Outdoors: Stacking the deck in your favor

They began to arrive long before the slightest hint of first light. The warning of their presence was sounded by the low growl from the Airedale that lived on our front porch. He gave us his "no cause for alarm yet, but someone or something is out on the riverbank." His pacing, mixed with the half bark, low growl, that emanated from deep within his muscular chest continued for the next fifteen minutes or so. We’ve learned that once our defender goes on alert, we can forget about sleep until the disturbance, real or imagined, is dealt with or goes away.

There was a time, after back-to-back trips to Cuttyhunk, when I chose to ignore him, but he would have nothing of my disregard. He placed his big paws on the ledge of the window and began bumping his muzzle against the pane.

"OK, I’m coming."

I opened the inside door and he ran right by me, directly to the front door and pawed the rug, signaling for me to let him out. I took a peek out the side of the picture window curtain to see two silhouettes at the boat shed fence where I left seven expensive rod and reel outfits after I washed down late the night before.

With one hand on the door knob and the other on the light switch, I swung open the door and flipped the halogens on. The big dog hit the glass on the storm door and must have looked like a lion to the two petrified teenagers, who ran right through the prickly holly bushes, crashing down the banking towards the shoreline. Two of the rods were on the ground and I assumed it was the indecision as to which outfit was more valuable that resulted in their whispers carrying over to our protector's sleeping quarters. The Airedale saved my fishing tackle that night and must have established quite a reputation among the petty thieves, who never risked life and limb by venturing up our dead-end lane again.

On the aforementioned early morning, I went out to the side porch to acknowledge our security guard and reward him with one of the king-sized biscuits he was so fond of. He ignored his favorite indulgence and bolted to the window facing the water and it was then I saw the silhouettes of the three fishermen casting lures from the grassy bank at the edge near the bend in the channel.

There wasn't the slightest hint of a breeze from any of the leaves on my weather tree as the sky began the colorful transition from dull gray to pale rose.

Fishing was also on my agenda this day, but we were working a location east of Robinson’s Hole in Vineyard Sound where we had located fish the previous day on the afternoon change of the tide. I started the coffee and busied myself with preparations, occasionally stopping by the kitchen window to check on the fishermen working the opposite shore of the riverbank.

As the sun peaked over the horizon they were still in relative darkness, hidden by the profile of the bridge and high banking. As the sky brightened, I watched two of them change over to poppers while the fellow working the center of the channel continued to cast what appeared to be one of the popular small mid-water minnow imitations.

With the sun now higher, there was considerably less casting and more talking as the fishermen gathered to compare notes. First one, then another fisherman left. The fellow with the swimmer appeared to be more persistent, at least more experienced, working his lure along the edge of the shadow cast by the steep banking.

I was confident he was aware of what was about to happen so I went about preparing for my own trip later in the day.

About twenty minutes later, I looked out the window to see the last fishermen making his way up the steep hill towards his truck. He had given up on the assortment of artificials that he and the other anglers had been offering over obviously barren water.

I knew there were fish up river; they had been showing every day. High slack water was posted for 6:55 a.m., which translates to about 10 or so minutes before it fills up in the backwaters of the tributaries. These fishermen had quite simply started too early and left too soon.

Before we venture too far afloat, let me clarify that statement.

There will be no argument from my side of the stream about the consistency of that first bite which occurs between first light and sunrise during that spectacular period when the horizon is streaked with the promise of dawn. Given the choice, I'd be at my preferred location for that early bite if only to experience that stimulating dawning process over and over again. It never gets old, and as far as I can remember, it’s never the same.

Almost as if on cue, no sooner had the fishermen's truck pulled away from the bridge, a slight, almost imperceptible breeze began to rustle the leaves on my tree. The wind increased steadily, forming a ripple across the previously still waters. The tide began to recede slowly at first, then over the next 20-minutes, with increased velocity. When this force reached the restriction in the river, it curled against the face of the wind, causing ripples which built into waves. The tide rip was forming.

Suddenly, a pair of terns approached from the south flying close to the surface, searching the shoreline for signs of baitfish. They hovered briefly over the rip, then moved further upstream in search of food. The fish, which I knew were holding in the back river, were waiting for the tide to begin dumping, draining the flats, and forcing the bait to come out of their high-water refuge, deep in the protective eelgrass.

Soon there were several terns working over the pods of bait being pursued by the fish that waited for the ebb tide to expose their breakfast. Over the next hour, the placid backwater had been transformed into a whirling rush of harried baitfish swept up in the current and pursued by the stripers.

Before long the rising sun created a light so intense it caused the predators to abandon the chase and seek the cover of deeper water, because stripers that hold in skinny water, particularly under these light conditions, seldom grow to become trophy fish.

In their haste to get to the water’s edge, many fishermen exert their best efforts during the most unproductive hours then terminate their pursuit just before the period of peak activity.

Tide, current, smooth or calm water, it’s a given that all this discourse is just so much rhetoric if the pond is empty. Establish yourself in productive locations when tide, current and weather conditions (dawn, dusk, fog or overcast) are most favorable and you will consistently catch fish.

Since I've never seen a fish parachute into the water, I have to assume they don't just happen to arrive at certain preferred locations (which are usually crowded) but work their way there along the coastline. Discover those coves, sloughs, rips and structure where they stop to feed or rest along the way then intercept them.

Understanding and utilizing tides and currents is not a difficult task, yet fishermen, experienced and novice alike, are either unable or unwilling to grasp their importance. This is not so much a critique as an observation. Tides, currents and moon phase tables are readily available in many newspapers and most sporting publications. The majority of established sporting goods stores and tackle shops in your area publish complimentary tide and current tables. These charts for the waters from Long Island and Fishers Island Sound to the western entrance of the Cape Cod Canal should be in the possession of every fisherman who expects to ply these productive waters.

The Eldridge Tide and Pilot book is another very useful publication that all fishermen and navigators can utilize to improve their fishing success and boating safety as well as their enjoyment. Fishermen have a way of getting into the rut of fishing at a certain time, or using the same lures or bait without consideration of all the other factors that figure into the overall scheme of things.

Time and tide wait for no man, but nowhere is it written that you can't plan for the right time and tide to accommodate your particular circumstances.