An Ode to Ultralight Fishing

Ultralight fishing is one of my favorite methods of angling. The idea is: to use the lightest tackle available, while attempting to catch the largest fish possible. It's essentially a combination of strategy, leverage, and both. When conducted effectively, ultralight fishing can be quite exhilarating. The reward is like lifting/moving a block of concrete with only a few strands of hair and a quarter-sized pulley. Also, it requires that the angler to be extremely wary of minute mechanical and atmospheric details involved in landing fish. 

Much of the popular appeal of ultralight fishing is the enhanced/magnified connection you feel with the hooked fish. For example, fighting a 24-pound striped bass, with a nine-foot tuna rod and wire line is boring. There is no apparent sense of challenge, and it doesn’t broadcast or transfer subtle vibrations or leverage changes back and fourth between the fisherman and the fish. Conversely—hooking that same 24-pound striper with a six-foot pole, twelve-pound test, and a light 9-bearing spinning reel is exhilarating.

There is also a broad potential for transferability of ultralight fishing, among numerous platforms, from oceanic sharks to creek chub. No matter the expected size of the catch, using the lightest possible tackle increases both the challenge and potential reward of the experience. Plus, as an auxiliary fringe benefit package, the gear will likely cost a bit less (since it’s smaller), the weight of your total excursion load will be decreased, and there are ALWAYS bragging rights that go along with large fish landed on light tackle.

For me, there is a matter of situational context when I go fishing. What I mean is, I try and place myself in a time and place where fishing embodied a definition other than recreation. Imaging a father trying to feed his family, or an explorer looking to secure sustenance throughout his travels. In situations of necessity, luxury tends to be absent. Ultralight tackle is essentially a modern version of rudimentary fishing tools used many years ago.

Surely, as a dedicated angler, I’m susceptible to the lure of “big game.” Someday, I hope to sit tightly strapped in a fighting chair at the back of a boat—agonizing as I hit the 60-minute mark of my battle with a great white shark. I’d love to go back to central Texas and launch weighted frozen half-chickens toward the bottom of deep rivers, in search of 200 pound alligator gar. Still, there is a serene romanticism that remains associated with ultralight fishing. Whether fishing an ocean, river, pond, brook, sea, or lake; there will always exist a specific stream of consciousness that flows from the Zen of ultralight fishing. Peace be with you.

A Family (fishing) Affair

Once a year, typically around mid-June, my family takes a day-long trip on a chartered fishing boat. We usually reserve The Snow Goose, out of Port Chester, NY or The Helen III, out of Groton, CT. Over some time, we've had our good, great, and so-so days, but our 2013 trip aboard The Helen III was truly one for the family photo album AND the record book. Throughout that clear summer day, the fishing was consistently productive, as the phrase, "Fish on!" was shouted repeatedly; sometimes even simultaneously, by many of us. At some points, a few of us had to stow our poles and alternate as the "hold my beer guy" for whomever was hooked into a fish. Fortunately, during that time, the Striped Bass were abundant and HUNGRY.

Later that afternoon, just prior to the bellowing foghorn which signals the return trip to port, a small group began to gather around my cousin, Teddy, who was in a trolling chair at the stern (rear) of the 45 foot vessel, with his fishing rod bent like a question mark. As the sounds of laughter and expletives grew, so did the number of onlookers; Teddy had hooked into something big. For the next fifteen minutes, we watched as he leveraged the rod and cranked steadily at the reel, shortening the distance between himself and whatever was on the other end, by inches at a time. Our glances alternated back and fourth, like tennis spectators, between Teddy and the decreasingly distant point where the line met the water, waiting for our first glimpse of the fish. Finally, as our anticipation peaked, a glimmering silver behemoth broke the choppy surface; then immediately dove back beneath it. We roared at the spectacle and cheered Teddy on, with a newfound sense of immediacy amongst us. He grimaced as he reeled, crank by crank, while adjusting his grip on the rod. Time and time again, the gaping jaws of the fish would surface, then disappear. Teddy is a strong guy, but this battle was weighing heavier on his endurance, with each passing moment. Still, he knew this was potentially the catch of a lifetime, and would do whatever it took to land the fish. He fought with might, eventually pulling the fish close enough for the first-mate to yell, "Net!!"

We cleared a path, stood back and cringed as the fish jerked back and fourth, narrowly dodging the ovular opening of the outstretched net, time and time again. Leaning over the boat's metal safety rail, reading the pattern of the waves, the first-mate maneuvered the net's opening directly below the jowls of the fish and secured it in place; the deal was closed. As he brought the beast onboard, everybody was in awe. It was a massive Striped Bass, weighing in excess of sixty-pounds, which is substantial for the species.

As fatigued as Teddy was from the (24 minute) ordeal, he immediately raised his catch in a celebration of victory, as the rest of us cheered and snapped photos; one which made the cover of The Fisherman magazine, New England Edition, shown below. Some people (obviously out of envy) actually commented online, claiming the image was Photoshopped. They Wish!

It was a fantastic fish finale of what will go down in family history as a memorable event that punctuated an iconic excursion. It's also another example of how fishing lifts spirits and brings people together. Of course, all credit goes to Teddy for his accomplishment, but the beauty of the catch is how connected and united we all were while he was achieving it. 

Still, he'd better enjoy the feeling while it lasts—because next year I'm going to best him, for sure. Watch out, Teddy!