CHARLEY SOARES: Heading off into the wild blue yonder

The crimson sliver rising in the east was erasing the night as the growl of engines firing up inside the harbor drowned out the sound of waves washing up against the granite breakwater. At that time in my early fishing career my feet were anchored to the beach, docks and piers of the Fall River waterfront or on a rare occasion the aforementioned Sakonnet Point breakwater. I watched those boats come and go imagining that one day I might be a passenger and then perhaps a skipper of even the smallest of the boats that headed out fishing.

My sphere of influence was limited to the distances and inaccuracy of my awkward casting, but I knew one day all that would change. I had just become a teenager and one of my presents was lunch with my mentor at the old Fo’s’cle restaurant at Sakonnet Point RI. It was an early Saturday morning visit to that harbor with the Tavares brothers who were making arrangements for a mooring for their boat which was then berthed at the Weetamoe Yacht Club up in the Taunton River. The Tavares men were owners of a handsome Nova Scotia built hull the “We Three”, that only made about eight or 10 knots of speed at the most so it would take us well over two and a half hours to steam from the club to Sakonnet Lighthouse. They were looking to eliminate the time, travel and expense by a wide margin and be located in the immediate area they usually fished.

If I remember correctly, I had a burger, a soda and a big plate of fries. My hosts had clam chowder, fritters, fried clams, and tall frosty beers. They made a deal for a mooring, renting one from a resident who was not putting his own boat in the water that season. I was fortunate to be on board for that initial trip to Sakonnet Harbor which seemed to take much longer than three hours because of a big swell from a passing storm. We shackled on a big new mooring ball, changed the upper mooring line and added a longer painter line to a float to make it easier for one man to approach the mooring, put the boat in neutral and pick up the floating line with a boat hook.

By the time all that work was completed it was too late to fish, but the following day we drove to Sakonnet and arrived there in a little over a half hour. Using their skiff, which was hauled up on the beach, Eddie rowed out to the boat fired up the engine then picked us up at the commercial dock. The boat had a big cabin, lots of deck space and to me, who was accustomed to a 12-foot skiff, the WE THREE, was an ocean liner.

That day we fished on and around Schuler Ledge off West Island and our net bag was filled with scup, tautog and a few black sea bass. It was a relief to spend more time fishing than travelling and that summer the Tavares enjoyed one of their best fishing seasons. I have always been a near-shore fisherman, with few exceptions. We began fishing the Taunton River, Mount Hope Bay and eventually moved out into Narragansett Bay before we dared test ocean waters.

Russ and I still can’t believe we fished Sakonnet Light, West Island and Warrens Point in a 10- foot skiff. As we acquired larger boats, we expanded the scope of our travels to Ocean Drive off Newport and east towards New Bedford and Buzzards Bay. My first “OFFSHORE” trip was to Cuttyhunk in the early 60’s then the Gay Head area of the Vineyard. Reliable, and more fuel- efficient inboard engines gave us the license (courage) to travel 23-miles to Noman’s Island, the westernmost Massachusetts land mass, and it was well worth the effort. That distant outpost was one of the least fished areas and on many trips, we caught bluefish, striped bass, bonito, false albacore, and school bluefin tuna. Ernie Rogers had a 19-pound blue from that location and his mate that day, Ed Joaquim had one a few ounces lighter that took first and second place in the Linesiders Bass Club annual tourney.

My largest bluefish there was a brutish 18-pounds and four or five ounces, and it took much longer to best than the 31-pound striper I’d landed earlier that morning. Noman’s was productive spot, but we took some terrible beatings coming home with a southwest wind against an outgoing tide.

The longest offshore trip I ever made was a week-long voyage from Key West, Florida to the Dry Tortugas, 70 miles out into the Gulf of Mexico. We spent the week living aboard a 42-foot Post sport fishermen owned and skippered by Captain Jerry Hill of Yankee Captains fame in Gloucester. We caught coolers of fish every day, yes every single day, most species which I had never seen and would not be able to identify. Jerry was a traditional New England Yankee who not only survived in the south, he prospered. He ran a cod fishing operation in Gloucester but wanted to make use of his seaworthy 105-foot Yankee Captains boat during their off-winter months, so he sailed it to Key West and began taking patrons out fishing local waters.

One boat grew into three, Yankee Pride and included a high-speed catamaran, the Yankee Freedom, that was built right here in Somerset by the Gladding Hearn, now the Duclos corporation. This 30-MPH Cat is used to take tourists on day or overnight camping trips to the Fort Jefferson area on the Tortugas which houses the Civil War prison where Dr. Samuel Mudd, who was falsely accused of being a part of the conspiracy to kill president Lincoln, was incarcerated. We toured that National Park on a lay-off day and found the doctors cell just as it was when he was there. It was noted that he saved the entire garrison and fellow prisoners who would have died from a deadly outbreak of Yellow Fever. That was one of the most memorable fishing trips of my lifetime, which included an adventure with honest to goodness, real live, modern day pirates, long before the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. It would take a chapter in a book to describe that adventure in detail and that is just where it might end up.

Nearshore fishing, within five or so miles off the beach provides me all the fish and adventure I ever need. That, however, is not the case with many other individuals. My friend John Vetereini began fishing as most of us did, close to home in both fresh and saltwater until the tuna bug bit. When you get bit by the blue water-big fish bug it can be addictive, as well as very expensive.

John now runs a 25-footer both in and offshore waters but at the end of last season he was aboard his cousin Alex Malgeiri’s 28-foot Mirage out of New Bedford Harbor. They made the long voyage down foggy Buzzards Bay, through the canal and headed towards Stellwagen Bank. With little time on the clock for bluefin tuna season he hooked up to and landed a huge freight-train tuna. The fish took a live mackerel and weighed in at approximately 175-pounds. These days if someone hands me a bent tuna rod, I am not looking at fishing tackle, I am looking at a heart attack.