The Norway maple in my yard looked ready to fold in the next 55-knot gust, its top-heavy crown threatening the second-story roof. Meanwhile, my boat, the very thing my gut had told me to haul out before this weather hit, creaked and swung on two sets of dock lines a long way offshore, anchored in a wind field that ran for miles along the coast.
It’s October in the Northeast, the month that fishing writers call a can’t-miss window for striped bass and other gamefish. Yet twelve days into this much-hyped “autumn bonanza,” the calendar had granted only one genuinely fishable day. I paced across the living room, thinking about less gear-intensive hobbies and joking about whether there was an AARP soccer league.
Six hours later the wind dropped, the flag in the neighboring yard collapsed against its pole, and a marina friend a mile away rang to tell me the boat was still afloat and secure. The maple still stood. My thoughts wandered—how long would the water clear off Fishers Island?
Back at it
Five days later I eased the diesel into gear, swung the stern to port, pointed the bow into the wind and climbed back into the cockpit to assess morning prospects. East over the horizon revealed a lone dragger steaming south out of Watch Hill Passage, and two white skiffs were converging on my position. To the west, off the east end of Long Island Sound, half a dozen more boats glittered against the gray-blue sky. It was clear this area would get busy fast.
I checked the drag and secured my plug rod in a stern holder. There might be thirty minutes — maybe a little more — before the first of the skiff pilots with binoculars closed in on my spot. Thirty minutes can be surprisingly productive.
What had begun as three separate shots of bait, birds and predators tightened into a single quarter-acre of water that looked like a broken run. Four-inch anchovy-like bait or small mullet skittered and leapt, scattering ahead of a swelling curtain of chasing fish. A dozen gulls hovered and dove, flaring up at the instant of impact. The noise and splashing filled the dawn and nearly drowned the approaching outboard hums.
A massive tail shot out and arced—probably from a bass in the mid-20-pound range—smashing back down in a spray of white water. A few cormorants kept guard a short distance from the commotion. October, I muttered, as I checked GPS and sounder. The display showed bait in loose formation; the bigger fish were still choosing their moment.
I idled north twenty yards to avoid plowing into the blitz and scattering it. I backed down into a tidy drift, killed the engine and hurried aft to cast toward the leading edge of the marauding school.
Visual aids
October in New England delivers sharp contrasts and some of the year’s most spectacular, visually driven fishing. For anglers who spend summer working deep-water structure—slow-trolling wire lures or drifting live bait while obsessively managing electronics—the tenth month represents a welcome change. Deep-water tactics rely heavily on sounders and chartplotters, and after months of glancing back and forth you can understand why many captains feel like they’ve been playing a high-stakes video game of red-and-yellow blobs on a screen.
By autumn, though, migratory instincts dominate. Stripers, bluefish, false albacore and occasional pods of bonito move with tides and food sources. Whole food chains push into the top third of the water column, and when conditions align the surface show can be irresistible. You still use electronics for reference, but you can rely more on sight, sound and hard-won intuition—reading birds, bait, and the water column in three dimensions.
Here today, gone tomorrow
The migratory nature of October angling changes the rules. Where summer often rewards time-on-the-water and fine-tuned, location-specific tactics, autumn is streaky: big booms of activity followed by long lulls. The most dependable approach is to stay “on the meat” — keep close to signs of fish until a school is mopped up or moves on. Expect search time between pushes of westbound fish and remain ready to capitalize when the next pulse arrives.
Increase your outing frequency and broaden your idea of what counts as fishable. Learn to use the lee of land to fish through windy conditions safely: you can often work productive water along Fishers Island’s north shore during a sou’wester, or find calm, blitzing surface conditions tucked up behind the mainland while boats a few miles offshore are hammered by green water.
July’s long days and resident bass support marathon trips. October rewards shorter, smarter sessions—an hour a day can outproduce a weekend if you’re dialed in. Fish will show for a tide or two, then vanish with a change in weather. The key is persistence: get out often, pay attention to the horizon and the birds, and be ready to move when the next window opens.
Zach Harvey is fishing editor for Soundings.
October 2013 issue