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I was fortunate to have been invited, or I should say I invited myself, on a striped bass fishing trip last July. My companions for the day were a couple very serious striper fishermen. They provided the transportation, gear, bait, boat, and—the most important thing—their knowledge and expertise. I needed that in spades being more of a pond and lake fly fisherman.
We left before dawn heading south along the coast, and as we crossed the Kennebec River, they asked if I was looking for quantity or quality fishing. Apparently the “schoolies” were running hard and providing plenty of rod-bending action. These young striped bass in the 15- to 20-inch range travel in large schools up and down the river chasing and feeding on baitfish. The alternative was to continue on and launch the boat in an area around Orr’s and Bailey Islands and try for some of the real “cows” that swam in with the tide. These leviathans can run well over 40 inches and weigh in excess of 50 pounds. We all agreed that big fish were the order of the day.
At this point you may be wondering why a March column on summer fishing. Well, soon after we motored out through a kaleidoscope of lobster buoys, surrounded by the almost surreal beauty of the rocky Maine coast, I announced, “I need to put this day in my memory bank to be withdrawn late this winter.” I am cashing in now.
Striped bass are a fascinating fish. They can live in both salt and fresh water and thrive in the brackish combination of both. Spawning is done in estuaries such as Merrymeeting Bay and Chesapeake Bay, and it’s during the summer months and stretching into the fall that these fish journey up the coast, coursing up into the river systems, feeding on herring, specifically alewives. There are strict fishing regulations to ensure the long-term health of the population. A “slot” system is in place where only one fish per fisherman per day of between 20 and 26 inches or 40 inches or larger can be kept. Those not meeting that length requirement are either juveniles or breeding-size fish best left to swim another day.
The fishing gear on this excursion consisted of heavy bait casting reels and rods baited with chunks of menhaden, or pogies, and mackerel. We trolled slowly through the buoys with eyes peeled to the fish-finder screen until we saw the bit-map images of fish below and then dropped anchor. The baits were lowered and the tingling anticipation began. It wasn’t long before my rod bucked and I was fighting something much bigger than anything I had ever had attached to the end of a fishing line. After a lengthy struggle and frantic maneuvering of the boat to avoid tangling in the lobster trap lines, we—and I emphasize “we”—hoisted the striper into the boat. The tape measure strained to 38 inches, just a bit too small to end up on a stringer but still one of the biggest fish I had ever caught. It had the look and attitude of a seasoned ocean fish, armor-scaled, tough, and pugnacious. And true to its name, it wore distinct black stripes along its considerable length against a slate ocean-green and white. After some photos, this fighter was quickly released to continue its march with the tides and to grow into a true “cow.”
During the course of the day, a harbor seal found us interesting enough to bob alongside the boat, and the normally taciturn lobstermen shouted directions to areas they were seeing fish. Although considered a slow day by my guides, more stripers were landed but none the right size to throw in the cooler. More important than fish filets was the experience provided to me by a couple friends who took the time to show a novice striper fisherman how it’s done on a picture-perfect summer day on Maine coastal waters.
Thanks, Butch and Jamie, for helping me make it through another Maine winter.
Brad Eden is an artist, writer, Registered Maine Master Guide, and owner/editor of the online magazine www.uplandjournal.com.
We left before dawn heading south along the coast, and as we crossed the Kennebec River, they asked if I was looking for quantity or quality fishing. Apparently the “schoolies” were running hard and providing plenty of rod-bending action. These young striped bass in the 15- to 20-inch range travel in large schools up and down the river chasing and feeding on baitfish. The alternative was to continue on and launch the boat in an area around Orr’s and Bailey Islands and try for some of the real “cows” that swam in with the tide. These leviathans can run well over 40 inches and weigh in excess of 50 pounds
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At this point you may be wondering why a March column on summer fishing. Well, soon after we motored out through a kaleidoscope of lobster buoys, surrounded by the almost surreal beauty of the rocky Maine coast, I announced, “I need to put this day in my memory bank to be withdrawn late this winter.” I am cashing in now.
Striped bass are a fascinating fish. They can live in both salt and fresh water and thrive in the brackish combination of both. Spawning is done in estuaries such as Merrymeeting Bay and Chesapeake Bay, and it’s during the summer months and stretching into the fall that these fish journey up the coast, coursing up into the river systems, feeding on herring, specifically alewives. There are strict fishing regulations to ensure the long-term health of the population. A “slot” system is in place where only one fish per fisherman per day of between 20 and 26 inches or 40 inches or larger can be kept. Those not meeting that length requirement are either juveniles or breeding-size fish best left to swim another day.
The fishing gear on this excursion consisted of heavy bait casting reels and rods baited with chunks of menhaden, or pogies, and mackerel. We trolled slowly through the buoys with eyes peeled to the fish-finder screen until we saw the bit-map images of fish below and then dropped anchor. The baits were lowered and the tingling anticipation began. It wasn’t long before my rod bucked and I was fighting something much bigger than anything I had ever had attached to the end of a fishing line. After a lengthy struggle and frantic maneuvering of the boat to avoid tangling in the lobster trap lines, we—and I emphasize “we”—hoisted the striper into the boat. The tape measure strained to 38 inches, just a bit too small to end up on a stringer but still one of the biggest fish I had ever caught. It had the look and attitude of a seasoned ocean fish, armor-scaled, tough, and pugnacious. And true to its name, it wore distinct black stripes along its considerable length against a slate ocean-green and white. After some photos, this fighter was quickly released to continue its march with the tides and to grow into a true “cow.”
During the course of the day, a harbor seal found us interesting enough to bob alongside the boat, and the normally taciturn lobstermen shouted directions to areas they were seeing fish. Although considered a slow day by my guides, more stripers were landed but none the right size to throw in the cooler. More important than fish filets was the experience provided to me by a couple friends who took the time to show a novice striper fisherman how it’s done on a picture-perfect summer day on Maine coastal waters.
Thanks, Butch and Jamie, for helping me make it through another Maine winter.
Brad Eden is an artist, writer, Registered Maine Master Guide, and owner/editor of the online magazine www.uplandjournal.com.
