I have a few stories that stand out for me as I get older, but one of my proudest catches was a 40-inch striper I landed about 18 years ago.
It wasn’t a giant compared to what gets caught year after year, but what made it special was how it happened.
I remember sitting in my fly tying room, where great fishing should start. My boys, Tait and Jax, were coming in and out of my office, playing. Tait was 7, and Jax was 5. Tait asked me what fly I was tying.
That day, I was tying Jim Bernstein’s Grocery Pollock fly. The fly takes a while to tie, which is an even longer process when your 7-year-old is tying one alongside you. Tait would tie on some material, run off to play, then come back for the next step. This went on for more than an hour.
By the end, we had two Grocery Pollock flies, one slightly smaller than the other. I was tying them for an upcoming fishing trip with Jim Bernstein, the manager of Eldredge Bros. Fly Shop, where we’d be targeting stripers on the Maine coast.
The first time I was invited to stay at Jim’s place, my eye was drawn to the doorframe leading into his tying room. From the floor, up around the top of the door, and halfway down the other side, it was covered in flies, all the same pattern.
I asked him about it, and he told me that he had retired his Pollock flies to the doorframe after they had caught a 40-plus-inch striper. There were a lot of flies. That’s why Tait and I had tied those Grocery Pollock flies. I wanted to add my own to that collection.
The day had finally arrived. The night before our trip, Jim and I were at his place, catching up over a few beers. It was midnight before we knew it. Departure time was 4 a.m.
We were at the dock at the appointed time, tired and groggy from the beers, but fired up to fish.
I had caught stripers before but nothing more than 30 inches long. I’d had shots at fish close to 50 inches, but nothing had gone my way. My real goal that day was to catch any striper on Tait’s fly.
I was fishing an Albright fly rod, an 8-weight with a 300-grain line. The technique we used was to cast our flies into the waves breaking onto shore. That’s where the bait would be, and as the waves receded, stripers would move in to feed.
The cool thing about fishing from a boat in that clear water was that you could see the seaweed, rocks, and often, schools of stripers passing by. Occasionally, you’d even spot a 40-plus-inch fish.
Not long into the morning, I hooked into a fish and quickly realized it was my biggest striper yet. After a good fight, we brought it to hand. I don’t remember its exact size, just that it was a striper and I had caught it on Tait’s fly. We took some quick pictures, and Jim and I high-fived.
My goal for the day was accomplished, but the day wasn’t over.
We kept casting, stripping and working our way along the shoreline. Suddenly, my line went tight, and we instantly knew I had hooked a huge striper. The fish tore into my backing, line ripping off my reel. It headed straight for the open ocean. Jim quickly reeled up, started the motor, and took off after it, trying to help me gain back some line.
Once we got the fish under control and near the boat, Jim killed the engine. I brought the fish close, yelling, “Grab it! Grab it!” Jim stayed calm and told me to relax just as the fish bolted again. I fought it back to the boat, walking it up the gunwale toward Jim, only for it to take off once more.
Then, disaster struck. My rod exploded just above the handle. Suddenly, my rod was sliding down the line, and I was left holding nothing but the handle and reel. I looked at Jim, grabbed the line, and threw the reel onto the deck by his feet. With no other choice, I started hand-lining the fish.
I walked it up around the bow, but it made another run. I managed to turn it back and finally brought it close enough for Jim to grab. He yelled, “Come grab the fish!” I reached down and grabbed its mouth, and it nearly shook my arm off.
Meanwhile, the waves were pushing us dangerously close to the rocks. Jim fired up the engine and motored us away while I held the fish in the water. Once we were safely away, he told me to sit down. Then, he lifted the fish out of the water.
I will never forget the sight of that fish coming over the gunwale. It looked massive. The biggest fish I had ever caught at the time. It measured out at exactly 40 inches. And I had caught it on a fly my 7-year-old son had tied.
A framed picture of me holding that fish, with the fly mounted beneath it, hangs on the wall in my fishing room. I see it every day, and it instantly takes me back to that moment.
It also makes me miss the days when my boys would run in and out of my tying room. They’re now 24 and 21.
We’ve made plenty of memories since then, but that day still stands out as one of my top five.
