water and ran the gauntlet of stones that lined each side. Finally the big fish slid up onto a bed of smooth rocks and I quickly grabbed her by the lip and behind the gill plate. I struggled to hoist her up, and was able to clearly see that she stretched up to just beneath my shoulder, and her tail wasn’t all the way off the ground; she was anywhere from 57” to 59” inches long and she was had a full, thick body. Her head was enormous; you could fit your head in it! One set of trebles was firmly planted in the bottom of her jaw and the second set was hooked in the side of her mouth. I backed the hooks out, hefted her up again and carried her back to the surf; as a wave washed in she lunged forward and disappeared into the wash. I had finally caught a striper well over 50 pounds, and had the great pleasure of watching her swim away. I was ecstatic…but I wasn’t through fishing.

I continued to work that same area in the hope that another cow would come calling, but no one was home. I walked down the beach a little further and resumed casting. I put a little extra effort behind my next toss and SNAP went the shock leader. It had broken off an inch below the knot…it must have gotten nicked during the battle. The lure swam down a couple of waves and then stopped abruptly. The 18 feet of leader must have gotten wedged between the rocks and there it sat, taunting me. I immediately tied on a three and a half ounce Gibb’s pencil popper. I went direct from the PowerPro to the lure without any leader and then tried to snag that historic lure. Between the gusting wind and the crashing waves I just couldn’t hit my target. I danced the white pencil across the water on each failed attempt at retrieving the Pikie. No fish! No lure!

Continued....

Continued...

While working the plug I noticed that the line seldom, if ever, came in contact with the water, and being that the water was so murky I decided to forgo the leader. However, I didn’t have the confidence in that white pencil so I tied on a two-ounce Hab’s popper in school bus yellow with a red head. I tried a couple of more times to snag the Pikie, but before I could reach it a striper nailed it. It took a little line from time to time, but it was soon on the beach – another fine specimen in the mid twenty pound range.

I walked another 50 yards down the beach and decided to work the shoulder of yet another rocky promontory. I was slowly chugging the popper along the surface and watching as the deep-cupped plug threw up quite a splash. As I pondered whether or not this was an effective way to fish, another striper sucked down the lure and started thrashing like crazy. Unlike the first cow, this fish only spent a few seconds on the surface and then it turned on the afterburners and headed straight for Gay Head! The rod was bent over in protest, the drag was screaming, but the fish just kept on going…and going…and going. It was a pretty dramatic display of speed and power. Now I had to worry about even more rocks between the fish and me. I kept the pressure on and tried to keep the fish near the surface. Each time a wave crested, I made sure that linesider was shooting the curl and heading for the beach. A couple of waves later and she was beached. Another great fish! Only, where was the plug?

I open her mouth and there was the popper all the way down her throat. Two of the hooks on the treble were in the roof of her throat and the single wide gapped siwash was lodged in her gut. By the time I backed out all the hooks, she was done for. I tried reviving her but to no avail. I would have performed CPR if I thought it would have worked – anything to avoid from having to drag that fish over three quarters of a mile on all that unstable rock.

I was running out of time and needed to start working my way back to the club. When I reached the area where the Pikie was, I had to try a few more casts in an attempt to retrieve it. Sure enough, a few casts later and I was hooked up again. I landed yet another fish in the mid twenties and by now my time had run out. I made the long trek back with the fish and found Ed and Wendy waiting for me. I asked Ed how he had made out on the fly and wondered where he had fished. He explained how he followed the path and missed the turn off. He found himself at the mouth of the tidal pond where he caught a fish on almost every cast, and they were all respectable fish, nothing under twenty eight inches. As Ed was admiring my fish, I told him about the one I released and described how it was almost one and a half times the size of the striper in front of him.

I asked Ed to take a few shots of my “smaller” bass in front of the Cuttyhunk Fishing Club. It was a day I’ll never forget as long as I live. And not just because of the big fish, but because of the entire experience: a morning spent looking at many of the record fish taken over the years; reading the accounts of past anglers who fished there over four generations ago; putting on waders where Teddy Roosevelt smoked cigars and talked of fishing; catching the right tide and the perfect yet gnarly conditions; watching big fish inhale surface plugs; having my picture taken with a respectable fish in front of the Club…just as it was done in 1864; finally, having the privilege of showing my latest video to the entire island at Winter House.

Sometimes real life can exceed your wildest dreams!

Here are a few pictures of the historic club, my "little cow" and some of the great shoreline.

http://fisheye.striped-bass.com/imag.../CUTTYCLUB.jpg

http://fisheye.striped-bass.com/images/october/40.jpg

http://fisheye.striped-bass.com/imag.../cuttybass.jpg

That is awesome!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah that's a nice fish...wow.

Simply AWESOME!

So now you going to tell them the plan for next weekend? :D :D :D :D :D :D :happy:

Thanks for sharing that story. That was awesome.

Tattoo,

You know I have to go back and retrieve that plug.

Besides, I still have the Hab's popper as shown here:

http://fisheye.striped-bass.com/imag...r/basswide.jpg


And then there's all this shoreline that cries out, "Fish Here! No, Here!"

http://fisheye.striped-bass.com/imag...ober/cove6.jpg

And it keeps on going, and going, and going...
http://fisheye.striped-bass.com/imag.../hotrocks6.jpg

When these quality fish represent the smallest fish taken, yeah, I want to go back.

http://fisheye.striped-bass.com/imag...macrobass6.jpg

Awesome.

Great story and beautiful pics as usual Mike! Congratulations!!

Krispy

Very Nice Mike. Looks like a good place for a wet suit.

great stuff as always!! Outstanding pictures...

Cuttyhunk is just one of those magical places where great fishing memories are made. There are few others like it. You know the place is serious about bass when the church has a striped bass weathervane atop.

BTW Great fish and great story.... I am surprised you did not adorn your scuba gear and retrive some of those plugs.
;)
Whats more amazing...this was the "daytime action"!

Mr. Sandman,

I know you had a fantastic trip there last year, about this time. I followed your trip a week later and under the full moon couldn't get a fish to bite, then it blew a gale for four days and most of the island was unfishable -- and that takes some doing!

I do need to go back and fetch my lure. I have the feeling that if I cast it a few yards to either side of where it rests right now and pull on the string, I just might get another cow to hang off it.

Mike

Felt like I was there too.
 

Only someone who experienced that day first hand could have written about it as you did Mike. Not only was the fishing great, so goes the story also.

Mike that is an awsome fish. I can only imagine how big the other one was. I particularily love the way you have with the words of the story. You kept me interested. I misss that island and can't wait to get back there next year. Congrats Mike.

GREG:smash: :smash: :smash: ...Nice fish there Mike and the story was'nt bad either;) ....gotta luv life on a day like that:D

NOT FAIR!!!:crying:

...When you can see like a fish...its just not fair!!! :D

Congratulations Mike on your big Bass. Great story and pics too. You hiring?:p

Great fish and story Mike. I told you guys the south side was great for somthing other than sprained ankels:laughs: :laughs: I hope to be out on Sunday to do a little fishing and get the work done on the heater at the house before the cold weather sets in. Sat. looks like gail winds so thats out. Who wants to sign up for a June trip next spring???? Winter is such a long season:mad: :mad:

Count me in Greg. "Congrats on your Cutty Cows" Days like that have only happened in my dreams........so far!!. That shoreline is really something, I'm lookin forward to doing laps around the island. :laugha: Beautiful pics. Thanks.

OOohhhh, twist my arm :o I'm in.:D :cool: :happy:

Outstanding story! Outstanding fish!
Congratulations on the quality trip. Some trips are special.

Forget that first cast stuff. I think some jealous little weasel thought it up to spook guys who are catching fish.

I LOVE catching a fish the first cast! Since stripers hang in packs, you will usually also get one on the second cast, and the third, and the fourth...

TH

Sweet :btu:

Congrats on your big day Mike. Hope you have another like it soon.

Great story telling. All the details a real striper fisherman would want in a story! :)

great fish and a great story------ best of all ///////////

Yo Greg ---WE are grandfathered//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

:smash: :smash: :smash: :smash: :smash: :happy: :happy: :happy: :happy: :happy: :laughs: :laughs:

After reading that story again...are you sure your not related to Frank Woolner?:D He is one of my favorite sports writers and your short story displayed a lot of his writing style.

Congrats Mike I tip my hat to you...
 

If that was your "small" fish I would have loved to see the trophy you let go. That was a nice read and a great story. You had a day you will never forget, that's what it's all about. Anybody who can land a monster like you did on that day, has my complete respect. Oh by the way your videos are awesome as well. I envy you seeing as I have never seen a 50 on the end of my line as of yet. Did your back recover yet from walking on those God forsaken bowling balls yet? :D
Regards,
JohnS

How did you get to the place where you caught those fish??!! Whereabouts is it??!!Did you catch those fish from shore or boat??!! Please tell me!:eek: :eek: :confused: :confused: :D

Great story Mike, and nice catch.Congrats on your cow.

BTW, I doubt that the pikie will still be there, some cow bass will see the irresistable undulations from it wagging in the waves and that plug will be toast:smash: