My 5 Most Memorable Surfcasting Trips of 2013

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2013 was quite the year, wouldn’t you agree? I know that I had a lot of fun this past season…to say the

absolute least!

I was lucky to enjoy some great weather, in some beautiful spots with some good fishing. I was also able to

meet many of you, and even fish with some of you. To sum it all up, I got out there and got home safely, which

is all I can really ask for.

The following pages contain photos and stories about 5 of my most memorable surf casting trips. I put this

eBook together for you, because I think it will help get you through the winter.

I mean who can’t benefit from a nice sunrise photo, bass blitz video or fish story during the middle of

February? I know it sure helps me!

Thanks for checking out this eBook and definitely let me know what you think.

Ryan

myFishingCapeCod.com

Clickable Table Of Contents

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#5 - Surfcasting Cape Cod Bay | June 10

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Mornings like today make up for all those rainy, cold and windy trips with no fish. After spending countless

days on the beach and on the water, I finally understand how important it is to cherish days like today,

because they don’t happen often.

This morning’s trip began under crystal clear skies just before sunrise. There was not a hint of wind and the

only noise I could hear were the squawks and cries of terns and gulls.

The entire beach was filled with pinks, purples, oranges and reds, as I began my long walk east.

I could see crabs and sand eels moving about as I traversed through the water. Soon these animals would be

trapped by the receding tide, but for now they seemed content zipping around in just inches of H2O.

I walked through knee deep water at a brisk pace, knowing that my chances for a big bass would diminish

once the heat of the morning settled in.

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Yet I could not help myself from pausing momentarily as the sun peeked its head over the horizon. The flat

calm conditions refracted the sunlight perfectly all around me.

From my vantage point I could see the entirety of Cape Cod, and I watched as the sunlight hit the windows of

the waterfront homes. I wondered how many of the homeowners were awake, enjoying the sunrise with their

cup of coffee and newspaper.

But there were fish to be caught and time was of the essence. The spot I wanted to fish was still a mile away,

so without further ado I got right back to walking.

With no wind whatsoever I could really feel the heat of the sun, despite it being early morning.

Walking great distances in neoprene is not much fun, so I decided to ditch the waders and make the rest of

the trek in my gym shorts.

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Before I knew it I was at the spot. The tide was moving out and the current was bending around a small point

that beckoned to be fished. The place looked extremely fishy.

I began casting my offering into what I thought could very well be a “bass highway.”

Off in the distance a bass swirled on the surface. To my left another striper slapped its tail in pursuit of prey. A

school of sand eels passed by my feet in the swift current-this place was hopping with life.

I sent my first cast out as far as I could and allowed the jig to touch bottom. My second and third cast followed

suit, all without evoking any strikes from resident fish.

But on my fourth cast I felt a bump, set the hook and was on with the first striped bass of the outing.

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Right off the bat I knew this was a good fish. I could feel good weight on the line as the bass dug for the

bottom, and then shot off, stripping yards of line from my reel.

Then without warning the hook popped and the line went limp. I could not believe it! The bass was gone

almost as quickly as he came.

But as I reeled my lure in, I noticed two fish following the bait. I stopped my retrieve for an instant, and one of

the bass lurched forward, engulfing the lure. I was on again!

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It was a healthy fish but clearly not as large as the one I had just lost (obviously LOL). I was happy to have

caught a bass, yet I knew for sure that there were bigger fish in the area.

I continued casting around and caught a couple more bass in the 26 – 29 inch range. I was having a blast, but

still having trouble shaking the fact that I had dropped a big fish.

Suddenly I felt something pinching at my toes. Acting out of instinct I kicked whatever it was out of the way. I

looked down and in the sand was a medium size crab, obviously quite perturbed that I was invading his

territory.

I watched the crab borough down into the sand in an effort to conceal himself. I was about to make another

cast, when it suddenly dawned on me to use the crab for bait.

As quickly as I could, I got down on my knees and began digging for the crab. I could feel him pinching my

fingertips as I tried pulling him out of his borough. Finally, his right claw latched down on my index finger and I

yanked him from the sand. Success!

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I felt like the crab was a gift from God. With live bait on the end of my line I knew my chances of a big fish

were very good. Yet part of mind wondered if the stripers were honed in on the small sand eels that were

scurrying around my feet.

Only time would tell. I lobbed the crab out into the “bass highway” and allowed him to walk along the bottom.

I remained focused on the line, keeping the braid between my fingertips so I could feel any bump or bite.

A few fly fishermen watched on, probably wondering what the heck this guy in his gym shorts was doing with

a crab on the end of his line.

Suddenly the line moved. My fingers felt a slight change of tension. Something was clearly happening to the

crab.

I felt another bump and then another. The line began moving against the current, indicating a possible pickup

from a bass.

An instant later the line shot off through my fingers. The fish took off to my right, headstrong into the

dropping tide.

I dropped my rod tip, flipped the bail, and set the hook on a slob of a fish.

The bass pulled hard in the shallow water. The drag on my reel was singing pretty good as the fish dug into the

current. I was in a state of disbelief, shocked by the good luck that crab had given me.

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I decided to take my time with the fish, and loosen the drag a bit. There weren’t any sharp rocks in the area, so

I knew the odds of the bass snapping me off on debris were low.

My heart skipped a beat upon first glance of the fish.

A few yards in front of me the fish decided to roll on his side, and I held my breath…

Luckily the hook held, and I was able to ease him into shallow water.

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Man it is nice when things work out well!

Even though I could use some fresh bass fillets in my life, I decided to let this guy swim free.

Before swimming off into the depths the fish paused for a moment, as if smiling for the camera.

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Then he turned, and disappeared into the greenish-blue water.

When I was younger, I would have stayed and tried to catch another. Now I am most happy catching one or

two decent fish, and leaving the rest alone.

I packed up my gear and began the long trek back to my vehicle.

#4 – Big Bass At The Big Ditch | May 24

Torrential rain and heavy wind is a good way of describing conditions this morning at the Cape Cod Canal. I almost felt

foolish as I sat there on the rocks, getting pelted in the face by wind whipped H20.

Nevertheless I felt like my chances at connecting with a decent bass were pretty good. I knew there was a large biomass

of fish somewhere in Buzzards Bay, just waiting to push through. Would today be the day they decided to make their

move? Only time would tell.

By 5AM the fishing had gotten off to a slow start, and I was beginning to feel a little soggy, despite the rain gear.

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3:30AM wake ups were beginning to catch up to me. I could not help but envision going to back to sleep in my warm

bed. I had a few hours before I would officially “start my day.” The question was how I wanted to spend the time –

fishing or sleeping?

The answer was obvious. I was down here so I might as well make the most of it. With a quick change of attitude I

decided to get my butt off my rock and continue casting.

I feel like you always have a good chance at the Canal, even when conditions aren’t ideal, and the fish are not showing

on the surface. At any moment and on any cast a big bass could appear out of nowhere and inhale your bait or plug.

The 45 pound bass that sucked down my plug last season at the Canal, bit completely out the blue and without warning.

The fish came out of nowhere, on a day when no one was catching anything.

Sometimes just the thought of a fish like that is enough to get a weary angler off a rock, and back into casting mode. For

me this always seems to be the case.

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By now the sky had brightened and I could easily see up and down the length of the Canal. With the exception of a few

guys here and there the Canal was, for the most part, devoid of other anglers. Having space to myself is the main benefit

of fishing in horrendous conditions. As I looked up and down the rip-rap, I got to thinking that the rain and wind was not

that bad after all.

By 5:30AM the wind was still howling but the rain had subsided. There were still no signs of life in the form of bass

busting, birds diving or bait spraying. Yet I just kept on casting, hoping that a good size fish would appear out of

nowhere, and crush my pencil popper.

Around 5:45AM I took advantage of a short lull in the breeze, wound up, and fired what had to be my best cast of the

day far off into the Canal. The plug landed with a solid thud and was immediately pushed towards the east by the strong

flood tide. I started dancing the plug back and forth with light twitches of the rod, eagerly awaiting and silently praying

for something to happen.

The wind quickly picked back up, further accelerating the plug’s eastward movement down the Canal. I was still

twitching my rod tip, but really just allowing the plug to move along on its own, pushed by the current and wind. As the

plug passed directly in front of me, 200 feet out, a large swirl appeared just behind the pencil.

“Eat it!” I recall yelling out into the wind. Just then the bass lunged forward and smashed the pencil, sending whitewater

into the air and creating a SMACK! that I swear echoed off the bridge abutments.

For a second I felt weight on the rod but I resisted setting the hook, for fear of pulling the plug away from the bass,

before the fish really had a good hold of the lure. I let the plug float for one more moment, gave one more twitch of the

rod, and watched as the bass turned and sucked down the pencil off the surface.

I could now feel the full weight of the bass on the line. I reeled up tight and set the hook into what I knew was a good

fish. Feeling the sting the big striper took off, stripping line from my reel as he headed east with the current.

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I could immediately tell that this was a good fish. With each pump of his tail he pulled more line from my reel, against a

drag that was set relatively tight.

With a strong current at his back, I had no choice but to chase down this fish before he snapped me off on a jagged rock

or sharp barnacle.

I headed down current as quickly as I could.

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Even as I chased him down the bass continued pulling line.

I eventually reached the end of the sand bar I was walking down, so I had to exit the water and start walking on the rip-

rap.

Moving along the rip-rap with a fish on the line is always a challenge.

Slipping on the slick rocks and falling on your face is always a possibility. As soon as I could I got back into the water and

onto the sandbar-which provided more reliable footing.

I was coming up to another rocky outcropping which would be an ideal place to land the fish.

I could tell the bass was tiring and I knew I had him beat.

My only chance of losing the bass would come if the hooks were not firmly embedded in his jaw. If the hooks were

loosely set, the bass could roll on his side and pop off.

To watch the final moments on YouTube, click on the video below:

17 The bass still had some good fight in him, right up until I reached down and grabbed him. He was a spunky guy and I

have to say that he had me thinking I had hooked a 30 pound bass – when in reality this fish was in the low 20 pound

range.

I was happy. The fish hit like a freight train and pulled like a 30 pounder. What had been a slow morning had suddenly

and quickly changed into a very exciting and productive trip.

There were still no visible signs of life in the area, but after catching this bass I had renewed confidence. Apparently

there were some nice fish around, maybe they were holding just beneath the Canal’s surface.

I set up shop and returned to casting, and on my 3rd cast another 20 pound class fish erupted on my pencil popper. This

time the bass hammered the plug and got the hooks on the first try. My rod doubled down and line once again began

peeling from the reel. This time I opted to stand my ground and fight the fish, instead of chasing him down.

This bass fought nearly as well as the first fish.

18 With the current at their back, Canal bass always fight extremely well. If you have ever hooked up with a 40 plus pound

bass when the current is ripping, you definitely know what I mean.

Nothing strange or out of the ordinary occurred during this fight. After some nice runs and head shakes, I had the fish to

shore. It was another healthy and bright low 20 pound class bass. I was not complaining one bit.

#3 – Big Time Bass Blitz | June 25

After sleeping like a rock through what was apparently some of the most intense lightning storms Cape Cod

has experienced in quite some time, I popped right out of bed at the leisurely hour of 1:30AM. It is amazing

how easy it is to wake up, when you are excited about what you are waking up for.

I stumbled my way down stairs to throw together a makeshift breakfast for the trip. Some leftover turkey tips,

wheat thins and raisins were not gourmet, but it would come in clutch during the 4 mile round trip hike I had

lying ahead of me.

By 2AM my gear was packed and I was ready to cruise. I picked up my buddy Andrew who had arrived from

Boston 45 minutes prior, still devastated from the Bruins Stanley Cup loss. Andrew was working on zero sleep,

but didn’t care much, because of the potential for big fish that this particular trip presented.

We made a quick pit stop at Dunkin’ Donuts for an iced coffee and a lucky blueberry muffin, before settling in

for the drive down Route 6.

My idea was to fish a beach I believed presented us with a good opportunity for finding some life. We would

do it the old fashioned way, which in my book is walking and casting for as long as it takes to stumble across

some fish.

We arrived in darkness, greeted only by a few gulls. There was not another car, truck or angler in sight. We

had miles upon miles of desolate beachfront all to ourselves. 19

A light southwest wind whipped over and through the dunes. The moonlight over my shoulder scattered into

the ocean and illuminated the small whitecaps lapping against the shore. The place felt fishy.

The morning had a good chill to it, despite Massachusetts being in the midst of the summer’s first heat wave.

It’s always cooler on the coast-especially on Cape Cod. Nevertheless I had decided to ditch the waders and go

with the bathing suit, for the first time this season.

Nothing happened for the first quarter of a mile. In surf casting patience is extremely valuable – more so than

any expensive piece of equipment. There were no immediate signs of life, but we continued to walk and cast,

knowing things could change at any moment.

A half of a mile later I felt something odd on the end of my line. I knew it was not a bass and it felt different

than weed. Once I had the lure in my hand I noticed what had happened. My lure had snagged a juvenile sea

herring, which could only of meant that there was a dense school of bait fish somewhere out in front of me.

I cast again and ended up with another sea herring. I walked over to Andrew and informed him that the bait

was here. The only missing ingredients were the bass.

Another hundred or so yards to the west and my bait theory was confirmed. There were baby sea herring

scattered all over the sand. The small fish had beached themselves, most likely in an effort to escape some

sort of predator.

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By now it was bright enough to see the plug at the end of a cast-and the waves of sea herring in the shallows.

They were everywhere. Dark patches moved east and west along the beach in just a couple feet of water. We

were surrounded by bait.

I had a feeling that things could burst wide open at any moment. Yet we still had not seen any signs of bass or

blues. What was it that forced these baitfish up onto the beach?

I hoped we would find out soon.

In the mean time we continued to walk and cast, walk and cast, and walk and cast some more.

All the while we kept our eyes peeled on the water, hoping to find some birds or see some splashes. Suddenly

out of the corner of my eye I spotted a massive splash that I actually heard before seeing. I turned and

instinctively threw a cast towards the commotion.

Yet I soon realized it was not a bass in the shallows, but a large adult seal. Soon we were surrounded by the

curious creatures.

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I tried to look on the bright side. Perhaps the seals were here because of the plentiful bait supply, and the bass

were not far behind?

We continued to walk, hoping to find an area that was seal-free.

Up ahead was a bend in the sand that blocked our view of the other side. Andrew and I agreed that we would

check out the area around the corner, before retreating back to where we had spotted the mass of juvenile

sea herring.

I hoped it was the right decision, because I always hesitate when leaving an area filled with life.

As we rounded the corner I spotted a disturbance on the ocean’s surface roughly 500 yards from shore. There

was a flock of birds heading straight towards the disturbance. It had to be, at the very least, a very large bait

ball.

We picked up the pace to get a closer look when all hell broke loose. The birds began diving and fish erupted

from below. Whitewater shot off in every direction as fish tore through the bait ball.

We had come upon an all-out blitz!

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Problem was that the boil was well out of casting range.

Andrew and I stood there, anxiously hoping that the fish would push the bait closer to shore.

The giant feed continued to gain momentum.

My heart rate began to increase once I realized that the boil was indeed slowly but surely, moving in closer to

the beach.

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We both took a cast, but our offerings still fell short of the maelstrom. The fish were concentrated in a tight

pack, smack dab in the center of the giant bait ball. We stood there waiting and praying that the fish would

continue to push into shore.

Miraculously the mass of marine life continued heading in our direction. At this moment we both realized

what was about to occur. The fish were forcing the bait into the shallows. They were going to pin the bait

against the beach.

I could now see stripes slashing and thrashing through the water. Andrew and I were about to be in the middle

of an all-out striped bass blitz.

The bass charged the shoreline and overwhelmed the shallows. I was standing in less than a foot of water and

there were big bass BEHIND me.

As hard as it was for me to do this, I put down my rod and picked up my video camera.

I knew I had to capture the scene so I could share it with you here on the blog.

The fish in the school ranged in size from 30 all the way up to 40 plus inches. I had a couple 40 plus inch fish

swim right by my feet.

Finally I could not take it anymore so I stuck the camera in the sand and took a cast.

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On my second attempt I hooked up with a solid bass.

The fish ate my lure towards the end of the retrieve, maybe 25 feet in front of me. I watched him follow the

lure, lunge forward and then suck it down.

Watching this all unfold in just a couple feet of water was amazing.

There is something special about catching a good striper with your feet firmly planted in the sand.

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By the time I released the bass the school had moved out of the shallows and down the beach. Of course this

meant one thing – sprint to the fish!

The last time Andrew and I have run this fast was probably in high school. It reminded me of how I used to

chase stripers up and down the beaches of Cape Cod Bay as a kid. It felt good to get an early morning run in,

especially considering there was a mass of big bass just a few hundred yards away.

This time the main body of fish was holding just slightly offshore, but still within casting range – granted we

got a bit wet. I headed straight in, as did Andrew.

Andrew was tossing a big pencil popper, which I watched him walk across the surface before it was absolutely

crushed by a big fish.

I reeled my lure in and made my way back to shore so I could grab my camera. Again it hurt to leave the fish,

but I’d rather get the photo!

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This ended up being the largest bass of Andrew’s 1.5 yearlong striped bass fishing career. I would estimate

that it was around 25 pounds, which is a fine fish in the suds.

Once Andrew released the fish we were back at it, running back down the beach to catch up with the birds

and bass.

I was first on the scene and ready to bomb another long cast into the boil. Only problem was a boat had

moved between us and the bass. They were on the inshore side of the blitz, which proved very inconvenient

for us.

The guys in the boat quickly doubled up on nice bass, blocking us from the action at the same time. I could

have easily reached the boil, but I would have been forced to cast directly above their boat or just off to the

side. Had I cast off to the side, I would have risked fouling my crippled herring with their hooked fish.

I chose to wait for them to land their fish. By the time I had a clean alley to cast, the bass had moved another

25 yards away from shore, and were officially out of casting range. I was bummed.

Perhaps they did not realize what they had done. I am sure they did not mean to prevent me from getting at

the fish. Excitement got in the way of surfcaster courtesy. I’ll let it slide just this one time – LOL.

Either way that would be my last chance of the morning. I watched as the fish moved offshore, well out of

casting range. I suppose we should have brought the kayaks!

All in all it was about 15 minutes of pure pandemonium. It’s been a while since I experienced a good surface

feed in shallow like this. It felt awesome to have been a part of it.

Waking up at 1:30AM was definitely worth it.

As I walked back I looked out over the dunes of Cape Cod.

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These beaches have been home to countless blitzes over the years.

I considered myself to be pretty lucky, to have just been witness to one such feeding frenzy.

To watch this trip on YouTube, click the video below:

#2 Cuttyhunk Island Day 2 | October 21

After spending Day 1 at Cuttyhunk scouting and exploring the island, I was pretty eager to actually do some

fishing on Day 2. On Day 1 the wind was blowing from the west at 20 mph which made fishing Cuttyhunk’s

western-facing shoreline very challenging. The mung and sea weed that was blown into shore by the breeze

only made things more difficult.

I checked the marine forecast before falling asleep and incredibly the weathermen were calling for winds of

around 5 mph through the night and into Day 2. However this late in the season you never know what the

wind and weather are going to do.

Fortunately for me the weathermen were spot on. I woke up a few times throughout the night and noticed the

leaves standing still on the trees outside my window. It was going to be a nice morning.

I woke up to dead calm conditions and a brightening sky over the Elizabeth Islands. I think I’d be hard pressed

to find a better scene to wake up to.

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A piece of toast and a banana later and I was ready to go. I took the sea shell path through the Pete’s Place

cottages down towards the main road.

There was a soft swell rolling in from Vineyard Sound. The entire Sound was calm and tranquil-a big change

from the day before.

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I took my first cast of the morning next to the first huge boulders I encountered.

I did not have any takes on that first cast and I also did not snag any mung or sea weed.

The water was clean, which was great news.

On my third cast into the boulders I noticed a swirl behind the Sebile.

It had been a bass, basically just checking out my lure.

There was life in the area and bass among the boulders.

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I then decided to get a little closer to the action by getting my feet wet in the wash between a few rocks, as I

have countless times before.

Yet this time, as I whipped a cast into Vineyard Sound, I felt my Go Pro camera topple from my back pack, and

hit the rocky beach with a loud crack!

An instant later a swell from the Sound rolled in and onto the beach. The rush of water inundated my Go Pro

before I could reach down and save it from the wave. Within a second the Go Pro, and all the photos and

videos stored on the SD card were gone.

I was bummed, but what can you do? I received a solid 2 years of work from that little camera and I feel as if I

got my money’s worth.

At least I still had my iPhone, which would have to suffice for now.

At some point during the loss of the Go Pro, my lure’s two sets of treble hooks had become embedded in the

mesh netting of my back pack. Without really giving it much thought I took my pliers and yanked the hooks

free from the mesh-and directly into my finger.

I stood there for a few moments and just stared at the treble hook in my finger, and the lure hanging from it.

Fortunately the barb of the hook was not fully embedded in my flesh.

A swift and quick yank was all that was needed to remove it.

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I got back to casting soon after bandaging myself up, and luckily for me the fish were still around.

However I was having trouble hooking them. Bass would come up and crush the Sebile but I could not get a

hook into them. Then a few casts later another fish would swirl on the lure without biting.

Was I doing something wrong? Was this going to be a day full of karma?

To watch on YouTube, click the below video:

I marched onward to some of the spots I had explored the previous day, hoping that my luck with the fish

would change.

I had fished just about every nook and cranny along the southern edge of Cuttyhunk. So far I was 0-5 on fish.

Even though I had not hooked a bass, broke my camera and put a hook in my finger I was still having a lot fun.

There was just no telling when a fish was going to bite. It seemed as if every big boulder could have a fish

behind it.

And there are certainly plenty of big boulders to fish along this stretch of beach.

I spent some extra time casting around the boulders in front of place locals call “The Pyramids”. The spot

looked so darn fishy I just had to give it a little extra effort.

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There were fish here and they were in greater concentrations than anywhere else along the coast that I had

fished. 10 minutes later and I was 0-11 on bites. How in the world could I be missing so many fish!

I changed to a pencil popper to see if that would help my luck. On my next cast into the rocks a striper surged

to the surface and whacked the popper. This time the hooks stuck and I was on.

Just about every cast, or every other cast for the next hour and half produced a hit.

All of the fish were small, but it was by far the best striper action I have had in quite some time.

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The best action was centered along a stretch of coast which featured a pretty swift current that swept right

through an impressive boulder field.My technique was pretty simple. Just find a nice rock to cast from, launch

the pencil popper up-current, retrieve and wait for a fish to bite.

The bites came like clockwork, on nearly every cast.

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All of the fish were between 18 and 26 inches. Small fish have not been all that abundant on Cape Cod in

recent years, so it was a nice change of pace to see so many little guys.

Of course if there are small fish here now, I would see no reason why big bass would not be present at other

times. I think this is a stretch of coast definitely worth focusing on in the years to come.

Throughout the morning there were dense schools of fish blitzing on the surface just out of casting distance.

If you look closely in the photo below you will see the “boil” caused by the feeding fish.

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They were moving quickly. The boils would appear in one spot for a few minutes, disappear, and then re-

surface a couple hundred yards down the coast.

They could be albies I thought. Either way they continued blitzing for virtually the entire morning.

The tide and the action finally cooled off around 11 AM, when I decided to call it a day and start my hike back.

I cast a bit as I walked but failed to entice any more bites. This was probably a good thing because I definitely

did not want to be late for the 3PM ferry ride back to New Bedford.

All in all I was very pleased with my trip to Cuttyhunk Island and I cannot wait to get back here again in the

spring.

The island is just a nice place to be…

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To watch a recap of this trip on YouTube, click the video below:

#1 – Bass On The Rocks | September 11

According to geologists, Cape Cod’s beaches were formed some 15,000 to 20,000 years ago, when glaciers

receded. I thought about this the other night as I walked past rocks and boulders deposited by the icy glaciers.

How many huge stripers have fed among these rocks over the years?

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The enduring anticipation of the next bite is what keeps me walking, and crawling, around these boulders.

Over the course of two nights I had fished for 15 hours without a keeper size bass, so I felt as if luck ought

to kick in sometime soon.

There were no signs of life, aside from the slight stench of a skunk in the air. I continued walking in an effort to

locate fish, as well as to avoid a confrontation with Cape Cod’s stinkiest mammal.

The last of the lights of the waterfront homes extinguished around midnight. I turned around just in time to

catch it go out. I then realized just how dark of a night it was.

So far my hunt for stripers was proving to be rather uneventful. Dirty, mung filled water was making life

difficult. With each cast my bait returned fouled up with weed.

I didn’t doubt the striper’s ability to find food under these murky conditions, yet I wondered if my odds of

success were going to suffer because of it. At the least my fishing time was being cut in half, due to spending a

minute or two after each cast stripping weed from my line.

At around 1AM I noticed that each step I took created a grinding-crunch noise, that I hadn’t previously been

hearing among the boulders. I flipped my headlamp on and noticed that I was walking on golf ball to tennis

ball-size rocks. There was even a small stretch of sand in front of me which extended into the ocean.

This was a big change in terrain from the car size rocks, and it would be my final fishing destination of the

evening.

I had hoped to encounter bass before arriving here, yet hopes and wishes don’t always catch fish.

I was disappointed with my first cast when I felt a heavy, dead weight on the end of my line, indicative of a

clump of weed.

Apparently the weeds I had hoped to avoid were sitting just offshore in this particular area. “So much for clean

38 water” I remember thinking to myself.

My second cast produced much of the same.

My third cast landed with a loud PLOP! about 30 yards out. I let the bait sit still for a moment, hoping that any

fish in the area would grab it before it became fouled with weed. After a pause of several seconds I began my

retrieve, anticipating a solid bite, yet realistically not expecting one.

A third of the way through the retrieve I paused for a second to scratch my nose. The braid hanging down

from my rod tip went limp as the bait was pushed gently towards shore by the wind. It was then that I felt a

subtle pickup.

My hand quickly left my nostril and returned back to the reel handle. I dropped my rod tip and I waited for the

line to come tight against the reel.

“They’re here” is what I recall thinking to myself.

I suppressed my urge to prematurely set the hook on the bass. 1-2 seconds later I felt a solid jerk as the fish

turned and swallowed the bait. An instant later the braided line snapped tight against the spool of my reel.

With a sharp swing of my rod I set up on the fish. Once the bass felt the sting of the hook she shot towards the

surface, thrashing violently just 20 yards from shore.

A few moments later the bass shot back down towards the bottom, rubbing its head on the rocks before

digging in and making a surge out towards sea. The drag on the reel began to sing and my spinning rod

doubled over under the weight of what I knew was a good bass.

I dug my boots into the small rocks beneath my feet for footing and did my best to keep the fish up off the

bottom, away from any sharp barnacles and other line-snapping pieces of structure in the area.

The bass’ initial run was impressive and there was no doubt in my mind that the fish was all of 25 pounds. 15

hours of patience had paid off. Now all I needed to do was keep the bass away from obstructions, tire her out

a bit and bring her into shore.

Of course this is much easier said than done. The fish kept diving towards the bottom, surging forward and

then back, in a slow but powerful thumping type motion. With each surge forward I could feel the bass

bumping and rubbing bottom. So far the 50 pound fluorocarbon leader was doing its job.

Fortunately the area in which I was fighting the fish was relatively free from the larger boulders and rocks that

sat further down the shoreline. Hooking and landing such a fish would have been much more difficult smack

dab in the boulders. As far as I knew I had only small rocks to worry about. I decided to take my time and play

the fish out.

Midway through the fight I realized I had a rare opportunity to capture some pretty cool footage. For the first

half of the fight I had been battling the bass while wading in 2 feet of water. I decided to exit the surf, grab my

39 camera and light, and film the second half of the fight.

With the butt of the rod firmly secured against my inner thing and the ground, I used both of my hands to

quickly setup my gear. Thirty seconds later I had the camera rolling and was back to fighting the fish.

You can view the rest of the fight on YouTube, by clicking the below video:

I did not weigh the bass because I wanted to return her to the water in prompt fashion. My conservative

estimate is that she was 25 pounds, but she may very well of been 30. I was pretty pumped!

Finding fish of this quality from shore is special. I have tried for years to create a trip like this one, and have

come up empty the vast majority of the time.

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Once released, I rigged up with a fresh and lively eel, hoping that this was not just one solitary fish. If a school

of bass had moved in among the rocks I figured I would find out quickly.

It only took a crank of the handle to entice a strike from another solid striper. There was indeed a school of

fish holding amid the rocks.

The fish came hurdling towards the surface, as if it was trying to outdo its buddy which I had just caught and

released. Yet unlike the first bass this fish remained on the surface for the majority of the fight.

A few minutes later I had the fish in the wash. It was a sight that I will remember often once the cold winter

weather sets in.

The bite lasted in total for about 45 minutes. I ended the night with 6 keepers between 10 and 30 pounds. I

had a very long walk back to the truck, so all fish were released without a second thought.

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Once in a while I start to feel as if I own a particularly fishing spot. Yet the truth is that here on Cape Cod, the

best fishing spots have been known about and fished for years. I am guessing that Stan Gibbs and other local

legends probably fished the same stretch of shoreline I fished during this trip.

I may feel as if this is “my spot” but in reality I am just borrowing it for my short stint here on this planet. Just

being aware of this simple fact made me feel humble and oddly not alone, despite the fact I hadn’t seen

another human for miles and hours on end.

I got home just as the sun began to rise over the horizon. I had a good case of bass thumb, physical evidence

of the great bite I had just experienced.

The air outside my bedroom window was warm. Yet I know I will remember this trip when the snow flies and

wind blows cold during winter.

Want More?

Concluding Thoughts

I will admit that it was difficult for me to select my top 5 surfcasting trips of 2013.

There were so many unforgettable moments this past season, which happened

from the Canal to Provincetown, and everywhere in between.

For the MFCC blog readers and members who were along for the ride, thank you

for your support! I’m already excited about the 2014 season.

For more fishing action and information on fishing Cape Cod, check out the new My Fishing Cape Cod Getting

Started page http://myfishingcapecod.com/fishing-cape-cod-101/

With more than 400 publicly available posts, reports and videos on MFCC, finding what you need can be

challenge. I put the Getting Started page together for you, to make it easy to access the best content on My

Fishing Cape Cod.

And be sure to come say hi on the My Fishing Cape Cod Facebook page. We have an engaged and growing

community on Facebook, and it’d be great to have join us.

42 Tight lines and take care,

Ryan

ryan@myfishingcapecod.com

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