Where I grew up, just a few minutes north of Jones Inlet, the arrival of bluefish on Long Island each spring is almost as highly-anticipated as the return of migratory striped bass. By the first week of May, pencil poppers, tins, and Super Strike Little Neck Poppers have been cleared from the pegged walls of local tackle shops. Bay-side parking lots and piers become packed with anglers of all walks, hungry for explosive surface eats, vicious headshakes, and tail-walking double-digit blues. Like opening day of fluke season in New Jersey, the spring run of gator bluefish on Long Island is an event. Some years the run is lackluster while others are biblical, but it’s that uncertainty and unpredictability, coupled with their fantastic aggression, that creates an even greater appreciation for the South Shore invasion of bluefish.
The first fish I ever caught was a blue. From New Jersey to Massachusetts, they’re the gateway drug to saltwater fishing. But in all my years of fishing them, from the western back bays to the Peconics and beyond, I have never seen—nor could I ever fathom—so many blues congregating in one area as Sergio Diaz captured in the spring of 2023.
Diaz is a New York-based photographer and videographer who specializes in fly fishing the back bays and surf, and he sat on this jaw-dropping footage for nearly 3 years before blessing us with it during one of the coldest winters in recent memory. “Blue Tide” is a short film that showcases just how spectacular the spring run of bluefish on Long Island can be, especially when you are in the right place at the right time.
On the first weekend in May 2023, Diaz and his friend Ray Phelan left the dock at dead-low tide to fish the incoming. After scouting a few deep channels in search of striped bass, they came upon an exposed sand flat that was soon to be covered by cool, clean ocean water surging through the nearest inlet. Diaz decided he’d hop out of the flats boat and make a few casts, and as he waded further from it, he spotted a few fish cruising in a foot or so of water. “Sometimes we see bass come out of the channels and just hang out on the flats for a few minutes, but I could tell from their dark-blue backs these were not stripers,” Diaz recalled. “There were a lot of fish in front of me, then I noticed them off to my sides and before I knew it, we were surrounded by bluefish. But they weren’t there to feed,” he continued. “However, we were still able to catch a bunch of 10 to 12-pounders on big Gurgler flies.”
A fisheries biologist who reviewed Diaz’s footage speculated that what we see in the video below is likely a pre-spawning ritual. The blues school by the thousands and head right out of the inlet through which they arrived to do the deed offshore.
Diaz also noted that there was hardly any bait present, and because temperatures were in the high 40s that morning, the water was likely warmer than the air. Could these blues have been sunning themselves to regulate their body temperatures? Or is this mass aggregation in preparation for a long swim into the deep blue, to points unknown, where more bluefish are made?
Perhaps the most important question is: does it even matter why they were there in such impressive numbers? Some questions are best left unanswered. The element of mystery, after all, is what makes the bluefish a fan favorite across the east coast.
Thank you, Sergio, for bringing the warmth of spring to our screens as we limp through this long, brutally-cold winter.
» Follow Sergio Diaz on Instagram @sergiodiazfishing and subscribe to his YouTube channel for more.
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