Most fishermen can carve reasonably flat pieces of meat from bones, but pro captains and guides know tricks that cut time while also paring flesh to the bone for a variety of species. I’ve asked several professional guides and captains from New England to the Bahamas for their filleting tips.

Fishing Fillet Knives

Most pros have at least two fishing knives — one for filleting and one for skinning. A straight blade around seven inches long with just a bit of flex will typically provide the best control of a fillet-knife tip as one navigates through and around skin, flesh and bone. For skinning, on the other hand, long, flexible knives do the job better. Nine inches seems about right. Expensive isn’t necessarily better, but a cheap knife won’t have a blade that’s both flexible and hard enough to hold its edge. ­Forschner and Dexter Russell were recommended by several pros I interviewed.

The One-Cut Fillet

Fish that aren’t very tall from dorsal to belly — like sea bass and yellowtail and vermilion snapper — can be filleted with just one pass. “I make an angled cut from the top to the belly just past its pectoral fin, then I turn the knife and run it right along the fish’s spine,” says Capt. Carl Griffin, of Reel Deal Charters in Charleston, South Carolina. The blade penetrates both belly and dorsal simultaneously, all the way to the tail, and the fillet comes off in one piece. Lay the fillet skin-side down to cut ribs out, and check the fillet along the spine up near the head for remnant bones.

This works well on small mackerel too. “I’ll run the knife through the whole fish in one pass on fish up to about 20 pounds,” says Capt. Jamie Ralph, a freelance captain in Boynton Beach, Florida. A few pieces of backbone stay in the entire length of the fillet, but Ralph cuts these out along with the blood line — the dark meat surrounding the spine, particularly in mackerel, tuna and dolphin.

Top-to-Bottom Fish Fillet

Larger fish require a half-dozen knife cuts, always working from the dorsal downward. Griffin starts with an angled cut from the head to belly, then he makes “a long cut from the head all the way down the back, just barely breaking the skin.” In the next pass, Griffin says, “I cut along the bones down to the spine, then I work up and over the spine. You have to hold the top half of the fillet up away from the bone to get a good fillet on the bottom of the fish.” Griffin’s fifth cut goes from backbone down to — but not through — the rib cage. As his knife moves toward the tail, the tip comes through the skin from anus to tail. Griffin then uses a heavy serrated knife to cut through the ribs, working from anus up toward the head.

Ribs In or Out?

Instead of cutting through the ribs, many pros cut them out while removing the fillet. “Run your knife along the rib bones,” says Capt. Brian Garris, an inshore guide. “Just don’t put so much pressure on the knife that you break those bones.” This takes some practice on delicate fish like seatrout, so check the fillet and trim out any missed bones.

Striped bass have a pronounced rib cage. “The knife goes along the ribs easily at first, but it gets hard at the steep angle of the rib cage,” says Patrick Wood, of Hindsight Sport Fishing in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. “I’ll hold the fish down with the knife blade and then rip the rest of the meat off the ribs.”

How to Skin a Fish

A ragged fillet might not be noticed at dinnertime, but a bit of skin left on the meat stands out. If skinning is a problem, try these tips.

“Use a long fillet knife with a flexible blade,” says Capt. Justin Hubbard, who works at Haddrell’s Point Tackle in Charleston, South Carolina. “Bend that knife so the point of the blade and the heel of the blade are running right on the table,” he says. “It will lie flat right along the skin.”

On fish with thick skin, angle the blade down into the skin just a bit. On fish with thin skin, break the job up. “On mackerel, you have to remove the blood line anyway,” Griffin says, so he cuts each fillet down its length into two lengthwise halves, and then skins each. “It’s a lot easier to skin just half a fillet.”

Most pros take the skin off in one or two smooth strokes, but this takes practice. Until then, skin evenly across the fillet, dorsal to belly, a few inches at a time. With the fillet skin-side down on the table, start at the tail, leaving just a bit of meat at the tip of the tail to hold on to. (If you muck it up, try again from the corner near the head.)

“Get a good hold on the skin,” Garris says. “As you move the knife along, keep following with your fingers up close behind the blade so you’ve always got even pressure between the blade and the skin.” Garris says in doing this, you’re also holding the portion of the fillet you’ve already skinned up out of the way.

Peel or Cut to Skin?

Many people cut barely through dolphin skin all the way around the fillet, and then pull the skin off before filleting the fish. A glove or pliers helps. This works for mackerel, tuna and other small-scaled species as well, but pros shy away from this trick.

Pulling the skin off leaves fibers of flesh on the skin and somehow also changes the taste of the fish, according to Capt. Lige Lawrence on the Island Hooker in Fort Lauderdale. He’ll pull the skin off small dolphin, but he cuts larger fish from their skin. Lawrence divides his fillets in half or thirds while skinning. “Cut about an eighth of an inch above the skin,” Lawrence says. “You can feel it. The knife cut gets tougher when you get close to the skin.”

No-Knife Tuna Fillet

Capt. Brett Wilson cuts large tuna down the length of the fish along the lateral line. “As long as it’s good and cold,” he says, “you can reach in and fillet it — take the meat right off the bone — with your hand.” To get tuna that cold, he packs ice in and around gutted fish and then adds seawater to make a brine.

While variations to these tips are numerous, there are a few universal recommendations. Keep knives sharp — there are plenty of tools to help. Go slowly — speed comes only with ­repetition. And probably most ­important, pay attention to pros cleaning fish and don’t hesitate to ask questions. Most experts will even guide you through a fillet job — but only with your fish!

How to Fillet a Mahi

The post How to Fillet Fish Like a Pro appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Armed with the knowledge that scientists who dissect large South Florida bonefish report gulf toadfish (Opsanus beta) in their bellies, my intention was to uncover a panacean soft bait to target flighty bonefish. Heck, there must be a reason certain bonefish flies like Harry Spears’ Tasty Toad, Pat Dorsey’s Kwan Fly, and the Gummy Minnow imitate a toadfish, goby, and glass minnow.

But after speaking with established Florida Keys captains such as Rich Smith, of Marathon, and Dave Atkinson, of Islamorada, I’ve learned just how unpredictable and scarce bonefish can become at times. When limited numbers leave them with narrow opportunities for customers — live shrimp, small crabs and flies offer the best presentation, so they stay with what’s habitually successful. “You really have to take advantage of the ­opportunities you get,” says Atkinson.

Different fish stories persist in South Florida of bonefish attacking bait schools intended for different species, but none ignite any degree of confidence. Still, options do exist for spin anglers who want to trick bonefish without relying on live baits like shrimp and crabs.

The Best Bonefish Jig

Most captains I spoke with agreed that the simplest lure to tempt a bonefish is the skimmer jig. Sometimes called a bonefish jig or flats jig, it’s flat with a tip shaped like a diamond or a circle. The hook and jig eye always point toward the surface to deter snags with grassy or rocky bottom where bonefish live. The hook is dressed with bucktail, fly or synthetic material to mimic shrimp and crabs. Different than traditional boxing-glove jig heads, the slender skimmer wobbles in the water and falls at a slower rate.

“Lightly twitch the rod so the jig hops off the bottom like a shrimp,” says Capt. Mo Estevez, who fishes South Florida’s Biscayne Bay regularly. “With a pure jig — which has no smell — you’re appealing to bonefishes’ keen eyesight. The jig’s productivity is dependent on the ability and skill of the angler. It’s tough to get the right action.”

Many captains tip the jig with fresh shrimp to appeal to a bonefish’s olfactory senses, but that’s no longer a true artificial. Instead, use artificial-shrimp scent (like Berkley Gulp! Alive, Pro-Cure or Carolina Lunker Sauce) on your jigs.

Color combos are wide ranging for the jigs, but browns, oranges, whites and pinks are top picks. In general, choose colors that mimic the same color as the bottom substrate or the colors of the local crustaceous fauna. In South Florida, common prey such as xanthid (mud) crabs , portunid (swimming) crabs, alpheid (pistol) shrimp and penaeid (Atlantic white) shrimp all mimic popular jig colors. Pick ⅛-, ¹⁄₁₆- or ³⁄₁₆-ounce jigs based on how shallow the flat is.

“Skimmer jigs work for anglers who don’t fly-fish,” says Estevez. “With the higher tide, bonefish feel and act safer with more water over their back. Still, I prefer low water on an incoming tide to spot them as they ‘pop’ onto the flats from deeper water.”

Popular jig brands include Hookup Lures Weedless Bucktails or Capt. Harry’s Flats Jigs, but many lure makers offer their own patterns.

Playing the Bonefish Numbers Game

Beyond South Florida, areas such as the Bahamas, Yucatan Mexico, Los Roques, Venezuela and Belize can offer incredible numbers of bonefish. In areas of abundance, anglers have the opportunity to try different presentations.

The bonefish of Los Roques eat from a buffet of glass minnows in the waters around the island, shadowing pelicans that dive on the bait. But the Venezuelan bones are a unique and exotic outlier; shrimp, crabs and sea worms still reign supreme for bonefish in most parts of the world. Consider these two techniques when the bonefish are ready and willing or in large groups mudding.

A Bone to Pick

1. Cast Berkley Gulp! Shrimp

“I have success with Berkley Gulp! Shrimp whenever I can’t find fresh shrimp,” says Capt. Jody Albury, of Marsh Harbour, Bahamas. He casts the artificial shrimp the same way he would a natural one. “Fishing the Marls, I use 10-pound SpiderWire braid, a light fluorocarbon leader and an Eagle Claw Baitholder hook, size 1/0.”

Besides Berkley Gulp!, South Florida anglers are having increased success with Savage Gear 3D Manic Shrimp and Vudu Shrimp lures. It’s a stealth presentation that requires the angler to set up on a flat where the bonefish are likely to flood onto — it’s not necessarily sight fishing. Anglers must make plenty of casts to where the deeper water meets the flat.

2. Cast a Fly With a Split Shot

A second method Albury mentions sprung from necessity — or possibly frustration — when fishing the extremely shallow flats that straddle the western side of Great Abaco. The Marls are a mix of mangrove, keys, limestone and bright-white sand.

“If the fish are being picky, I’ll have my spin anglers cast a fly with a split shot a couple of inches above the fly,” he says. “My favorite bonefish flies are the EP Spawning Shrimp and Veverka’s Mantis Shrimp, both in size 4.” Some might consider the technique cross-pollinating fishing styles, but I’d counter it’s a clever move to diversify your fishing arsenal for a fickle species.

Targeting Bonefish in Deepwater Harbors

Sight-fishing takes a back seat to other tactics when bonefish vacate the flats during the heat of the summer or the chilling temps of winter. Bonefish handle low oxygen levels that accompany hot water in coastal, tropical habitats by inhaling air into a lunglike air bladder. Still, larger bones retreat to deeper waters during the summer. In this warm-water scenario, ­blind-casting artificials pays dividends. The trick is to find deeper water near productive flats with current.

Regarding the Finger Channels south of Key Biscayne, says Estevez: “If it’s low tide, or in the cold of winter or dead of summer, head to the Finger Channels and bounce pompano jigs on the bottom. Bonefish head for the deeper channels, and you’re also likely to catch permit, mutton snapper and juvenile African pompano.”

Try pompano jigs or an undersize bucktail jig crafted mostly with a chrome jig head, short-shank hook and nylon skirt. The skirts are often cut short, just past the bend in the hook. Bomber’s Nylure Pompano jig is a good example of this style of jig. Other pompano jigs, like Doc’s Goofy Jig, are shaped kind of wacky. The Goofy jig is a long-shanked hook set inside a banana-shaped lead. Many times, the jig is dressed with a secondary hook hidden inside a skirt. This popular jig catches bonefish over sandy bottoms. Next time the fresh bait’s not available, tie on a jig with confidence.

The post Catch Bonefish with Lures appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

You know the saying “What’s old is new?” Well, the older I get, the more sense it makes. I see the kids pegging their pant legs like we did in the ’80s. Star Wars is more popular than ever. And certain old-school fishing tactics are back in vogue.

When I was a kid, my dad would load us and his gear into his 24-foot Albemarle, carry us across the mouth of Chesapeake Bay to the edge of Inner Middle Ground Shoal and throw out the anchor. He’d break out a half dozen Penn setups rigged with fish-finder rigs. After baiting up with chunks of menhaden, he’d cast the rigs around the boat and deploy a bag of chum. Then, we’d wait.

Fishermen are famous for their patience, but waiting for hours while boiling under the hot sun, all the while swatting flies and listening to the waves slap on the hull, would test the resolve of a saint. Not to mention the weird bycatch fish. Skates, car-hood rays and small sharks were more annoying than the green flies.

In those days, cobia fishermen were a special sort of crazy, suffering the worst conditions to catch one of the biggest inshore trophies. On a hot August afternoon, with thunderstorms on the horizon, the shoals at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay were lined with boats and covered in a sheen of menhaden oil. Many anglers tried to catch these finicky beasts, but few were successful.

Those few had turned cobia fishing into a passion, devoting their lives to the pursuit. The payoff came in one of the largest and most unpredictable coastal game fish. These fish can grow up to 100 pounds, bigger than most inshore sport fish.

No two cobia fight the same. They will run, charge, roll, dive and even jump. Often, a free-swimming cobia will follow a hooked fish to the boat. That’s when real chaos kicks in as the crew scrambles to pitch a bait. Then there are the stories of hooked cobia getting wrapped up in the anchor rope and chum line. I’ve seen guys jump off the boat to free a cobia caught up in bridge pilings. After sacrificing blood, sweat and sanity, they were not about to let a cobia get away.

Chumming for Cobia Lost Favor Over the Last Decade

About 20 years ago, local anglers returning from the fabled cobia waters off Florida brought heavy spinning rods, big bucktails and stories of free-swimming cobia. Within a couple summers, sight-casting towers were popping up like tulips in spring. The chumming hopefuls had become sight-casting cowboys. I was one of them.

If I could catch cobia by driving around the bay at 10 knots, to hell with chumming! The choice seemed obvious. Trade in chum, cut bait, live bait, hours in the sun, no breeze and trash fish for cruising around, face in the wind, a bucket full of eels, a couple of bucktails, two rods and no trash fish. I was sold. So were many, many anglers.

It wasn’t long before I figured out that sight-fishing for cobia isn’t easy either. The sun is just as hot, the fish are just as finicky, the outboard burns more fuel and my success rate improved only slightly. After a couple of summers driving around and going blind staring through the bright sun into the empty water, I was ready to catch a trash fish!

Chumming for Cobia is Popular Once Again

I caught up with my old friend Wes Blow to learn more about chumming for cobia. While the rest of us were sight-fishing, Blow was perfecting his bait-fishing tactics.

“I like the chaos,” he explained to me over the phone. Blow often fishes alone. Juggling a spastic cobia while trying to clear lines, pull in the chum bucket and then land the thrashing fish solo makes his blood run hot. Instead of explaining his methods and madness, he invited me to join him on his next trip.

We met at Wallace’s Marina in Hampton, Virginia, hours before sunrise. Blow loaded the boat with a half dozen three-gallon chum buckets and two dozen eels. He grinds his own chum out of fresh menhaden. His recipe mixes one gallon of menhaden oil with 100 pounds of fish. We ran out of Back River, and Blow stopped the boat in a deep channel. He armed two rods with two-hook bottom rigs baited with Fishbites bloodworm and 2-ounce bank sinkers. We drifted down the channel and quickly added three dozen croaker to the livewell.

By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, we were heading toward the mouth of Chesapeake Bay. Blow said he starts cobia fishing as soon as the water temperature hits 68 degrees. “The first fish show up off Hampton, at York Spit and Bluefish Rock,” Blow said.

On this slick-calm August day, Blow motored to the shoals on the inside side of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. He anchors on a sharp drop or significant hump so the boat is in shallow water and the chum slick is drifting into the deep. “I like the tide and wind going in the same direction,” he said. “That way the stern of the boat and chum slick are pointing in the same direction.”

With no wind and a morning outgoing tide, Blow anchored along the edge of Inner Middle Ground Shoal so the chum slick trailed toward the bridge. Blow keeps the anchor rope tied to a polyball so he can quickly ditch the anchor when he hooks a big cobia.

As the boat settled in the current, Blow dumped a three‑gallon bucket of chum into a five-gallon bucket with holes drilled in it and diving weights in the bottom. He dropped the bucket over the stern and let it sink to the bottom.

Cobia Fishing Techniques

As the greasy slick snaked its way with the current, Blow pulled out four medium-heavy combos spooled with 65-pound braided line. When I noticed that each reel has a different color line, he explained: “If I get a tangle, I quickly know which line is coming from what reel.” I joked, “They must love you at the tackle shop.”

Each rod is outfitted with a fish-finder rig. Blow threaded a plastic fish-finder slide over the braided line and tied on a 250-pound-test swivel. He attached a 2½-foot length of 80-pound Ande monofilament snelled to a big J hook. “I use an 8/0 hook for eels and a 10/0 for croaker,” he said. He likes a J hook because it improves his hookup ratio. “Big cobia have a hard, bony jaw,” he told me. “And a J hook will stick anywhere.” Because cobia often pick up the bait and charge the boat or jump and thrash, Blow feels the J hook has a better chance of finding purchase. “Very few cobia [that I catch] are deep-hooked,” he insisted.

No one is more concerned with the well-being of these brown bombers than Blow, who serves on the South Atlantic Fisheries Management Council subcommittee for cobia. He’s fought for years for sensible regulations to protect both the species and anglers’ rights.

Blow clips 8-ounce pyramid sinkers to two lines. The other two lines get a 4-ounce bank sinker. He drops the heavier sinkers right off the stern. “I catch 75 percent of my fish on the baits right next to the chum bucket.” The other two lines are stationed 20 feet behind the boat. “I catch the biggest fish on the longer lines,” he added.

Blow clears the deck and keeps the menhaden oil scrubbed off. The anchor is ready on the buoy. His rigs are fresh and tackle pristine. “Cobia will test every inch of your gear,” he stressed throughout the day. “You have to be ready when that 100-pounder is on the line.”

Hot Cobia Fishing

With the lines set and the chum flowing, we sat back and waited. The early morning humidity was already sitting on us like a wet towel. It wasn’t long before we got our first bite. I grabbed my camera, and Blow grabbed the rod. “It’s a shark,” he announced even before seeing the fish.

I stowed the camera, and Blow brought the 4-foot biter to the side of the boat. “Hold the rod,” he ordered, and I obeyed. He reached down, took a couple wraps on the leader, threaded the line onto a dehooker and, with a twist of the wrist, released the shark. The dehooker easily grabbed hold of the J hook, although a circle likely would have had similar results.

Blow rerigged the leader and replaced the bait in the spread. “I must catch a thousand sharks each summer,” he lamented. “Maybe more.” According to Blow, trash fish are just part of the fun. The key is to keep an extra rod rigged up and ready to deploy while fighting a shark or ray.

It wasn’t long before one of the rods bucked heavily. Then the line went slack. Blow was quick to react, jumping on the rod and reeling the line tight. A 3-foot brown fish skirted the surface of the water 30 feet behind the boat. When the fish turned to run, Blow jerked the rod tip to set the hook. Then he engaged the clicker on the reel and put the rod back in the holder. We worked quickly to clear the other rods. I pulled up the chum bucket and left it dangling at the surface. “With the clicker on, I can listen to what the fish is doing while I prepare the boat,” he explained.

Once the lines were in and the deck clear, Blow returned to fighting the cobia. Brown bombers are one of the most unpredictable fish on a line. This one pulled all the tricks. Their favorite move is to come to the boat quickly. When I reached for the net, Blow barked, “I don’t even try to land them when they first come to the boat.” He’s wise to their tricks. “I hit the fish on the head with the net and it will freak out and run again.”

I reached in with the net and scooped a 30-pounder into the boat. The fish slithered on the deck while Blow quickly removed the hook and measured it. Then he inserted an orange spaghetti tag and returned the fish to the water. He held onto the lip and let the cobia regain its composure. When the fish gave a kick that covered Blow with green water, he let it swim away.

By now, the sun was up in full force and the heat building. Blow’s open center console offered no place to hide, and my light clothes stuck to my skin. I gulped water and moved around the boat trying to find any breeze. The surface of the bay was slick-calm, and the boat hardly rocked. Luckily, the fishing was just as hot as the weather. We landed a couple more brown fish in the 20- to 30-pound range as the tide ripped toward the ocean.

When the current began to slack, Blow moved the boat to the east side of the bridge, where we rode out the incoming tide. We caught more cobia, including one fish that pushed 50 pounds. All of the fish were tagged and released. Sure, we caught a few sharks and rays, but that didn’t rain on the parade. I considered the day a major success.

At one point, I spotted three cobia swimming along the edge of the shoal, 30 yards in front of the boat. I grabbed a heavy spinning reel and 3-ounce ­bucktail that Blow keeps just for such occasions. With all of my might, I heaved the lure at the idling fish. The bucktail landed with a splash a few feet ahead of the pack. I watched their fins slash the surface, I gave the rod tip a jerk and all three fish turned on the bucktail. I let the lure drop. The fish swam down.

I jigged again, cranked a few feet of line, jigged again, but nothing happened. I did everything right, but sometimes cobia simply won’t cooperate with a lure presentation. All the more reason to chum for them.

After hours of action, we’d released a half dozen cobia. Each fish fought its own fight. With one of us on the reel and the other scooting around the cockpit, we were able to control the chaos. I saw Blow’s point about action. Too many times I’ve gone all day sight-fishing without taking the rod out of the holder. That definitely won’t happen when chumming up cobia.

Virginia Game Fish Tagging Program

In an effort to track fish movements and monitor populations, the Virginia Game Fish Tagging Program recruits volunteer anglers to place numbered tags in 11 species of sport fish. Participants are trained on how to insert tags and record data. The resulting information plays a big part in tracking fish numbers and setting regulations. Cobia have been a big star of the program: One fish tagged in Virginia was recaptured in the Gulf of Mexico, off Texas. Wes Blow tags dozens of cobia each summer. Because he receives a notification when one of his tags is returned, the information helps him refine his cobia strategy. To get involved in the program, visit mrc.virginia.gov.

Cobia Fishing Supply List

• Medium-heavy conventional or spinning combos spooled with 80-pound braided line
• 8-ounce pyramid sinkers
• 4- to 6-ounce bank sinkers
• 8/0 and 10/0 J hooks on 80-pound mono leader and
• Fish-finder slide
• Five-gallon chum bucket drilled with ½-inch holes
• Three-gallon buckets of menhaden chum
• Two dozen live eels
• Three dozen live croaker or spot

The post Chumming for Cobia appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

In Australia they call it vibing. To entice finicky fish, anglers work a small lure that vibrates as it falls through the water column and when it’s retrieved. Some anglers might call these lures by different names, as this lure style can be soft baits, hard baits or metal blade baits. Turns out, the tactic is deadly on a wide range of fish, and vibing is catching on around the world.

 “Twenty years ago, vibe lures came to Australia from Japan,” explains Jarad “Dingo” Boshammer. Boshammer is a native Australian but now lives and guides in Jupiter, Florida. “In Australia, vibe lures are a household name,” he says. 

In 2009, Boshammer moved to America. “I brought some vibe lures with me,” he remembers. When his supply ran out, he convinced his father to send lures from home. “The tactic is just as effective on snook, redfish and a variety of species,” Boshammer says. “People think vibe lures are complicated, but it’s pretty simple.” 

Vibe Lures Are a Hit

Vibe lures, or bladed baits, are effective for a variety of inshore and offshore species. Carter Andrews, host of The Obsession of Carter Andrews television show, says, “I do a little bit of everything so I’m always looking for a lure that is multidimensional.”

Andrews uses Yo-Zuri’s High Speed Vibe hard lure for offshore fishing. “I can rip it across the surface, swim it, let it drop, bounce bottom or even troll up to 12 knots,” he says. 

Besides Nomad Tackle and Yo-Zuri, other lure makers sell vibe and blade lures too. Berkley has a Shimma Vector Vibe, which is mostly available in Australia. But more and more lure makers are offering baits in the US, such as the Daiwa Bull Steel blade bait or Storm Arashi Vibe.

So, what is vibing? According to Chris Shoplock, marketing coordinator at Nomad Tackle, “A vibe lure looks like a lipless crankbait with a line tie on the top and treble hooks in the front and back.” Saltwater versions are through-wired to hold the lure together. The key feature is an exaggerated wobble when the lure swims and when it falls. “That makes it doubly effective,” Shoplock says.

Offshore Fishing With Vibe Lures

Carter Andrew’s favorite scenario involves boiling tuna. “Everyone is focused on catching tuna on topwater, but I catch three tuna to one on a subsurface lure,” he explains. 

When Andrews first approaches tuna feeding on the surface, he makes a long cast with a 7-foot, 7-inch medium-heavy, fast-action Grappler rod and 14000 Shimano Stella reel spooled with 65-pound braid and six feet of 60- to 80-pound fluorocarbon leader. 

His initial attack is quickly retrieving the lure across the surface. If the tuna don’t respond, Andrews allows the plug to sink to the depth where he is marking fish. “The lure vibrates slowly when it sinks, then the vibrations increase when I retrieve it,” he details.

King mackerel are another favorite target. “The small vibe lure is a perfect match when king mackerel are feeding on smaller baitfish,” he says. Andrews adds a short length of No. 6 wire when he’s kingfishing.

Andrews says the vibe lure’s versatility saves time and money. “I don’t have to change rods or retie lures because I can go from topwater to the bottom during one cast.” He’s caught everything from tuna to red snapper with vibe lures. “This dog is hunting all the time,” he says.

Inshore and Flats Fishing With Blade Baits

Inshore anglers are also finding new ways to use vibe lures. Jarad Boshammer has been experimenting with Nomad Tackle’s vibe series. “In the first 12 months, I caught 52 species of freshwater and saltwater fish,” he says. 

Nomad has developed a line or rods and reels matched to vibe fishing. “The rods have a fast tip to work the lure but remain sensitive to feel the bite,” he says. For smaller vibe lures, he uses a 7-foot-plus rod rated for 10- to 20-pound test. With the larger vibe lures, he bumps up to 30-pound spinning gear. 

Boshammer uses a two-phase finesse technique, much like fishing a twitchbait. He starts by casting the lure into the current. Then, he allows it to sink to the bottom. “The lure wobbles when it sinks; I keep the line tight so I can feel a bite,” he says. 

When he feels the lure hit the bottom, he starts the retrieve. “Every time I turn the reel handle, I give the rod tip two quick pumps and then pause,” he says. Boshammer holds the rod at a 45-degree angle and keeps the line tight while the lure sinks.

As the lure gets closer to the boat, Boshammer raises and lowers the rod tip to bounce the vibe off the bottom. “I want the lure to contact the bottom between retrieves,” he stresses.

Both experts agree, vibe lures maximize opportunities because the lure is always working. “It is as effective on the drop as the retrieve,” Andrews says. This makes vibe and blade lures excellent search baits for working the surface, mid-water and along the bottom. Boshammer says, “If I was going to take one lure around the world, it would be a vibe.” 

The post When the Vibe is Right appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Bob Misak tread precariously along the slippery, moss-laden boulders of Barnegat Inlet’s south jetty. He had a rod in hand and bucket of Asian crabs tied along his waist. Though Misak is a good friend, I didn’t worry about him slipping into the drink. I was more focused on the spot where he stopped.

“This is it,” he said. “The rock where they hang.”

In New Jersey, you’d think he was stalking stripers or blackfish. But he was referring to sheepshead, the unicorn, structure-loving beast of Garden State waters. Misak dropped his rig down, gave the rod a light tickle, then a booming strike buckled his rod. With rod in one hand and net in the other, Misak reached down and nabbed a 12-pound sheepshead. Misak shot me a glance as he released the “jail breaker.”

New Jersey’s Sheepshead History

I can hear anglers in the south saying: “Sheepshead, what’s the big deal?” I’ll tell you. Sheepshead aren’t a normal species in Jersey. Let me back up, they haven’t been normal in Jersey for at least 40 years. Historically, their convict-striped presence was once common in New York and New Jersey. Sheepshead Bay off of Long Island, New York, got its name for a reason.

Also, any sheeps caught in Jersey rarely fall below the 5-pound mark, with average catches weighing between 8 and 14 pounds. The state record caught in 2014 stands at 19 pounds, 3 ounces. Whether due to warming climate, an invasion of Asian shore crabs in the 1980s, or something else entirely, a trophy sheepshead fishery has been available in New Jersey for the past 15 years. Anglers are becoming hip to the secret.

Jockeying for Sheepshead on Jetties

Misak’s land-based sheepshead exploits have made him a shore legend in the Garden State — his top sheepshead catch of 15.4 pounds would’ve broken the state record. But he didn’t know at the time and put it in the frying pan.

“I know some divers that key me in on where they stack up in schools of 4 to 6 fish of the same size,” said Misak. “They tend to stay on the same rocks, year after year in the same area.” On one outing, Misak and his friend bested six fish that all weighed between 14 and 15 pounds.

“You won’t find sheepshead on wrecks off the shore, but in back bays or at inlet jetties where waters are as deep as 25 to 30 feet,” he said. “There needs to be clean water, structure, and lots of tidal flow. Ideal water temperatures bounce between 70 and 78 degrees. You want to fish the outgoing tide along the jetty rocks.”

Misak’s jetty rig consists of a 7-foot, 6-inch medium-heavy rod, 3500 Shimano Stradic, 50-pound braid, and 40-pound, 24-inch dropper loop rig. Three inches separate size 3/0 Gamakatsu Octopus hooks on the bottom rig. A 1.5- to 3-ounce bank sinker keeps the rig on the bottom. He hooks small quarter-size crabs through the bottom pad.

“They hit hard on the run, moving like a big blackfish running along the bottom,” explained Misak. “Once their body is sideways, then the fight is on. Let the drag do the work and steer away from the rocks until they tire out. I’m finding that it’s possible we may be seeing a new migratory pattern — their sizes are going down to 10 pounds and lower with people beginning to target them more often.”

How to Fish Bridge Structure for Sheepshead

Anyone in the tristate area knows the name Capt. Dan Schafer, of Insomniac Guide Service, is synonymous with Jersey sheepshead. He has always been a forerunner, targeting south Jersey sheepshead.

“I found them while tautog fishing on the south Jersey bridges in 2005, where I put an underwater camera down and saw a school of sheepshead,” said Schafer. “After that, I dedicated myself to fishing for them where I landed my first, an 8-pounder, on a regular one-hook dropper rig. I noticed that even though sheepshead stay around structure like blackfish, they don’t react or stage like blackfish do.”

Schafer then learned their yearly habits.

“Usually, the season for Jersey sheepshead in the back bays is late May to October,” he explained. “Sheepshead show up when waters hit 57 degrees, and up to 75 degrees, staying throughout the summer and into the fall. Big sheepshead hang on the front side of bridge pilings and icebreakers as they will be the first to grab crabs funneling by, while the other smaller fish hang on the leeward side of the structure to get the rest of the crabs.”

Schafer fishes the lightest tackle jig possible to give a natural presentation in the current, with speed dictating what exact ounce. Generally, bottom-sweeper jigs from ¼- to 5/8-ounce suffice. When waters are dirty, bright colors like chartreuse or pink work better. When waters are clear, white or unpainted heads work best.  

Proper bait choice is a major factor in success rates.

“Asian crabs are spring and fall baits, while fiddler crabs are summer baits (from mid June to August),” Schafer. “Sheepshead are hanging shallower in the water column off structure, like 1 to 6 feet down. Crab hatches are flowing with the tides, up in the water column. On the full and new moons, the fish feed accordingly.”

Water clarity also plays a large part on strategy, according to Schafer.

“The more stained the water, the shallower or more vertical in the water column they are,” he said. “Cleaner water they stage deeper. In the faster the current, the higher in the water column they feed. While during the more slack tides, the lower in column they’ll hang. Sheeps are aggressive feeders, not like tautog, hanging on the bottom but will come up and roam.”

Schafer’s technique is kind of odd, but it’s directed. “I’ll work the bridges, spot-locking right and tight on a piece.”

Many times, Schafer is literally holding the icebreaker or bridge piling with his hands. “I’ll dip a jig baited with crab starting two feet down, then if there isn’t a bite, drop it two more feet, and repeat that process until I hit bottom down to 30 feet. If I don’t get a hit after three tries on that spot, I’ll move to another piece. It could be 20 feet away, but it makes all the difference.”

Slack tide doesn’t mean the fish won’t feed. “When the tide starts slacking, they will come off structure, even 30 feet off a bridge to roam around,” said Schafer. “Toss around a jig at slack and work it back; I’ve landed fish to 10 pounds on the slack, fan-casting off the structure. Best baits are calico sand crabs, as they are the more natural baits away from the structure.”

Sod Banks for Sheepshead

Hard structure is one facet, but soft structure along the sod banks can be just as productive.

“Sodbank fishing with light jigs and light tackle is critical to not getting hung up,” said Schafer. “Sod banks erode on one side with steep relief; the sweet spot is 10 to 16 feet dropping to 22 feet along the ledges and steps of the submerged sod. They will stay around the submerged root system to forage. Drop to the bottom and walk a jig back over the sod, finding those deep holes. Crawl it back and inch it little by little, not jigging, but inching it back getting into the holes and ledges of the submerged sod.”

When battling trophy sheepshead from the boat, they earn the name “jail breaker” as they will shake hooks like mad to escape.

“Sheepshead aren’t vertical fighters, but horizontal,” said Schafer. “They’ll use their flattish porgy body design in the tide to plane with the water for leverage, not like blackfish that dog down. When hooked up, I back up the boat to pull them away from the structure with a light smooth drag. Then you can fight them as they plane up to the surface.”

Jersey sheepshead are quickly becoming a new species on the hit list, not simply because they are a relative anomaly in the waters, but for their great fighting power and dependable size. Is the new world-record sheepshead going to be taken from Jersey’s relatively untapped waters? I wouldn’t bet against it.

Sheepshead Fishing Tackle

• Rod: 7 to 7.5-foot medium to heavy stout spinning rod
• Reel: 3000 to 5000 spinning reel
• Line: 14- to 30-pound braid running line; 30- to 40-pound fluorocarbon leader
• Lures: ¼- to 1-ounce bottom sweeper jig in chartreuse, pink or white
• Bait: Asian crabs, sand fleas, fiddler crabs, Jonah crabs and calico crabs

The post New Jersey Sheepshead Fishing Shines appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Like alien invaders in H.G. Well’s sci-fi novel The War of the Worlds, unwelcome invasive fish and transplanted exotics have landed in our local waterways. Unlike our reaction to Well’s three-legged Martians, earthlings welcome alien fish with open arms and sharp hooks. If you’re looking for a challenge, check out these five freshwater invasives.

An invasive fish species is defined as a fish that’s been introduced beyond its native range and is causing harm, or has the potential to cause harm, in its new waters. Check your local fishing regulations to find out what actions you should take after you’ve caught an invasive species. It’s possible you’re supposed to keep it, to report it, to kill it, or even to release it back into the waters where you caught it. No matter what, there’s little harm in fishing for invasives, but plenty of benefits.

Florida’s Peacock Bass  

South Florida’s warm water and plentiful sunshine are perfect for tropical invasives such as peacock bass from South America, cichlids from Africa, and clown knifefish from Asia. 

Capt. Johnny Stabile, at South Florida Fishing Charters says, “Peacocks are just like largemouth — find them near structure.” Stabile looks for rock pinnacles and boat docks to find peacock bass.

To load up on bait, Stabile first catches threadfin shad and shiners with a 10-foot cast net. To fish the live bait, he uses a lightweight, medium-action rod and 2500-reel spooled with 10-pound braid and 15-pound fluorocarbon leader. He snells a No. 1 octopus-style hook to the leader and runs the hook through the roof of the bait’s mouth. 

To work the structure, Stabile makes a long cast and slowly swims the live bait back to the boat. “If the bait is within 10 feet of a peacock bass, the fish will attack.” 

Stabile also uses small crankbaits and jerkbaits to target peacock bass. He recently found a new favorite, the Shimano Macbeth 39. “The tiny square-bill crankbait gets bit!” he says.

Carp Fishing on Fly

For fly fishing anglers, one of the ultimate experiences is tracking a bonefish across an emerald water flat. For fly fishing guide Henry Cowen, chasing common carp in the Chattahoochee River is the next best thing. “I’m a few miles from Atlanta, and yet I’m still poling a skiff around flats like they do in the Everglades or Keys,” he says.

Cowen recommends a 7-weight rod, floating line, 10-foot fluorocarbon leader and 10-pound-test tippet. For a fly, he uses a beadhead woolly bugger, Clouser swimming nymph or carp hybrid fly in brown, rust, black or olive. “Carp like a little pink or orange in the fly too,” he adds.

Chattahoochee River carp are feeding machines, but Cowen says they are spooky. “The fly has to land next to the carp’s mouth,” he says.

Common carp are native to Europe and Asia. The invasive species was introduced to the US intentionally, with hopes that it would catch on as a food fish and sportfish. But it never gained a strong following, even as it spread across the nation’s waterways.

Mid-Atlantic Snakeheads

Snakehead are the poster child for invasive species. Their appearance in the mid-Atlantic was first met with horror and now anglers and foodies love the asian alien.

Damien Cook, at Lowland Outfitters on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, searches the backwater creeks with chatterbaits, swimming frogs and paddle tails. In summer, he looks for fry balls guarded by overly protective snakehead parents. 

When it comes to rigging, Cook warns, “Prepare for a brutal attack.” He uses a 7-foot baitcasting rod and 200-size reel spooled with 30-pound braid tied directly to the lure.

The snakehead endgame is a fight to the death. Cook recommends using a deep net to land the snakehead. “Then I hit the fish with a steel pipe,” he says. 

Blue Catfish in Unconventional Places

In the 1970s, Mississippi blue catfish were introduced into Virginia’s James River as a target for commercial and recreational anglers. The results have exceeded expectations.

In the dead of winter, Capt. Hunter Tucker, of Hawg Hunter Fishing, turns his attention to giant catfish weighing up to 80 pounds. “Around here they’re the biggest thing going,” he says.

He starts the day catching gizzard shad with a gillnet. Then, he baits a chunk of shad on a 10/0 Owner circle hook and fish-finder rig with an eight- to 16-ounce sinker. 

He anchors his boat and fishes structure like depth changes and brush piles. “On a cold day, look for the fish moving onto shallow flats as the sun comes up,” Tucker says.

Throw Another Barramundi on the Barbie

Barramundi are native to Australia but a small population found its way to central Florida. Originally started as a barramundi fish farm, Osceola Outback Adventures added sport fishing to the menu when word got out about the fish’s fight. Owner Byron Hennecy says, “They are the hardest fighting fish I’ve ever caught.” 

To catch barramundi, Hennecy recommends a 7½-foot rod and 2500-size reel spooled with 30-pound braided line and 50-pound monofilament leader. “The fish have sharp gill plates, like a snook, so re-tie after a couple fish,” Hennecy recommends.

Barramundi lures include D.O.A. CAL shads, Z-Man Mag Swimz, Stanley Jigs Top Toad, and the Whopper Plopper. Hennecy says the fish are popular with fly fishing anglers using Clousers minnows, crab and shrimp imitations. 

Even though the fish are captive in a 3-acre pond, Hennesy says they are a blast to catch. “Barramundi hit like a freight train, run hard, and jump out of the water.” That sounds like freshwater tarpon fishing!

The post The Top 5 Invasive Freshwater Fish to Catch appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Deep-drop fishing for species such as longtail bass, queen snapper, snowy grouper, tilefish, wreckfish and vermillion snapper requires a boatload of specialized gear, including leaders with multiple hooks that resist twists and tangles when fishing waters as deep as 1,200 feet or more. Veteran saltwater angler Angelo DePaola of Orange Beach, Alabama, regularly fishes such depths in the Gulf of Mexico. In this video, DePaola shares his technique for creating 6-foot-long, five-hook leaders that resist tangles and have proven effective in catching big groupers, snapper and tiles.

Read Next: Deep-Drop Fishing with Electric Reels

Here’s DePaola’s list of the materials you’ll need to build your own deep-drop leaders based on his video tutorial.

• 400-pound-test monofilament leader material
• 200-pound-test monofilament leader material
• Appropriately sized crimps for the leader material
• Appropriately sized crimping tool
• Line cutters
• Circle hooks, 7/0 to 9/0 (five)
• 2/0 swivel sleeves (five)
• Glow beads (five)
• 2/0 barrel swivel (one)
• 2/0 barrel swivel with snap (one)
• Tape measure
• Sharpie permanent marker pen

Credit: Angelo DePaola

Veteran deepwater angler Angelo DePaola of Orange Beach, Alabama, shares his tips on creating an easy deep-drop leader.

The post How to Make a Deep-Drop Leader appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Carefully, I laid a ballyhoo next to an R&R Tackle bucktail jig with two chained, long-shank 7/0 VMC hooks coming off the jig hook, to judge where each hook should be placed into the bait. I broke off the ballyhoo’s beak, then first inserted the last hook point into the ballyhoo’s belly just ahead of the pelvic fin; the middle hook went in just behind the bait’s throat area; and I sunk the first hook (the jig hook) into its chin and out its head just in front of the eyes.

Then, from the stern of a 32-foot Yellowfin, on that early-winter morning off Key Largo, I cast out the bait-and-lure as far as I could in the direction the boat was drifting. The ballyhoo began “swimming” downward as I let the 30-pound braid slip from my fingers, ready to flip the bail shut in a hurry. I knew that if a big kingfish intercepted the rig, I’d have only a second as line shot from my spool to get the hooks set before the toothy jaws would somehow manage to leave me with half a ’hoo, despite all the hooks embedded in the baitfish.

By the time our drift had put us roughly over where I’d cast the ’hoo, my line was nearly vertical, and the light jig had to be nearing the bottom, 240 feet down. With the bail open, I periodically lifted the rod tip to feed line, keeping a belly of slack to allow the jig to sink freely. Each time the line started to come tight, I repeated the process until I saw that the belly in the line from lifting the rod tip remained longer than it had. That told me the jig had come to rest on the reef.

Quickly, before the jig could find purchase in the structure, I flipped the bail and began lifting the rod in long, slow, high sweeps, slowly reeling down after each. I did this several more times, then opened the bail to let the jig fall again.

I would repeat that entire sequence — slowly jigging up the ballyhoo in four or five sweeps of the rod — until the bait was far behind in the current, and the line angle was perhaps 45 degrees. Then I would keep up that jigging motion until something inhaled the ballyhoo or it was back at the boat. If the rig looked to still be in good shape, I’d recast and start the process again.

A Screaming Run
But in this instance, I didn’t get to retrieve the jig. Instead, after one of the sequences of jigging the lure upward several times, just as I was letting it drift down again, something snatched up the bait in a screaming run. I flipped the bait, and instantly my rod was bucking, line sizzling off the Shimano Stella.

I found myself feathering the ­spinner’s spool, with the fish’s downward trajectory taking it toward the reef. Fortunately, the fish had struck well up above the coral, giving me a cushion to work with.

And work I did — straining for all my tackle and I were worth to slow the brute. As I fought the fish, speculation ran rampant, with the various guesses as to what I had hooked, including amberjack, mutton snapper and barracuda.

But when my prize finally reached the boat, we saw I had hooked a real horse of a horse-eye jack. No member of the family of jacks and trevallies (Carangidae) fights any harder than the tough horse-eye, so I wasn’t surprised that we’d expected to see an even larger fish.

I added that horse-eye to the list of species I had landed that morning (we won’t dwell on others that were lost between hookup and release) — among them kingfish, mutton snapper, skipjack, barracuda (one that jumped as high as a tarpon would) and a big scrawled filefish — all on bucktail-jig-and-ballyhoo rigs.

Lost Art
Rewind a few decades. Things were a bit different when I was growing up in Miami. For one thing — sure, we enjoyed somewhat easier fishing thanks to more fish and fewer anglers. I fished bucktails not at the stern of a center console but from the pulpit of a party boat. And my spinning gear was a bit bigger and clunkier than the reels of 2018. Also, notably, braided fishing lines didn’t exist, so we fished mono.

But the bucktail jigs armed with chained hooks and ballyhoo, and the tactics for fishing these rigs over moderately deep reefs, were identical now as then.

Recently, during a tackle-organizing session in my garage, I came across a Plano box full of bucktail jigs, and I realized how long it had been since I had fished them with ballyhoo over the reefs. And I’d never done so with braid (versus mono).

In fact, it occurred to me that casting ­bucktails and ballyhoo has become something of a lost art for many younger anglers.

Thus it was that I found myself off Key Largo on the Yellowfin belonging to Sport Fishing‘s Scott Salyers, along with his pal Bobby Brown, also from Miami and acting as guide (a man with the numbers!) here; Rich Weinstein of Key Largo’s Ocean Reef Club; and, making a special guest appearance one day, Miami’s renowned Capt. Jimbo Thomas.

While fishing proved tough overall, it became clear that the technique could still work its magic.

Top-to-Bottom Weapon
This isn’t to say this method will necessarily out-fish others. In part, its relegation to largely forgotten status has to do with the increasing use of live bait in recent decades. And live bait is, of course, always hard to beat.

But keeping some chain-hooked bucktails in one’s tackle box to fish with ballyhoo can offer another good option, another weapon in the reef-angler’s arsenal.

And the technique has some particular advantages. One of my favorites is the angler’s ability to effectively fish the entire water column each cast. Once the jig hits the water, it’s fishing. Lighter jig heads provide a much slower sink rate than is the case when bait is dropped using heavy sinkers. That slower downward drift makes the ballyhoo resemble wounded or dying prey. I’ve caught or seen caught wahoo and sailfish this way, and it’s assuredly a great way to get kingfish strikes, as well as action from blackfin and little tunny.

If no predator sees the drifting bait early on, as it begins to fall deeper, jacks, snapper, grouper and other reef-loving species can spot the bait when it is well over their heads; they’ll often swim up 20 or 30 feet to snatch it. That gives the angler an advantage of time to turn the fish before it can make the coral.

Tips on Tackle
The gear required to fish ballyhoo on bucktails is fairly simple, starting with bucktails themselves. Despite the rather generic “bucktail” term, any lead-head with natural or artificial hair can work fine, certainly including those with sleek nylon fibers. Either way, the Upperman-style head is pretty classic in this use.

We fished both Upperman- and pilchard-style jigs from R&R Tackle, which offers high-quality jigs at reasonable prices. R&R also offers heavier jigs, up to 6 ounces.

While some anglers might be tempted to put a ’hoo on a 4- to 6-ounce jig, feeling that they’re “wasting time” with the slow fall of lighter jigs, my experience says otherwise. Sure, heavy jigs will work, but much less effectively. I suspect that has to do with less action using the heavier lead. Fish seem to find the bait more slowly fluttering down at first drop or between jig sweeps of the rod more tempting.

As a rule, lighter jigs will spark the most action. Of course, rate of current drift and wind drift as well as depth of water are all factors in deciding jig weight. But when fishing my preferred depth (100 to 200 feet) in light to moderate current, I’ll stick with ¾- to 1½-ounce jigs, 2 ounces maximum.

To chain another hook or hooks onto the bucktail, you’ll need a pair of Manley pliers or similar (see photo, below). These have narrow side cutters that allow you to insert them as if trying to “cut” the crack in the hook eye to squeeze that crack a bit wider — enough to insert a hook through the eye. Then simply squeezing the eye shut again creates a chained hook.

For this use, I prefer VMC 9255 O’Shaughnessy Closed Eye (long shank) and/or VMC 7265 O’Shaughnessy Live Bait (short shank) hooks, though Eagle Claw and other manufacturers offer hooks that will work. (Beware of models with eyes too large or your hooks will simply slip out; too small, and you won’t be able to squeeze the eye fully shut around the chained hook.)

The number of hooks you opt for will vary by size of the ballyhoo and also whether you want long or short shanks, or some combination.

Check your ballyhoo next to the boat before casting: If hooked properly, the ballyhoo should swim naturally. (Some anglers bend it upward to break the backbone and add to its flexibility in the water.)

R&R — as well as Halco Tackle — makes lead-head jigs with a treble hook on a short wire trailer attached to the jig. This can be quite effective, though it might reduce the ‘hoo’s swimming action, and limit you to somewhat-heavier jig heads.

Finally, you’ll need plenty of ballyhoo (at times, besides the bite-offs, triggerfish can maul a lot of baits). Some anglers catch their own, but many find they get a lot more fishing time by simply buying fresh-frozen ballyhoo for use when/as needed. Baitmasters of South Florida sells sizes ranging from 6-inch peewees to 10.5-plus-inch jumbos, and ships baits all over the United States.

Tips on Techniques
Since I’m recommending fishing ballyhoo on pretty light jig heads, I need to stress again the importance of casting into the drift (or, if anchored, up-current). If you simply let a light jig-and-‘hoo over the side in a moderate current, it will keep drifting away from the boat and likely never reach the bottom. Casting far into up-drift gives the rig ample time to sink before it is underneath the boat.

But be ready at all times. One of the exciting aspects of this technique is knowing that you can get slammed at any second; then, a quick hook-set is essential. Similarly, when you begin working the bait, remember, you’re not working a speed jig. I find that longer sweeps, with a pause in between, seem to get the best results. (But, again, be ready: Often a big fish will wallop the bait at the top of your arc, challenging you to crank down fast and hard enough to set the hooks.)

Read Next: How to Fish Bucktails Jigs to Catch More Fish

Long casts are facilitated with full spools on quality spinning reels. By going with 20- or 30-pound braid (versus, say, 80-pound), even a light jig can be tossed out some distance. Anglers skilled at casting small conventionals can do just as well.

I’m not suggesting this is the ultimate, ­can’t-miss method. But I do maintain that fishing bucktails-and-ballyhoo properly can offer yet another way to fish reefs up to moderate depths and catch just about anything that swims. And when something slams that bait in what seems like an effort to remove your arms from your torso, you’ll be a believer.

The post Drift-Fish Reefs Using Ballyhoo on Bucktail Jigs appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

I love those rare winter days when everything comes together: calm seas, light winds, bright sun and giant bluefin tuna crashing schools of chopper ­bluefish on the surface.

On just such a bright March day, I was standing on the bow of Wasabi, a classic Carolina charter boat, 40 miles off the coast of Hatteras Island, North Carolina. “Not yet!” Capt. Kenny Koci hollered from the bridge. “Wait for it!” Koci is way over 6 feet tall, bald and bulging with muscles. I felt like I had Sasquatch sitting on my shoulder. “Not yet!” he repeated.

The boat slowly moved toward the melee. I held an oversize spinning rod I had armed with an oversize popper. Since we already had a bluefin in the box, I had removed the hooks from the popper. I was looking for an encounter, not a long-term relationship.

Fifty yards in front of me, a tightly packed school of big bluefish swirled on the surface. Every few seconds, the water around the school exploded as a giant bluefin picked off another victim.

“Get ready,” Koci barked from behind me. I opened the bail and felt a twinge of dread. What am I getting myself into? As we got closer, I could see the huge tuna darting through the school of terrified bluefish.

“Make the cast!” Koci ordered. I obeyed, landing the plug a few feet past the school. I turned the reel handle and jerked the rod tip to make the plug pop on the surface. Then I paused. Pop and pause. Pop and pause. On the third pop, the lure disappeared into a black void, followed by a car-size boil.

Line raced off the reel, and the rod bent to severe pressure. I braced as the fish dragged me across the bow. Just before I reached the edge, the fish let go of the lure, sending the plug ricocheting back at me. My anxiety broke into laughter. “That was fun!” I raved. “Let’s do it again!”

Bluefin Timing
If you define true game fishing as targeting the biggest fish with the lightest possible tackle, then chasing bluefin with jigs and topwater baits creates the ultimate challenge. Each winter, big-fish junkies from all over the world come to Hatteras for a shot at giant bluefin with jigs and plugs.

Capt. Dan Rooks, who runs Tuna Duck out of this famed Outer Banks port, has been hosting these “finatics” since 2010. “When the bluefin first showed up that winter, a group of guys chartered me for light-tackle jigging,” says Rooks, recalling his shock when the crew showed up with spinning and jigging rods. “Guys on the dock thought it was ridiculous.”

On the first trip, they scored half a dozen 200-pound bluefin and birthed a new fishery.

Today, the docks and tackle shops around Hatteras and Oregon Inlet crawl with similar anglers looking for a shot at glory. “They come from everywhere,” Rooks marvels. He has hosted anglers from Russia, Japan, Europe and beyond. “There’s nowhere in the world like Hatteras,” he says. “It’s the best place to catch an 800-pound bluefin with a spinning rod.”

Rooks catches bluefin as early as Halloween and as late as two weeks after Easter, but the best months are February through early April. The first push of fish comes through in November. “The fish are shallow, in cooler water,” he says. He looks for an early bite in 72-degree water over 120- to 300-foot depths, as close as 10 to 20 miles off the beach. He expects the fish to be scattered. “Once you find the tuna, you can get them to bite a plug or jig.”

Rooks theorizes that in the early season, the tuna are migrating south, feeding on menhaden. “Take everything you know about water clarity and temperature and throw it out the window,” he says with a laugh. “The fish are looking for something to eat.”

By late winter, the tuna move far offshore, into the Gulf Stream. Rooks takes his parties as deep as 3,000 feet, 50 to 60 miles out, in search of bluefin. He looks for schools of tuna surfing down the waves, or big flat spots and slicks on the surface. He also watches the fish finder for clouds of bait and tuna. “I’ve seen schools of tuna that were 2 miles long,” he says.

The fish often feed along the ­temperature break between the Gulf Stream and the Labrador Current, but they also hold over deep hills and valleys that break up the current and attract bait. Rooks says his ideal day combines clear skies, light winds and a 6-foot groundswell. “The waves make it easier to see fish on the surface,” he says.

Set Up to Cast, Drop
When Rooks spots a school of bluefin on the surface or the sounder, he approaches carefully. If he sees them on the surface, he determines their direction. He positions the boat upwind with the fish to starboard so an angler in the cockpit can cast from port to starboard with the wind at his back.

Boat placement can be critical to getting a bite. “Sometimes they’ll only bite when the lure is moving down-sea,” he says. “Other days they’ll bite anything.”

When he marks the tuna on his fish finder, he puts the anglers into action. “The fish come up for a topwater plug,” he says, explaining that even if the tuna are holding 60 to 120 feet down, an angler can lure them to the surface with a big plug.

If he finds bait and other ­predators, he’ll have the anglers make a cast. “Sometimes you just have to give it a try. You’ll be surprised.”

From his vantage point on the bridge, Rooks can watch anglers make long casts to intercept fish. With the engine out of gear, the boat drifts toward the fish as the anglers work surface lures. The strike is explosive — big bluefin like to knock their victims into the air before crashing on the stunned prey.

If Rooks marks fish deeper than 120 feet, he instructs his anglers to drop jigs on the upwind side of the boat. The first angler drops and then moves astern, then the second angler drops. This strategy keeps the jigs working at different depths to reduce tangles.

Dropping to the correct depth is essential. The captain calls out the depth at which the fish are marking on the sounder. The anglers’ braided line is marked at every meter.

Anglers prefer the topwater plugs, though, Rooks says. “That’s all they want to do. It’s addictive.”

Tough Tackle
Eight years ago, when reports of bluefin tuna first leaked out of Hatteras, professional big-game angler Sami Ghandour paid attention. As owner of Saltywater tackle shop in Sayreville, New Jersey, Ghandour deals almost exclusively in light-tackle gear for monster fish. He also organizes trips around the world for topwater junkies to score bucket-list species.

Ghandour’s first bluefin trip was a big success. “We caught six out of nine fish,” he recalls. “After that, we started driving from New York to Hatteras every week.”

Since then, he has seen the bluefin grow larger each winter. “In the beginning we were catching 150- to 200-pounders,” he recalls. Last winter, they caught fish up to 650 pounds. As the tuna get bigger, the tackle and ­techniques must evolve.

Read Next: Bluefin Tuna Invade Southern California Waters

Ghandour’s crew has designed a tackle system that gets the job done: for casting, a 7-foot-5-inch heavy-action rod, such as a purpose-built Race Point 250 or 300, and a super-duty spinning reel, such as a Shimano Stella 18000 or Daiwa Saltiga — spooled with 130-pound hollow-core line — that offers up to 50 pounds of drag.

Terminal tackle starts with 130-pound hollow braid to 5 to 6 feet of twisted 150-pound Sunline or Varivas shock leader, attached to a 150-pound Yo-Zuri or Momoi bite leader. Ghandour sells his own twisted-leader system for tuna for $35.95 on the Saltywater website.

To the leader, he attaches a giant stickbait, such as a Hot’s Keiko Ocean Pencil 260, a CB One Ryan 230 or a Hammerhead Cherry Boy 240. The latest generation of big-game topwater lures are hand-turned and custom-painted.

“The fish aren’t finicky, but the lure has to be bulletproof,” he says. That means through-wire construction to connect the hooks to the mainline. If the lure breaks, the wire keeps the fish attached.

“The hooks are the weak link,” Ghandour complains. Battling a sumo wrestler with 50 pounds of drag is too much for the hardware to take. “We’re going to experiment with connecting two hooks together. At this point we’ll try anything.”

For jigging, he uses a shorter rod that applies more vertical pressure to the fish with a reel such as a Shimano Stella 20000 (spin) or Studio Ocean Mark Blue Heaven L120N (conventional). “My favorite rod is 5 feet 8 inches (Saltywater Tackle Outer Banks 500 BFT),” he says. “It doesn’t beat me up like a casting rod.”

Jigging leaders begin with 150- to 175-pound fluorocarbon and a jig such as a Hot’s Drift Tune, CB One Quick Zero1 or a Zero Semilong weighing 7 to 14 ounces (200 to 400 grams).

Big-game tuna anglers usually favor spinning gear because the reel hangs below the rod and the angler doesn’t have to keep the rod upright against the powerful pull of one of these monsters.

This gear doesn’t come cheap, Ghandour says. “When you’re going for the biggest fish in the world, you need the best.”

Improvements in materials and technique have definitely made it possible to tackle bigger and bigger bluefin, but Ghandour worries about what they might face this winter. “We’ll be ready,” he assures me. “I hope.”

Giant Bluefin Techniques
Armed with the best tackle, the angler must go toe-to-toe with these beasts. From casting, dropping and working the jig to the jarring strike, unrelenting battle and vicious weather conditions, a lot of factors work against the man on the rod.

World-traveling sea-monster hunter Kil Song, of Cape Cod, Massachusetts, shows up on the Outer Banks each winter. As the owner of Black Hole rods, he tests his toughest tackle on the biggest bluefin. This year, he expects giant fish to max out his gear. “As the fish get bigger, they get harder to fool with topwater and jigs,” he says.

Fighting larger fish has encouraged anglers to develop better techniques. “We can land a 400- to 500-pound fish in 30 minutes,” Song says.

As the boat approaches a school of fish, Song lands the lure a few feet beyond the fish and works back slowly. “Hatteras bluefin are more aggressive than fish in the Northeast. They will hit a stickbait on the surface,” Song says.

Song works the lure by making long pulls on the rod interrupted with a short pause. “Hold the rod horizontal with the water,” he instructs, “and pull the lure, then reel in the slack.” Often, the fish hit as the lure floats motionless.

On the strike, fight the impulse to hit the fish hard. Wait for the rod tip to bend over, indicating that the tuna is moving away with the lure. “Then I hit the fish two or three times to set the hook. Expect the fish to take 300 to 400 yards of line right away.”

Once the bluefin makes its initial run, it will usually settle in for a long, vertical fight. “That’s the worst part,” Song says, laughing.

Bluefin tuna are regulated by the federal government’s fishery-management system and by international governing bodies. Regulations change constantly. Recreational anglers need special permits and must file catch reports. Check hmspermits.noaa.gov for updates and instructions.

The angler has to work closely with the captain to orchestrate the fight. Rooks tries to keep the line at a 45-degree angle to the water. “It’s a fine line between pulling on the fish and pulling on the angler,” he says. Staying in front of the fish, Rooks believes, keeps it coming toward the boat. If the tuna gets an opportunity to turn its head away from the angler, it will dig in and go to work.

That’s when 40 to 50 pounds of drag comes in handy. Song uses a bucket harness to put maximum pressure on the fish without destroying his body. “The fight is more like a marathon than a 100-yard dash,” he adds.

Once he’s locked into the fish, he can turn up the power. “Even if I only make a half pump and a half crank of the reel, I’m still gaining line,” he says.

Under intense pressure, the fish can’t win, unless the tackle or angler lets go.

“Expect really big fish this winter,” Song predicts. “And bring tackle heavy enough to beat them.”

About the Author: Ric Burnley is an angler, editor, author and teacher who lives in Virginia Beach. When he isn’t fishing or writing, he’s in the classroom teaching at-risk teenagers that the pen is mightier than the sword.

The post Catch Massive Bluefin Tuna on Lures appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Dredges might be a massive pain in the rear for many small-boat anglers. They can be expensive, bulky and heavy, difficult to stow, difficult to deploy and difficult to clear when a hot billfish zings from port to starboard at 5,000 mph.

But dredges are also an essential part of your spread — one you simply shouldn’t do without if you want to have any prayer of competing with the big dogs.

The Size of the Dredge

“Don’t be scared to put a dredge into the water,” says Capt. Jeremy Hicks, who runs the 36-foot Calypso out of Hatteras, North Carolina. “And I mean any dredge. The fish don’t sit around reading Melton [Tackle] catalogs, so whatever type you choose, it will help fool them into at least looking at your spread. It’s true that dredges pick up weeds, they’re expensive and they can be a hassle. But having that ‘school’ of bait behind your boat will draw in more fish.”

Fortunately, anglers can ease any anguish over deploying these unwieldy rigs with a few smart moves that differentiate small-boat dredge tactics from those used on big sport-fishers. Those moves begin with your dredge of choice, and for a small-boat angler, ­bigger doesn’t necessarily mean better.

You’ll need to consider stowage space, of course, but an even bigger issue comes with deployment and retrieval. While a large sport-fisher might be rigged with dedicated dredge rods, electric reels and outriggers that can handle the pressure of a dredge, few small boats are. Instead, the dredge lines often run from a boom rod, a downrigger or even directly off stern cleats. That means cranking or hauling the dredge up by hand, a difficult job since even the smallest dredges and their weights create a ton of drag as they move through the water.

“Manageability is key for small‑boat anglers,” says Bill Pino, purveyor at Maryland-based Squidnation, which makes dredges, daisy chains and teasers, and captain of a 32-footer. “Everyone wants a bigger dredge, but clearing them is much more difficult, especially on small boats, where you’re usually short-handed. If a fish is on one line and another fish is in the spread, you just don’t have enough hands to get the dredge, clear lines, feed the other fish and, oh, by the way, get the teasers up too.”

A four-arm dredge with 20 or so squids is a good starting point, Pino adds. “That’s a lot easier to handle than a six-arm dredge with 100-plus squids.”

How Deep to Send the Dredge

Where the dredge should run differs for a small boat, and depends to a large degree on the prop wash your boat ­creates and the visibility it affords.

“You want the dredge to run in clean water, not the wash itself,” Hicks says. “The white water and commotion created by the boat attract fish, but you want the dredge to be where the fish can easily pick it out. This also allows you to see the fish better when they approach the dredge or a bait fished near it.”

Pino agrees. “Being able to see the dredge is a must, so you know when a fish comes up on it,” he says. “On smaller boats, that often means you need to get it down faster and keep it closer. Otherwise, you’ll never be able to see it. The exact distance of the sweet spot differs from boat to boat, so just try to set it in the cleanest water possible, well outside of bubble trails.”

For most small boats, that means sending the dredge back about 20 to 30 feet off the transom, where it should run anywhere from just below the surface to 6 feet deep. Deeper is generally considered better, and if your boat has an elevated observation post you can run your dredges on the deeper side and still eyeball them.

If everyone aboard is at deck level, you might not be able to send the dredge down very far without losing visibility. In all cases, make sure it’s deep enough that the arms don’t break the surface when surfing a wave. If they do, you’re setting yourself up to tangle with your flat lines.

All About Dredges

Deploying a dredge without the benefit of electric reels usually requires slowing the boat to a crawl while one crew member handles the dredge itself and another handles the line. The line handler can support most of the weight by holding the cannonball or sinker in his or her right hand and the main line in the left hand.

Crew member No. 2 supports the main body of the dredge, lifts it over the side and makes any necessary adjustments to the individual lines to ensure they’re tangle free. Once the dredge is ready to be lowered, drop it into the water and allow it to sink with minimal tension at first. Deploy too slowly and the dredge arms might skim or skip on the water’s surface, causing the rig to cartwheel, which results in a tangled mess.

Hauling the dredge from the water can be even more of an adventure — because that usually happens when there’s a hot fish on the line. Clear all fishing lines and teasers before dealing with the dredge, since it’s closer to the boat and will require some careful timing. The maneuver has to match the fish’s behavior because the captain will need to slow the boat (pulling in a dredge manually at 5 or 6 knots is virtually impossible). Obviously, you’ll want to do this only when the fish isn’t running toward the boat and quick maneuvering doesn’t seem to be an immediate necessity.

As soon as the boat slows, yank the dredge out of the water as quickly as possible and place it out of the way. On many outboard boats, the motor well provides temporary dredge stowage. But be careful to make sure every single line and teaser is completely inside the transom or you could foul your props while maneuvering on the fish.

Will that fish sometimes turn and charge the boat when you have the dredge halfway up? You bet. Will deploying the dredge take a lot of time and effort? Yes. Is that dredge going to pick up weeds, snag a line or three, or maybe even get into the prop once in a blue moon? Absolutely. But all the trials and tribulations are well worth the trouble. These things suck in fish like a baitball swimming right behind your boat.

Prospect While Using a Dredge

Far too many anglers deploy their dredges and lines, then troll, troll, troll until the day is done. You’ll catch more billfish if you actively “prospect” next to your dredges.

Prospect with a pitch bait, usually a naked chin-weighted ballyhoo that is held just behind the transom and then free-spooled so it sinks right past the dredge. With the bait about 10 feet behind the dredge, thumb the spool so water pressure forces the ballyhoo to swim back up to the surface. Let it swim there for a moment, then reel it in and begin the process again.

Although spotting fish that come in on the dredge presents the ideal opportunity, plenty of fish swim up to a dredge and are never spotted from the boat, as anyone who has watched dredge-cam footage can attest. Constantly prospecting gives you a better shot at these fish.

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