What follows are my recollections inspired by a look at my fishing log from a trip to Block Island in the late fall of 1987. I had fished on the Block many times before, and I have many times since, but nothing comes close to those few days.
It had snowed hard in New York earlier that week – 10 inches to be exact – so I had some doubts as to whether I should even bother to pack my vehicle with all my gear and supplies and head for the island at all. I had already been out once that fall and had landed some decent bass, but something told me to give it one last try. I said to myself, “You’ve taken bass in snow squalls and bone-chilling cold weather before, so what’s the big deal?” But there was no denying that 10 inches of the white stuff was definitely significant. That year I turned 48 and was working full time with few opportunities to fish, so I was anxious to go. I only had a company car then – no truck from which to fish – and my friends on the island would laughingly comment, “Here comes Al again in his bass limo.” The narrow, rocky and often deeply rutted roads that led to Southwest Point and Black Rock were never obstacles for my Buick “fishmobile,” though I did bottom out on occasion!
While waiting for the ferry that Friday evening, there seemed to be an unusual number of fishing vehicles on standby. That snowstorm in New York had evolved into a powerful, fast-moving Northeast storm along the coast, a sure fish producer at that point in the season, but I was not aware of it at the time. I was also unaware that a school of migrating jumbo bass had arrived at the island earlier that week, most likely courtesy of that same cold, wet storm, and the word was out.
Soon after I arrived I met up with my good friend and fishing partner, Jack Linton, a master fisherman if ever there was one. I had high expectations for this outing because on the October trip I had finished my stay with a memorable doubleheader at Anderson’s, a spot on the island’s south side, landing an 18-pound bass on my needlefish plug and a 45-pounder on a black teaser. I share this information in passing only because fishermen became accustomed to catching trophy fish on a regular basis throughout the 1980s at that spot, but it was a well-kept secret in the early part of that decade. It was not the only spot though; during that 10-year period, Southwest Point and other island spots hosted blitzes of fish in the 30- and 40-pound range along with many 50s, an occasional 60-pound fish and even one 70-pounder thrown in for good measure. In our fishing club’s November newsletter from 1984 it says: “All of us connected with fish in the 20s, 30s and 40s, which are too numerous to recall. In fact, one night at Black Rock, Chuck Patnaude and myself dropped more big bass than I’ve caught in my last seven years of bass fishing in Gansett. . . . it was that type of fall on the island.” The article went on to say that five club members joined the “nifty fifties” club that year, with Jack Linton taking the biggest bass, which weighed 59½ pounds. Many of the regulars on the island, like Charlie Dodge, Steve Campo, Tommy Vanderkieft and others, rarely talked to the press about their incredible catches. I know of trophy fish landed that never made it to print; in fact, I know of many.
We would look for large schools of migratory bass to show on the eastern side of the island and then disperse around the island in smaller schools. For several days the bass gorged themselves on sand eels, which were plentiful at that time, and anything else they could find to eat before continuing on their way south. Finding these small schools was often a challenge, but when we did, the fun began. Smaller bass, those fewer than 20 pounds, were the exception in the fall. We were spoiled, but we did not know it until a few years later when the bass population took a nosedive.
On Friday, November 13th, according to my log, Jack and I started our night of fishing at Gracie’s Cove. Jack took a nice 44-pound bass there, and I did not even have a hit. Jack always seemed to hook-up first. He is just a great fisherman. We were about to leave when the wind shifted to the northwest and freshened. Jack said, “Let’s stay and take a few more casts,” and so we did. In the next few minutes we both hooked-up and landed fish close to 40 pounds. A nice way to start a trip, I thought.
The next morning, rumors started circulating that Southwest Point had gotten hot. I knew that SW Point was often hot with nice-size fish, and even though my adrenaline started flowing, little did I know the entire island was virtually surrounded by big fish. When I got to the point, the place was overrun with fishermen, so I decided to fish farther south toward Schooner Point. I remember commenting to my friends Andy Lemar and Rita Keiser that evening, that if I ever landed a huge fish I hoped it would not be in a crowd like the one that night at SW Point. I took only one fish in the high 30s the entire evening, and I heard afterward that fights had broken out at the point when tempers flared from the excitement of the moment. The fish had moved in to SW Point again later in the night, and at least two fish in the 50s were taken. I chided myself thinking I should have joined the melee for the blitz, but I had missed out because of my reluctance to fish in the crowd . . . my mistake. I quit searching for fish in many of my favorite spots around the island at about 3 A.M.
On Sunday night, November 15th, low water was at 8:15. I remember the ocean had become quite flat, most of the weekend crowd had gone and perhaps even the fish, too, since very few were taken that night around the island. I fished Southwest Point and elsewhere with little success. I knew some nice cows had been landed in the last few days, but I could not find any of these jumbo fish anywhere and thought they might have moved on to greener pastures farther south. Suddenly, I felt totally burned out, and so I packed it in around midnight.
Monday, November 16th, low water was at 9:30 P.M., and the wind was out of the southeast at less than 10 knots. On the west side of the island the sea was still nearly flat with periodic sets of three or four waves, though we were really hoping for a little more surf action. When it got dark, Jack and I started fishing at Dory’s Cove but had no success. At 7:30 P.M. we drove to Southwest Point just in time to meet Steve McKenna, Pat Abate and Dr. Frank Bush coming off the rocks. They shrugged their shoulders and commented “nothing” when asked how it had been down there and said they were going to move on to other spots around the island. We did not see them again that evening.
Jack and I clambered out onto the rocky bar as the tide now was four hours down; Jack went to the outside of the bar and I to the bowl on the right. He immediately hooked-up and landed a bass in the low 40-pound range, yelling to me to come over to where he was fishing. Right about that time Dean Diamondopol, one of our friends from New York, arrived and hooked-up almost immediately, landing a fish in the high 30s. He began walking with the fish in the surf to revive it, saying as he walked, “Start swimming, I’m in a hurry to catch another fish.” Eventually, the fish regained its strength and swam away.
It was about that time when I hooked-up, using a black Gibbs needlefish plug refitted with 4/0, 3x strong hooks. Everyone was using needlefish plugs of some sort that night, which was no surprise on Block Island during the fall run. The fish did not hit hard, but it was a solid take, and as soon as I felt the hit I set up. When I started playing the fish, I knew immediately it was different from any large striper I had landed before. Other big fish usually peeled off line with reckless abandon on their first runs, but this fish started taking out line like a slow, determined locomotive in low gear. It just kept on heading seaward effortlessly, never stopping until it had emptied more than half my new spool of 20-pound-test pink Ande line. I then cupped my hand over the spool to put more pressure on the fish to slow it down. Next I moved off to the left side of the bar away from Jack and Dean so they could start fishing again, while at the same time yelling to them that I was on to a huge fish. Almost immediately they both hooked-up again and had more to worry about than my fish.
The old cow eventually paused, and I was able to turn it and slowly regain some line for the first time. Suddenly, the fish turned again and started on another determined run seaward just as forcefully as the first. Time passed slowly, but I was again able to turn her, a little sooner this time, and take back some more of my line. The fish then made a third but decidedly weaker run, and I started really regaining line. I could feel its true weight now as I worked the fish shoreward. When I was about twenty minutes into the fight, I thought to myself, “I’ve got you now, buddy,” but that old bass was not quite finished with her bag of tricks and made still another bid for freedom. The mighty fish now turned sideways in the current and sulked, refusing to budge for what seemed like an eternity. I applied pressure but there was no movement. Could she have hung me up on a rock and was free? Just as I was pondering this thought, the “rock” started to yield and the monster fish started toward me once again and a few minutes later was in the wash. My prize was firmly hooked through the bone of her upper jaw on the plug’s tail hook, and I was thinking to myself thank goodness for my needle-sharp hooks. When I got my first good glimpse of the beautiful cow, I realized this fish definitely weighed in the high 50s, but I did not suspect an over 60-pound catch. Elated, I dragged my fish onto dry land, and it was then the enormity of the catch finally began to sink in.
By now scores of other fishermen had arrived out of nowhere, saw my fish, and ran to the water’s edge and started casting. Some were into fish almost immediately. Tommy Van de Kieft, another good friend and also a master fisherman, landed a 58-pounder and placed it next to mine. They almost looked like twins. When I finally started fishing again, I caught one more nice fish that I released, as it somehow seemed anticlimactic after my catch of a lifetime.
Later that evening, we started a rough tally of the catch as best we could. Dean had landed several other nice fish that night, including a 46-pound beauty while I was fighting my fish. Jack caught the most by far, 11 fish, mostly all jumbos, and he also managed to break off a huge one after the fish peeled off over 200 yards of 15-pound-test line without stopping. I suspect there were more than 25 huge bass taken that evening at Southwest Point in a two-hour period, though we will never know for sure just how many. Many of these fish were between 40 and 62 pounds. As a side note, I am happy to say most of these fish were released to fight another day. Although dog-tired, we were still running on adrenaline fumes and went back to the magical spot later that night to see if there were any stragglers left, but could find none.
Early the next day, we weighed my bass on Tommy’s 80-pound scale and were amazed and elated to see the needle pass the 60-pound mark. We placed the fish on a pallet and carefully packed it in snow for the trip to the mainland. Upon its arrival in Galilee, it was transported to a certified scale at Top of the Dock bait shop in Narragansett, where it weighed in at a whopping 61 pounds, 14 ounces. I have often wondered what its official weight might have been if it could have been weighed sooner after being caught.
On Tuesday, November 17th , the wind cranked up again to almost 30 knots out of the southwest, rendering the west side virtually unfishable. I still fished much of the island again that night, however, and eventually landed a 44-pound bass at Old Harbor Point. As the week progressed, the wind shifted hard to the northwest and the temperature dropped to 16 degrees. We fished with live eels at first, but they quickly froze solid in the bucket, so we changed methods and cast plugs. Even that was difficult because of the ice forming on the guides and line with each cast, not to mention the numbing cold’s effect on our extremities. So on Friday night we quit early, and master chef Jack Linton prepared his famous dish that he named “Bass McNuggets” with all the trimmings for our friends Andy Lemar and Rita Keiser. We drank a fair amount of wine that evening and told stories of our past fishing exploits on this great island we had all come to love.