8/31 Veatch - after the storm

**backman** · 09-01-2011 02:48 PM

After the storm

Come late August I always feel the winter closing in. Not because its imminent or close by, but because the short New England canyon season starts to come to an end. Sure the fish are there in October and November but getting there; 100 miles in the fall North Atlantic is neither easy nor comfortable Add the bi monthly hurricane to the mix and often it’s not safe or possible. Multiply by water receding and shortened days and it gets harder and harder to gear up for the 100 mile run and 16-30 hour trip.
Come late August I pore the weather sites like a bookie; looking for an angle, looking for an opportunity to make one more canyon run. Irene swept through fast and hard; the seas hit 30’ at the Nantucket Buoy on Sunday; the sound was a turbid and dangerous mess, but Wednesday was a cherry forecast; clear and 80’s with a mild north wind. Thurs was also pretty nice also. But…
There was a low just below the canyons that was pulling in north wind. If ever there was a sucker forecast; a Wed overnight was that. My bet was on an uncomfortable night and a pounding ride home Thursday if we tried an overnight. But…
Tuesday night was calm and clear almost all the way to the canyons and whatever wind would be from the north. But…
Who knows what Irene swept into the sounds and ocean; a night transit is always risky; after Irene? What would be caught up off Poge; what debris lay lurking just below Muskegat Channel? Had any containers fallen off ships in the storm to lie floating awash in the Lanes?
And….the stretch from Fishtales to Atlantis has been deader than the proverbial doornail; Veatch has been quiet and the far eastern canyons red hot. But the water is moving and we don’t have a real up to date temperature shot. Where is the water; what is possible, what is not?
Time and distance calculations; time, distance and of course risk.
When the computer stopped; when the slot machine stopped; when the dice fell they all said East of Veatch; leave at midnight Wed , back by 6 PM on Wed evening. But here is where experience and instinct played in – experience from others “if the tip of Veatch is cold I love it because…”, “Veatch always hold fish because”. Instinct said to me – “go to Veatch, work the tip for an hour and then head east to find the break 6 miles away”.
And so we did.
Off the dock at 12:15; power up and on plane at 1:30; all systems go. What no one who rides really understands is the 3 hr’s of prep work to make sure all systems are going when you want to go. A dumb thing like an Irene salt blasted masthead light needs to be addressed before; not a show stopper at the dock, or worse yet; a trip at night with an unlit boat. Or broken bilge pump. Or leaking salt water washdown system. Etc, etc.
Boat emergencies are not just one thing; it’s a combination of things. Preparation for fishing is important; preparation for a 100 mile night run is doubly important. For all my fears; the boogey man in the dark stayed away. Skipjack settled in happily at 2850 RPM and a 23 knot cruise. The worse was over in an hour; past Muskegat and the Hooter I was less concerned about the bang in the dark and started to enjoy the trip.
Fire in the water just in front of the boats wake below my helm seat; Orion low to the east, a planet – Jupiter just preceding it. The Big Dipper behind me to the north. Milky Way spilling northwest to the city glow of New York far away but still visible for most of the journey. The lights of the towers of Nantucket; the airport lights keeping us company for close to 25 miles.
The ride out was a magic carpet; the shoals were glass; the Lanes smooth and barely a swell; only in the last 10 miles did the chop start to bump; never enough to slow. While sunrise is not till almost 6 AM, 1st light, when you can see the horizon is surprisingly at 4:30. At that point, 12 miles from the canyon tip time to start to look. Water temp 66, up from a cold 63 a bit earlier. Brrr, 5 miles out, 66.5, .6, .7, 67.2, .5, 68. Hey. A break to think about; keep going, 350’, 370’, 69 degrees, 400’ and 70 degrees. 5 AM, a mile above the tip – GAME ON!
A deep breath and a silent thanks for a safe and uneventful passage and up on the tower; riggers down; bars, ballyhoo and lures going out as I worked into the canyon, watching the temperature climb. The 5 degree break that was supposed to be 6 miles east – guess what – here it is! Right here, right down the canyon wall; 74 on the east; 70 on the west side – YES!
NE wind, 10-12; 3’ chop made the troll of choice to the southwest.
“Hey Larry what do we want on the long left rigger?” came the call from Jackson below. Unbeknownst to him I had already set out the left long and short with my normal Black Bart offerings. The answer back came from below the sea; not from me. Pop; zing, bzzzzz! FISH On. Oh yeah; the lure of choice – a piece of Tuna Candy.

Wait 15 seconds and slow the boat as Kevin grabbed the rod and Brian started to clear the bar off the transom. BAM – it too exploded as another fish was on…and off. One on…and we dropped it. But we had threaded the needle; found the break and were on fish. Onwards down sea, into 71 degree water when BAM, left short, BAM, the bar again – 2 on!

One at the gaff, and onto the deck; a 2nd a minute later, 60 or 70 pound solid…”that fish is FAT” “Its no yellowfin” “what the heck?” “Baby bigeye?” High 5’s all around, spin and turn for another pass; banging up sea to the tip of the canyon, BAM, and another slow follow on bam, these 2 a bit smaller, materializing as a part of 30 pound run of the mill albacore. 4 in the box, sun barely up!
Oh yeah!
As the light rose we started to see weeds and I started to see the shape of the canyon from the flyers and go pot to pot. For the 1st time this year the pots were loaded with good mahi; the small ones 5-8 pounds, the big ones running 10-12 pounds. Finally some mahi worth the keeping.
Another pot; clip; center rigger down, nothing. “Marlin!” Bzz, tick, nothing. Whitey came calling and left us wishing this time.
Big canyon circles; tip to wall, down the middle and up the flats. Ourselves and 2 lobster boats; one a movie star the other not my friend after we had a mahi sneak in and grab the Canyon Prowler on the center rigger; drag not set right, clicker off. 1st we knew of it was the pop of the rigger when the line hit the arbor knot. Spooled of 700 yards of line and a lobster boat 400 yards away. Jackson, Brian and Kevin tag cranking trying to beat the man.
For a moment it looked like he would turn away and give us a break; then he honked the horn, veered in and bye bye Canyon Prowler, 100 yards of topshot and a bunch of braid. Thanks E.M. Appreciate the favor.
Regroup; reload minus one rod and another sweep down the wall. Mahi pack attack on every third flyer; many now in the 15 pound class; a couple approaching 20. You know you’re having a good day when you release 15 pound mahi.
Next flyer; 4 on and 1 dumping a 50. When all was settled we got the mahi and missed the mystery fish which was staying high in the water column. Hmmm?
2 more flyers and a tuna hit; working for another strike at trolling speed for 10, 15, 20 seconds, nothing so I slowed the boat and once more the motionless lure; this time Pinky got nailed. A bit of a cluster as I found myself almost upon the next flyer, veered and got Jackson wrapped with the fish around the pot warp. I ignore the other fish while we backed and turned to unwrap Jackson.

Somehow or other – we dug it out and for our labors were rewarded with another 30 pound albie who we released to go make bigger albies. The other fish was tough; dug deep and was a struggle on the leader; one armed gaff shot ala Panama Sportfishing from Kevin and THUMP, 90 pounds of tuna meat hit the deck to thump a bass beat. Fat as a sumo around the middle, no yellow; long pectoral. Not a yellow; too big for an albie; too fat for a bluefin; bigeye? Pictures all around and an autopsy in order.

Striations on the liver, but huge pectoral ; teenage bigeye albacore mutant ninja? Regardless; in the box; headless to save ice and space; an IFGA record gone bad. The tale at the dock, at the cutting board, and from pictures suggested we broken the Mass and RI records for albacore tuna at least twice and had a serious contender for the IFGA record. Which for the record is 88 pounds from the Canary Islands in 1977! We’ll never know; opportunity lost!

Anyways; with 5 tuna in the box and a couple 15 pound mahi to boot we were out of ice and out of space. Wide ranges all around with some Hawaiian magic in tight; smoke in the water but we could not raise a bite other than more mahi more than willing to impale themselves on 13” of plastic and steel.
We did have 1 wahoo come screaming out of a flyer; guided missile that somehow missed the long left on it rocket path. At noon I worked up and out of the canyon, hoping for a cold side yellow. The water edge; blue to green, 71 to 68 was punctuated by weed; an algae bloom and dirt and no fish; 2 miles later; 1 PM, long day already and we’re up on plane and headed home; the fishbox full and a gamble of a trip won.