We pulled anchor and headed to harbor, the tops of the swells just barely breaking over our stern. The spadefish hanging out on the rocks just a few feet below kept taunting us, but the fun was over and the wind had started to blow out of the west. We kept pitching and pitching, hoping to catch a few more to round out our limit, but they had moved on. We had 26 blues in the box quicker than it took me to write this. Our friend Cam got bitten AND hooked by the same fish, and just about the whole boat had a sheen from the fish slime, blood and tiny scales that covered everything we touched.Īnd just like that, it cut off.
At the time, the limit for blues was ten per person, so we pretty quickly filled our cooler. We lost more tackle than we’d care to admit, and the bucktails that survived were completely stripped by their sharp teeth- not even the paint was left. The fish were everywhere, and the surface of the water boiled with the violence of their feeding activity. If you haven’t been in the middle of a blitz, written word will fail to convey the excitement and chaos of it. Out of nowhere, a big school of bluefish cruised through, and we quickly re-rigged with bucktails (no leader- we didn’t bring any) and started casting. We launched our tiny boat and headed a mile offshore on a dead calm day to some structure that we thought might hold spadefish. Our most memorable bluefish day was a few years back, when we were still getting our feet wet with fishing in the Chesapeake Bay.
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