Striper Dawn

Striped bass are elusive animals. Big ones are solitary and hard to find and schoolies (young fish) are almost non-existent these days. The big ones just keep getting bigger, but at least they are out there, while the small ones are not there at all. At least, that has been my experience during my annual visits to Maine's mid-coast.

My family awarded me an unexpected morning off and I decided to have a cast in the Morse River where I last had success 18 years ago. On my last visit I caught a bluefish there but it was not what I was after. I was bass-hungry.

Popham Beach State Park is possibly my favourite place in the whole world. I have visited it in summer many times over the years.  Winter storms have shifted millions of tons of sand so that the image you may see on a map, or even Google Earth could be wildly wrong. However the heart of the place remains. The Morse River is actually a tidal salt-water creek, only a mile long. It snakes inland from the sea to fill Spirit Pond and then drain it again. The bed of the stream is pure sand and, at slack tide, the water is clear and shallow. It's no good stalking fish in bright sunshine, so you need to be there early and the tide has to be right.

I set off to drive sown the Phippsburg Peninsula as soon as it was light. After several years of failure I resigned myself to take what came along and so I was in no hurry to get to Popham. I got waylaid by porcupines, scenes of morning mist in piney, creeky bays  and by flocks of wild turkeys.

The State Park does not open until 8 am so, unless you have a pass, you have to park on the road. This used to mean a long walk to the beach but the sea has eaten away the dunes, the boardwalk and part of the parking lot, so it is not far at all. I spent some time setting up my fly rod and walked to the shore, but I still had a long walk up the beach to reach my destination.

The tide was out a long way, so I did not expect to catch anything, but I did expect to see a few birds.

The storm-created lagoons are full of clams and small snails. Dogs are not allowed on the beach so disturbance is minimal and you can encounter large numbers of roosting and feeding waders and gulls there. With the tide being so far out, I suspect that many of the waders were feeding on the exposed mud up the Kennebec and New Meadows Rivers. I saw a greater yellow-legs and some plovers that I stopped to photograph, then an osprey flew close by and I watched him. I had yet to cast a line and I had been there for over an hour. The sun was getting too bright for fishing, but that osprey was being really obliging so I left my fly rod on the ground and stalked it, taking photos until it flew. I took a few more shots as it circled back towards it's perch and landed again. That bird was really keen to be on that tree by the rocks and there could only be one reason for that; fish.

It took ten minutes to find my rod and get back on station opposite the osprey. I gingerly waded out into the sandy creek and shot a heavy "deceiver-style"  fly out as far as I could, but my gear was out of balance. I just could not cast far enough and I was sure I must have spooked every fish in the river.

I was using a sinking line with a yellow, floating running section which I find perfect for getting the fly down quickly while allowing a quick pick-up for another cast. The trouble was that the fly was just too big and heavy for the line. Striped bass love really big, bushy flies that create a bulge in the water, but their bulk makes them best suited to short casts from a drifting boat. Some people even put a rubber lure onto their fly but you can only troll a thing like that, or cast it from a spinning rod. Fishing on foot from the beach you need to be able to cast as far as you can, just like on a reservoir at home, and you need to be mobile. I just carry my camera, rod, a pocket full of flies and spool of line to make leaders with. You don't need a net to land bass if you can get hold of their lower lip or slide them up the wet sand.


One of the flies in my pocket was a streamer, tied on a relatively light hook with no attempt at a body or a tail. It just had a few windings of red thread to suggest a head and then a tuft of blue and white hair wings that created the look of a sand-eel in the water. It was a joy to cast as far as I needed to and the fly plopped nicely into a black hole below a granite boulder on the far bank. A fish solidly took hold of the fly straight away and from the way it moved, it seemed huge. I backed up onto the shore as line and backing peeled off the reel and then played my fish gently until I could get a look at it. It was probably between four and five pounds; not much more than a schoolie, but it reminded me why anglers get so hooked on fishing for them.

Bass are superb fish to eat, but I just wanted to get a photo and release the fish as quickly as possible. Nothing could beat the hour or so of fun I had that beautiful morning, so I packed up and left the water for a delightful stroll back along the strand, accompanied by ospreys and a lone bald eagle.