Do you have a photograph of a fish you can’t identify? If so, we’re up for the challenge, and would welcome the opportunity to share your photo and its ID with an international audience of enthusiasts. (Whether published or not, we will personally respond to every inquiry.) Email your jpgs, as large/hi-res as possible, to: fishfacts@sportfishingmag.com.

The Pacific Northwest is home to literally dozens of species of rockfishes (genus Sebastes; in no way related to striped bass of the Atlantic locally known as “rockfish”). Identification can be tough. Color is the most common indicator, but it’s not always reliable, and anglers are often left scratching their heads as to what species they’ve caught.

So it was when angler Chris Bushman in Ketchikan, Alaska, jigged up this rockfish from about 130 feet of water recently. Even the guide was unsure of the species’ identity. “All of the other area guides were perplexed as well,” Bushman writes. “It would be nice to know exactly what I caught and released.”

In fact, Chris, that’s a yelloweye rockfish, Sebastes ruberrimus. If guides were uncertain, that’s understandable, since yelloweye (widely in Alaska waters referred to as “red snapper”) are generally a brilliant orange-red as adults. But juveniles — and yours appears to be a juvie — are a darker red with two bright white stripes down each side. This fish has a thin stripe but not nearly as wide and prominent as usual. And yours has a great deal of black pigment all over, which is unusual. Fish Facts checked with our northern Pacific expert, Dr. Milton Love, who confirmed this coloration is rare, though in one area it occurs with some regularity.

A bit of intel on the species: Yelloweye (Alaska to California) are very long-lived and slow-growing. NOAA lists them as living up to 150 years. They’re very territorial, often spending their adult lives in one rocky area (usually in 200 to at least 1,200 feet of water). That and their slow growth make them exceptionally vulnerable to overfishing. As a result, it is illegal to possess or fish for (once abundant) yelloweye off California, Oregon and areas of Alaska.

Unfortunately the release of these deepwater, pressure-sensitive fish is challenging, though it’s doable with a good descending device. As you might guess, yelloweye is superb eating. It’s been long coveted for that quality and for the brilliant red color, distinguishing it from other game fish of Northwest waters.

The post Fish Facts: Guess This Rockfish Species appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Do you have a photograph of a fish you can’t identify? If so, we’re up for the challenge, and would welcome the opportunity to share your photo and its ID with an international audience of enthusiasts. (Whether published or not, we will personally respond to every inquiry.) Email your jpgs, as large/hi-res as possible, to: fishfacts@sportfishingmag.com.

I recently read a short article in a fishing magazine extolling the (generally unheralded) virtues of cutlassfish (Trichiurus lepturus) as a fun gamefish in its own right. Having intentionally targeted and caught them, Fish Facts couldn’t agree more.

However, Fish Facts feels the need to set the record straight since the article stated that cutlassfish “use their sharp pointed tail to slash like a knife.” Not so much. It’s true that the odd critters lack any caudal structure: Their body at the stern end simply tapers right down to a point. But sharp? As with the long — rather elegant — dorsal fin that runs the length of the body, the tail is soft, tapering to a thin filament and lacking any spine. Sure, if you grab a cutlassfish, it will squirm and wave its body around, but that tail won’t do any damage.

On the other hand, keep your fingers out of its mouth. One look at the dagger-like fangs should dissuade even the foolhardy. That said, I’ve noticed when handling these fish that they’re generally pretty flaccid creatures and easy to handle, not nearly as fierce as they appear.

About the Cutlassfish

While on the subject, here’s a bit more information on a species that is unique, fascinating and widely available around the world in many inshore and coastal waters.

Cutlassfish are widely called ribbonfish, particularly by Gulf anglers. You won’t find them listed with that name in the IGFA book, though. Their official common name, per the authoritative Fishbase, is largehead hairtail. Cutlassfish (hairtails) can exceed seven feet. The current IGFA all-tackle record stands at 11 pounds, 5 ounces, caught on a saury off Japan in 2020.

The species is characterized by its solid, gleaming silver, chrome-plated hue, its flattened body rather like an eel after an encounter with a steamroller. The cutlass lacks scales. And while you couldn’t tell by the indifference of U.S. anglers, in much of the world it’s a highly sought (and marketed) commercial fish. I’ve filleted and eaten a number of them. Taste is subjective, but I thought they were good — not my fave, but certainly not bad. While few are eaten, many are used as bait in offshore fisheries and particularly by serious kingfish enthusiasts.

One of the most striking visuals I recall from a day in the lower Patuxent River in Maryland last year was my sounder screen. Turned out that that cutlassfish were all over the river, and it proved to be great fun on diving crankbaits. Their strikes are vicious, especially on ultralight tackle. But what really stayed with me from that day was the sounder. It stayed lit up with dozens and dozens of cutlassfish, but they didn’t present like any typical predator. That’s because their hunting style is to ambush small fish by drifting motionless vertically, head toward the surface. So they looked nothing like what I’m used to seeing when marking fish: My screen was loaded with narrow vertical slashes.

The post Fish Facts: Are the Pointy Tails of Cutlassfish Dangerous? appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

In the prestige column, where largemouth bass rate a 10, bowfin come up snake eyes. But those who know and appreciate bowfin will tell you when it comes to rating these species’ fight, the bowfin should come out well on top. Very few native North American game fish will outfight the bowfin. Other names for bowfin include choupique (Louisiana), grindle, mudfish or dogfish.

Notice the descriptor “native.” No one can suggest the bowfin is introduced or invasive; in fact, they’re one of the most indigenous of our fishes, found only in (eastern) North America. And this living fossil has been around longer than most species of fish — since the Triassic era, 150 to 200 million years back. It’s the only living member of the order Amiiformes, other species extinct. Clearly, the bowfin is a survivor.

Bowfin are Tough-Fighting Fish

It’s also an irascible brute. After catching many bowfin, I’ve learned to be cautious when trying to unhook one, whether boat side or in the boat. One might suppose these fish wear themselves out with their take-no-prisoners response to being hooked: They make unstoppable runs, sudden turns and come flying out of the water in wild leaps. They just don’t give up. Yeah, bowfin really do make bass seem pretty tame.

If, after all that, you can get them to boat, watch out. Bowfin launch into what anglers have termed a death spiral: they spin unstoppably, with great force, twisting and wrapping themselves in line and leader, and often making it nearly impossible to zero in on the hook in their jaw with pliers.

Where to Catch Bowfin

Often in warm weather, shallow, weedy waters without much current become increasingly hypoxic, as oxygen is used up. Thus most game fish species move out to deeper, less oxygen-deprived habitat. But one predator can remain: the bowfin. That’s because this ancient species is a bimodal breather, retaining its ability to breathe air, which it does by gulping in air at the surface which it can store in its swim bladder from which small blood vessels can take in the oxygen as if from a lung.

This explains their tendency to gulp at the surface or roll in very shallow waters. Anglers may sight-cast to these fish, but success at that can be tricky. That’s because bowfin are decidedly not visual feeders. These patient ambush hunters sit motionless over or in weeds until prey — or a lure or chunk of bait — moves essentially right in front of them. That’s the challenge for the angler. Bowfin will hammer any moving lure as a rule if they see it, so an angler has to get his retrieve right past its nose. Then, hang on! Their no-nonsense strike can rip the rod out of unprepared hands.

Fishing for Bowfin

Fortunately, the odds of being able to get close enough to drop your offering into their zone are increased because these things are not spooky. I’ve had them swim away if alarmed but not far at all, then stopping to offer more shots. They can be wary, however, and a boat may inhibit them from striking.

Sight-casting to bowfin is action at its most exciting, when fishing waters clear enough to spot them. Often, enthusiasts like Florida angler Paul MacInnis say that clear conditions and sunlight are important, since, “They don’t tend to push wakes or tail when feeding to reveal themselves. But when I can get a lure in front of one, I like to give it just a twitch or two — just enough to catch the bowfin’s attention. They’re aggressive and will usually pounce on it.”

But mostly, anglers drifting over shallow, weedy waters with low visibility, probably drift right past the big ones. That’s when fishing live or cut bait gets results. Apparently, what bowfin lack in the way of visual acuity, they compensate for with a keen sense of smell and the ability to detect vibrations.

Bowfins are Not Snakeheads

Until recently, one could maintain that bowfin couldn’t be confused with any other North American fish found in the same waters. The invasion of Asian snakeheads in much of the United States has changed that, since the two species share a similar elongate shape and distinctive characteristics such a large rounded tail and a dorsal fin that runs more than two-thirds of the body length. Those familiar with both species easily distinguish them since the snakehead’s head is more streamline like a snake, whereas the bowfin’s is more rounded. Lastly, the snakehead has a very long anal fin, while the bowfin’s is quite short.

Of course a major difference is that bowfin are native sons. While some anglers mistakenly accuse them of “eating all the bass” and other gamefish, they’re not any kind of a threat to the ecological balance of waters in which they live. Unwanted bowfin should be released alive. On the other hand, snakehead are considered an invasive species, and many states still ask anglers to kill them if caught.

The post The Underrated Bowfin appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Since the term paradox defines a statement or condition likely self-contradictory and contrary to any logic or reason, labeling red snapper management in the South Atlantic as a paradox is on the money. The South Atlantic federal red snapper season this year is one day — July 12, 2024. Clearly, any reasonable person would assume, red snapper are an endangered species to engender such draconian regulations.

Matter of fact, both scientifically via stock assessment data and empirically via captains on the water almost daily, there’s widespread agreement that there are more red snapper in the Atlantic from Florida to the Carolinas than at any time in recent memory.

“They’re everywhere! You can hardly catch anything else!” says longtime sportfishing-industry veteran Dave Workman at Strike-Zone Fishing in Jacksonville, Florida. And they’re spreading. Historically, to catch red snapper, anglers fished roughly 100 to 300 feet of water. Now, as their populations snowball, reds have also moved into shallows, often caught in just 50 feet, and much deeper, even in 600 feet.

Why the Short Red Snapper Season?

So why in the world would the feds have a 1-day season for 2024? Warning: Trying to understand any explanation is not unlike trying to make sense of one’s situation when lost in a house of mirrors.

But, at least as best I can figure it, NOAA Fisheries insists red snapper are “overfished and experiencing overfishing.” Never mind that no one is actually harvesting them. According to fishery managers, the primary culprit is discard mortality from red snapper caught during the year as bycatch by anglers after other species.

That’s hardly unlikely given that red snapper are decidedly aggressive and can show up anywhere in the water column at any time. Since snapper are so widespread, only by closing the ocean to all reef/coastal fishing could they be protected. (Shh! Don’t even say it!) There’s a tendency of snappers brought to the boat to experience barotrauma. And that can make their successful release difficult, although the odds go up considerably for anglers using required descending devices.

Of course, that takes us back to another paradox: If release mortality accounts for decimating the species, how can the South Atlantic be so full of red snapper? Chris Horton, senior director of fisheries policy for the Congressional Sportsmen’s Foundation, says if the government’s “stock/recruitment model is correct, this fishery should be collapsing. The numbers just don’t add up.”

Similarly, the numbers for red snapper in the Gulf of Mexico were “not adding up” only a few years ago, such as in 2017 when NOAA Fisheries offered red snapper anglers a three-day season for the year. Here, too, the uproar was mighty since the Gulf was absolutely teeming with red snapper.

But the past few years have seen seasons for Gulf snapper get longer and longer. This year, while South Atlantic anglers get one day to catch the super-abundant red snapper, their Gulf of Mexico counterparts will likely enjoy fishing for red snapper for more than 100 days, stretching selectively from June through November.

The difference has little to do with abundance of the fish. Quite simply, a few years back, the feds allowed Gulf states to begin managing the recreational red snapper quota off their shores on their own. In essence, Gulf-state fishery managers, politicians, and anglers had no trouble proving to the feds that its numbers were totally out of whack, and that state management could and would do a much better job of accurately estimating how many red snapper were being landed by anglers, and managing accordingly.

Finally, NOAA Fisheries said in effect, okay, if you can do it better, go ahead. State fish managers did go ahead with their own, more robust yet more nimble systems to collect recreational-landings data. The result showed that anglers could be fishing more days while not exceeding red snapper quotas. At about the same time, an unrelated but independent Great Red Snapper Count showed — guess what? — at least three times the number of snapper swimming in the Gulf versus federal estimates.

Fixing the Red Snapper Season

So therein lies the primary reason for 100-plus days of snapper fishing for Gulf Coast states and a single day of snapper fishing in the South Atlantic. Put simply, it’s state management of federal quotas versus federal management of federal quotas. As you might guess, there’s increasing pressure on Georgia and the Carolinas to take over management. Florida has a head start for its Atlantic coast fishery thanks to its experience managing the state’s Gulf-side snapper.

But, Horton points out, all four South Atlantic coastal states will have to develop their own recreational data collection programs and divide up quotas equitably as was done by Gulf states. And there’s still pushback, with some at the state level citing the cost of taking over management of snapper. But it’s worth it, in the opinion of Horton (and many others): “It’s a great thing to get out from under the constraints of poor federal catch data in favor of more accurate and timely state data-collection programs,” he says.

The post The Great Red Snapper Paradox appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Fifteen years ago, Western Atlantic bluefin tuna stock assessments reported that total numbers of bluefin were down about 90 percent from 1970. The number of giant bluefin, estimated to be more than 1 million fish in 1960, was estimated to be about 100,000 fish, possibly half that number. At that time, some experts said that bluefin could be so reduced that they might need endangered species status. Today, the big tuna are back.

The current rebound in Western Atlantic bluefin stocks is one of the greatest fishery success stories of this century. From a point near depletion a decade ago, their stocks have improved to a level of sustainability that seemed unimaginable back then.

“For me,” says John Walter, “it’s one of those amazing career arcs to have started with bluefin tuna in 2007, at literally the worst point in bluefin tuna management, and now have this success.”

Walter is the Deputy Director for Science and Council Services at NOAA’s Southeast Fisheries Science Center and Chair of the Western Atlantic Bluefin Tuna Committee at the International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas (ICCAT).

“Back then,” Walter says, “we were talking about endangered species listings for bluefin, CITES listings, a catastrophe in the global stocks. We have now turned the corner to where bluefin is so abundant that it’s a sustainable fishery and we’re recommending people to eat more bluefin.”

According to ICCAT estimates, three key metrics of the species’ sustainability have all improved in recent years: total biomass, recruitment, and fishing mortality as a percentage of the total stock.

Total Biomass Gains of Bluefin Tuna

Total Biomass is an estimate of the size of the entire stock. For Atlantic bluefin, that includes a combination of both western and eastern Atlantic and Mediterranean stocks. The fish mix together in the Atlantic Ocean, and American fishermen catch a lot of eastern bluefins. That mixing of the stocks has been documented by satellite tagging and backed by genetic testing.

Prior to 2006, the fisheries were catching way above the eastern Atlantic quota. “We think that the catches may have been nearly double the quota,” says Walter. “Without the greatly improved reporting measures that we have today, it was much harder to track catches. Fisheries in the Mediterranean also targeted a lot of younger bluefin. That wasn’t very sustainable, nor did it achieve the yield that one can get from allowing the fish to grow.”

In response, ICCAT took dramatic action to lower catch quotas from a high of 32,000 metric tons (t) as late as 2006 down to 13,500 t in 2010. They also put in size limits to protect smaller fish. The fishery changed from focusing on small fish to targeting large fish fattened in open-ocean farms for the sushi market. Scientists estimate that the eastern population size is much larger than the western population, so what happens in the east deeply affects the western Atlantic populations.

Tuna Recruitment to the Stock Increases

Having stricter ICCAT regulations has played a big part in bluefin’s comeback.

“We talk about good and bad years of recruitment of fish to the stocks,” Walter says, “and 2003 was a really good year. Subsequently, there were other good years where we’ve seen strong year classes of fish born in the western and the eastern stocks. Concurrent with that, it seems that there have been favorable environmental factors that enabled those recruits to survive. U.S. fishermen are often the first ones to see these good year classes and they have been great at providing their knowledge and data.

“The most basic reason for the increase,” Walter says, “is that if you allow the fish to survive, grow, and spawn they’re going to make more babies. That’s the basic story here. It’s fisheries 101—stop catching them at age 2 and let them get big and fat out in the Atlantic where all the food is and let them come back at age 9 and spawn.”

According to recent ICCAT estimates, there was a big spike in the recruitment of fish to the stocks after 2015, with more fish surviving per year to spawning age, and it’s still on the increase.

Tuna Fishing Mortality Decreases

Fishing mortality is the fraction of the stock removed from the fishery. It’s a measure of the number of fish caught versus the entire stock, and it’s dropping, another indication that the stock is increasing.

“Mortality is about 8% to 10% of the total fish and that’s down from about double that figure—which was unsustainable,” says Walter. “Now we’re in a sustainable rate of removal, which means that the population is self-reproducing. That’s the goal. Now we need to fish them at ages that provide better fishing opportunities and the ability for the stock to reproduce.”

Bluefin’s Slope Sea Spawning Location

Along with the increased numbers of bluefin, recent documentation of another spawning area for Western Atlantic bluefin, in addition to the Upper Gulf of Mexico area, has researchers like Walter intrigued and curious. It’s called the Slope Sea spawning area, located about 100 miles offshore of Long Island, and both eastern and western fish spawn there. Researchers have collected eggs and larvae.

“We don’t necessarily think it’s a new location,” Walter says, “but when the populations were lower, perhaps we lost sight of it. Now that we have a larger population, we’re seeing the fish there. Recently we’ve received funding from Congress for a survey of that area that we’ll be doing in 2025, a dedicated scientific survey to document the importance of that area to collect larvae and spawning adults.”

There has been other good news, as well. Recently, the U.S. government implemented several measures that have dramatically reduced bluefin mortality, including requirements to use “weak” hooks that bend to allow spawning giants to go free on pelagic longlines in Gulf of Mexico waters and an individual bluefin quota program, which reduced bluefin tuna bycatch by 65% fleetwide. There’s also now incorporation of Ecosystem Reference Points in the management of menhaden, a primary forage fish for bluefin. That provision is a specific consideration to allow for predation of menhaden, essentially leaving more for bluefin to eat. All these factors combined mean good news for Atlantic bluefin and for the anglers who love them.

The post Bluefin Tuna’s Amazing Comeback appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Do you have a photograph of a fish you can’t identify? If so, we’re up for the challenge, and would welcome the opportunity to share your photo and its ID with an international audience of enthusiasts. (Whether published or not, we will personally respond to every inquiry.) Email your jpgs, as large/hi-res as possible, to: fishfacts@sportfishingmag.com.

Some Fish Facts fans have been wondering about the difference between a “standard” yellowfin tuna and an Allison tuna. References to both names are commonplace. For example, Tom Pytel writes, “I often notice in photos some yellowfin tuna with very long anal fins. I’ve caught yellowfin to 100-plus pounds, but none has had those long fins. Is this strictly associated with size or perhaps sex, or some other factor?”

So Fish Facts thought it should, once and for all, clarify this tuna teaser. To cut to the chase, there is no difference: We’re talking about one species, Thunnus albacares.

But indeed, some yellowfin have clearly elongate second dorsal and anal fins. It’s the only species of tuna that exhibits this variation in fin length, says John Graves. Graves, for years chair of fisheries science at the Virginia Institute of Marine Science, is one of the world’s leading tuna and billfish experts. He notes that the longer fins occur in only larger yellowfin. “In the extreme, the length of these fins can be greater than 40 percent of the total length of the fish. Some refer to these Allison tuna.”

Graves says this occurs independent of the fishes’ sex, but not of the location. “There’s a lot of geographic variation in the length of these fish.” For example, he says, across the Pacific, the relative lengths of yellowfin second dorsal and anal fins tends to increase from east to west.

In scientific terms, this variation in fin size for years “created havoc with the taxonomy of yellowfin tuna,” he says. As many as seven species of yellowfin tuna have been recognized, based on fin size. “It was only in the mid 1960s that the various geographic populations were combined into a single, circumglobal species.”

So while some anglers will remain convinced they’ve caught an Allison tuna, Fish Facts fans will know the truth: It’s a yellowfin tuna, no matter the length of its fins.

The post Fish Facts: What is an Allison Tuna? appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

New Jersey Black Drum Fishing Spots

Black drum traditionally spawn around the full and new moons in April, May, and June, when the tides are super high, to allow for better chances of cross-pollination of the sperm and eggs. The full moon in April saw an unusual presence of hundreds, if not thousands, of black drum entering the relatively shallow Barnegat Bay system. The parade of drum provided incredible back-bay battles for boaters setting up on a clam chumslick, as well as dock and pier anglers tangling with drum pushing the 50- to 60-pound mark. This Barnegat Bay drum fishery was missing in recent history.

Fast forward to the May full moon and things got even weirder. The surfline from the barrier island at Island Beach State Park down through Long Beach Island was flooded with roving packs of big black drum pushing 30 to 75 pounds, offering up even more big game battles from the beach.

Black Drum Fishing Tackle

For surf fishing, rods and reels must be capable of handling these brutes. I employ a 12-foot Shimano Tiralejo rod matched with a Shimano 14000 Ultegra reel spooled with 50- to 65-pound PowerPro braided line. At the tag end, I attach a size 2 three-way swivel, a sinker clip with a 3- to 5-ounce pyramid sinker, and the last eye gets a 24-inch section of 50-pound fluorocarbon leader. For a hook, I snell on a size 10/0 Gamakatsu Big River bait hook.

In the surf, anglers are bait fishing with clams, so a super sturdy metal sand spike driven deep into the beach is needed to prevent your rod and reel setup from being stolen. Baits are simple. A whole fresh gob of shucked clam is pierced on the hook three or four times, then cast out into a deep cut or slough where the drum are feeding.

Best Tactics for Black Drum

The key to success is timing the tides. Your best bets are to fish around the high tides, generally two hours before and two hours after the dead high tide. Deep waters allow for the barrel-chested warriors to enter close to the surf line. Light to moderate 5 to 15 knot easterly onshore winds are preferred as they push water and schools of drum up onto the beaches. Add some north or west into the wind direction and achieve similar success. Main spots where drum feed are deeper holes, but also the inside and outside of the sandbars. The drum are searching for clams and crabs getting washed over the bars.

Once hooked to a big drum, hold on tight. Let them dictate the terms of the fight as the initial run is long and sustained. Surprisingly, they put up quite a tussle as they use their big broom-tails to power away from the shoreline. Expect them to surface and boil up trying to shake the hook. The end game is critical in the undertow of the surf. Don’t freak out and pull on the line hard, as the drum will use their weight on the receding waves to try and snap your line. Time the wave patterns and reel in when they get pushed up onto the sand with a crashing wave, then run down and grab the drum by the mouth or gill plate to land it effectively.

The post The Black Drum Boom in Jersey appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

A couple of years ago, fishing partner Elliott Taylor and I drifted atop a conveyor belt of saltwater on the lower Connecticut River in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. As I cast a surface plug off the stern, we heard a whooshing noise like a bucket of water dumped into the river. I turned to see the lingering froth left by a big predator. Slammer bluefish and striped bass had invaded the river mouth, and we were poised for some wild battles that afternoon.

The lower or most-southerly portion of the Connecticut River is saltwater, and it separates the coastal towns of Old Saybrook on its western bank from Old Lyme on its eastern bank. The last seven miles of the river is a striper and bluefish haven, thanks to the abundance of bait in this large estuary.

North of the Bridge

Hamburg Cove lies 4 miles north of the Interstate 95 boat launch and bridge. This special cove is one of the first Northeast locales to hold feeding stripers each spring, and its schoolie fishery is world-class: a sure cure for cabin fever from mid-March to mid-April before action heats up farther downriver and in Long Island Sound. (Note: Fishing north of the I-95 bridge requires a freshwater/inland or all waters fishing license.)

After late April, the cove’s schoolies swim into the main river and downstream to the mouth and eventually into open water, where they mingle with adult bass. Located on the east side of the river, the cove is protected on three sides by hills and sheltered from raw spring winds. Hamburg Cove also appeals to boating anglers because it lacks prop-bending obstacles like rocks yet it’s shallow enough for fly or light spin tackle.

The stripers found here in early spring generally measure 14 to 20 inches. Numbers, not size, becomes the objective. Fan cast or troll small lures or tubes until you locate a school. Stop and drift with the fish to catch 50 to 75 fish on a given tide.

If you prefer to target bigger fish, large stripers do invade the north side of I-95. At one perennial hotspot—day marker 25 at the lower mouth of South Cove, which is on the west side of the river halfway between Hamburg Cove and the I-95 Bridge—bass in the 30- to 40-inch range set up to feed on herring, alewives, and menhaden starting in late April and running through June.

Motor 50 yards north of the marker on a running tide and drift south along the reef edge, fishing deep with large swimming plugs. During slow current periods, these fish sometimes come up and inhale surface plugs like the 5-inch Rapala Skitter Pop or the 7-inch Lil’ Doc. Beginning in late May, bluefish mix in and provide hard-hitting action as they follow menhaden schools in from the ocean.

South of the Bridge

Downriver and south of the I-95 Bridge, an excellent late-spring fishery starts at the northern confluence of the Back and Connecticut rivers, in an area called the Wood Lot. Here you can idle into a transition zone where the depth quickly changes from 4 to 10 feet. But do so quietly to prevent spooking the fish, especially on calm days.

Cast a medium-fast spinning outfit toward the shelf, and retrieve a soft plastic, like the Game On! Big Occhi, or a surface plug across the drop-off. Drift with the current and continue fan casting until you locate a pod of bass. The fish typically stalk the shallows, but you should explore the deep side too.

If you don’t find fish or when the bite wanes, motor south to Gibraltar Rocks—three large, clearly defined boulder fields. Anchor up, but heed your chart plotter and be cautious of subsurface rocks. Cast up or across current and retrieve just fast enough to keep a small swimming plug or metal lure from hanging bottom. Schoolie bass and hickory shad await prey in the slower and deeper water.

Farther seaward and just east of Buoy 10 lie Sodom Rocks, another perennial hotspot. Continue south from there to find another cluster of rocks and a small marsh island to cast to just east of Buoy 8. Griswold Piers, just south of Buoy 8, is a fishy area punctuated by three small rips. Finally, at the river mouth, cast to sandbars and the breakwaters, which provide good action on an ebb tide.

On a flood tide, work back upriver toward the Wood Lot. Begin by fishing the Great Island shore just north of Poverty Point, this time in the shallow 3-foot zone within casting distance of shore. From there, try spots like Great Island (south of the bridge) or Calves Island (north of the bridge).

If you’re new to fishing this area, be cautious of rock piles out of the main channel in the lower river, many of which are the remains from the days of haul seining. While these boulders attract fish, they can badly damage an outboard.

On the west side of the river lies Ragged Rock Creek and a rocky bar. These areas produce from late April into early summer. Some spots are shallow, but the area is lightly fished compared with others. Slightly downriver you’ll find a bridge and North Cove, which offers more structure than the Old Lyme side. This lower waterway near the main channel hosts monster bluefish in late spring and late summer as they maraud schools of adult menhaden. A large surface plug brings exciting topwater action during low light, when baitfish schools draw bluefish from Long Island Sound.

Whether fishing or just exploring the lower Connecticut River by boat, the beauty and diversity of this huge estuary is hard to match anywhere in the Northeast. Bluefish, striped bass, and baitfish are abundant, and you can usually fish the river when conditions on Long Island Sound are too windy.

The post Spring Striper and Bluefish Action Awaits on the Lower Connecticut River appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

This month marks the 39^th anniversary of Les Anderson’s world record king salmon catch on Alaska’s famed Kenai River. On May 17, 1985, Anderson, an auto dealer from nearby Soldotna, hooked the salmon fishing from his boat, then took to shore to land the 97-pound, 4-ounce Kenai king. Though bigger king salmon have reportedly been caught and released by anglers since then, Anderson’s world record stands. It also stands for a magnificent fishery now gone. These days, the fight for kings is to save them.

“We’ve seen a severe decline in the king salmon stocks in the Kenai and in other Alaskan river systems,” says Shannon Martin, Executive Director of the Kenai River Sportfishing Association (KRSA). “We’ve had complete closures to sportfishing for kings on the Kenai and other rivers. On some rivers, only hatchery-raised king salmon may be harvested. These days, I won’t target kings anywhere,” she said.

Chinook (King) Salmon See Major Declines

Called kings around the Kenai, the species is commonly called Chinook across its range in the North Pacific. In many locations in Alaska, Chinook’s decline has been so severe in the last 30 years that the wild fishery is in peril. The stocks are diminished by all measures, including the numbers of fish returning to rivers each year, the size of those individual fish, and the seasons to catch them.

 “I remember the Kenai,” says Peter Westley, an associate professor in the College of Fisheries and Ocean Sciences at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks. “You could put your head into the mouth of one of those big fish. People are feeling pretty pessimistic, saddened, depressed, longing for the good old days.

“Across the entire North Pacific region, Chinook are not doing well,” he said. “The story is told river by river, but there are big patterns, and Chinook salmon in lots of places are circling the drain.”

Threats to Chinook

The threats to Chinook are multifold, complex, and many decades in the making — commercial trawling, degraded habitat, dams, rising sea temperatures, and increasing predation by protected sea mammals. Add to all that fishing pressure and hatchery-raised salmon that compete with native fish. Westley says, “Unless something fundamentally changes with how we interact with them, the future for Chinook is really grim.

“On some level,” he adds, “there are Chinook, but they’re hatchery fish. The habitat is so messed up that there wouldn’t be Chinook without those hatchery fish. The evidence is saying that the hatchery fish diminish the wild fish though. In places like the Kasilof and Ninilchik, you can fish for hatchery Chinook, but the problem is that no one can distinguish what gets caught.”

Westley presents a comprehensive vision of the threats facing Chinook when he says, “The ocean has always been dangerous and risky, but in recent years, it has become even more dangerous for fish. The Chinook’s life-history strategy of growing slowly and being in the ocean most of its life isn’t benefitting the species lately.”

The Future of Alaska Fishing

Both Westley and Martin suggest that anglers shift their expectations of Alaskan fishing and realize that the kings need help and that there are plenty of other incredible fish to go for across the state and the region.

“We need to do our part to take the pressure off Chinook salmon,” says Westley. “If they want Chinook, people should go to places where the fishing has as little impact as possible on the wild stocks, places like Ship Creek, where it’s all hatchery fish,” he says. “There are also some healthy fisheries for wild sockeye. That’s a different ball game.”

Martin, from KRSA, said she is seeing a change in mentality in many anglers.

“Anglers are looking for other species, trying to protect that run of kings returning from the ocean. At the same time, our organization advocates for fishery managers to implement paired closings with commercial fisheries to include additional restrictions and protections. This would share the burden of conservation amongst all user groups. What matters is to get eggs in the gravel and that’s what we’re looking for.”

An Uncertain Future

The fight will be long and hard to help protect Chinook, one of the Western World’s totemic sport fish, food fish, and a lynchpin of Alaska’s coastal ecosystem. Only recently, in March, the State of Alaska Board of Fisheries voted to lower the spawning escapement goal for the late-run Kenai River king salmon to support additional commercial fishing opportunities for other salmon, a decision that Martin and the KRSA lamented, painfully. Martin called it a “dark day for conservation in Alaska.” She said, “We’re essentially signing off on the managed decline of a species that has defined our region.”

Anyone who’s ever seen the broad, pink-green back of a Chinook salmon rising in a turquoise-colored, glacial river’s flow, while connected to that fish only by a thin line, knows the fear and the heartache that the fish might just break off and be gone, forever.

The post Alaska’s Kings in Peril appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Catch, Cast, Release follows Marina Gibson’s obsession with fishing from her earliest days plodding along the river with her mother to her current role as the head of her own fly fishing school. Along the way, we follow her as she sheds the trappings of city life for a more fulfilling life on the water, fly rod in hand.

Like so many in their early twenties, Marina found her life lacking direction. She was living in London, carrying on as many of that age do. But she found that lifestyle lacking, and she needed a change. That change would come in the form of a 21st birthday gift from her parents. Given the choice between a fly rod and jewelry, she chose the fly rod and rekindled the love she had for angling as a child. This thoughtful gift kicked off an epic adventure.

Soon, Gibson found herself completely immersed in fly angling. She takes this calling with her across continents and through a few serious relationships, finding peace in fishing when things start to go sour. As her marriage failed, she found solace in the rhythms of fly casting. She found sanctuary in rivers. She hit the road in pursuit of the next big fish.

Gibson does an excellent job comparing the ups and downs of her life with the struggles faced by salmon on their journey home. She uses this metaphor to illustrate the hardships that she, and so many others, experience. Her writing draws careful parallels, without it being over the top. The text is descriptive without being flowery; an easy read for those looking to share in the adventure or figuratively escape their commute home.

If you came here for angling action, you won’t be disappointed. Gibson has traversed the globe in pursuit of some of the most exotic fish that swim, such as bumphead parrot fish off the Farquhar Atoll, golden dorado in the jungles of South America, and giant salmonids in Iceland’s wilds. In addition to the ever-present salmon in this book, she also covers permit, redfish, bonefish, and plenty more in salt and fresh.

Angler Extraordinaire

Gibson’s angling resume is impressive. She is a certified Fly Fishers International Casting Instructor, which in and of itself is an accomplishment. But Gibson’s skills go far beyond her casting abilities, having pursued a variety of species across the globe, including the saltwater brutes that frequent the Seychelles and the golden dorado of South America’s jungles. Of course, she can swing a Spey rod with the best of them on Europe’s toughest rivers.

Gibson has made quite the career of her angling prowess, serving as a brand ambassador for such companies as Orvis and YETI. She has guided trips for a variety of species across several continents. Time will tell, but I would wager that Gibson will continue to host trips all over the globe.

She founded the Northern Fishing School at Swinton Estate in North Yorkshire in 2019, teaching over 400 people a year how to cast, mend, and everything else involved in catching fish on the fly. And at the beginning of 2024, she fulfilled a lifelong dream by taking over the lease of Bywell beat on the River Tyne.

Gibson is also a passionate conservationist, using her substantial social media presence to address environmental issues, including but not limited to those faced by Atlantic salmon. She serves as ambassador for the Atlantic Salmon Trust and the Angling Trust, as well as a trustee for River Action UK, which combats water pollution in the United Kingdom. And as co-founder of the Cancer and Pisces Trust charity, she helps cancer sufferers find peace through fly fishing.

Final Thoughts

Catch, Cast, Release is a wonderful tale of one woman’s love affair with fly fishing, initiated by her mother on the banks of a salmon river. She turned that love into a lifelong adventure, fly rod in hand. Along the way, she used the mindfulness afforded by the rhythmic casting to ease her through life’s rough patches. Available on June 4.

The post Cast, Catch, Release: A Review appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.