If you want to get good at something, talk to the experts" -- Lefty Kreh
Thanks for visiting 52 Week Season!
52 Week Season is a project to explore a hunting or fishing opportunity each week of the year in the mid-Atlantic. When I started, my intention was to interview various hunting and fishing guides on their approaches throughout the seasons, but I increasingly became more interested in the seasonal patterns of the species themselves and the yearly rituals we build around them.
Some of these traditions are based on seasonal cues such as migrations or reproduction, while others are purely institutionalized by the DNR.
For example, we don’t know exactly when the conditions will be perfect for the green drake hatch, whitetail rut, or canvasback migrations, but we have a pretty good idea from years of trial and error and perhaps some data (Memorial Day, mid-November, and “Canuary,” respectively). We itch for a warming trend for yellow perch in the spring and a northwest cold front for Canada geese at the fall but are at the mercy of mother nature.
Yet we do know that the best opportunity for dove is high noon on September 1, that White Marlin Open is the first full week of August, and that schools are closed the Monday after Thanksgiving for whitetail opener in Pennsylvania.
Many of these yearly traditions revolve around food -- springtime means shad plankings and fall means oyster roasts -- while others are strictly for sport. Some rituals aren’t based on science or calendar at all but just feel right. Mid-summer is the not the best time for largemouth bass, but there’s something about throwing poppers on a glassy lake before a July thunderstorm.
Could you possibly hit each of these experiences in 52 weeks? Of course not. It’s absurd to you think you would have the time, but it’s also crazy to assume that a shark fisherman cares to throw flies at brook trout or that a duck hunter has any interest in coyotes. Plus, a jack of all trades is usually a master of none.
But if you’re lucky, you can start to make connections. A hunter of diving ducks will know to return to the “hard bottom” during rockfish season, and a pheasant hunter can always use those tail feathers for a steelhead fly. And what is more satisfying than a cast-and-blast day targeting speckled trout and blue-wing teal in a September marsh?
Some of the critters on this list are native and some are non-native, and many times it’s not clear. Largemouth bass are a familiar non-native species while snakehead are a non-native monster in many people’s eyes. Brown trout are non-native but long-established; sika deer are imported but at the same time unique to Maryland; and elk are native but reestablished. Tarpon and coyotes seem way out of place but are adapting to changing environments.
So what is the "Mid-Atlantic"?
One of my favorite descriptions is the boundaries of the Chesapeake Bay watershed featured in William Warner's Beautiful Swimmers:
"The Bay’s entire watershed extends north through Pennsylvania to the Finger Lakes and Mohawk Valley country of New York, by virtue of the Susquehanna, the mother river that created the Bay. To the west it traces far back into the furrowed heartland of Appalachia, but one mountain ridge short of the Ohio-Mississippi drainage, by agency of the Potomac. To the east the flatland rivers of the Eastern Shore rise from gum and oak thickets almost within hearing distance of the pounding surf of the Atlantic barrier islands. To the south, Bay waters seep through wooded swamps to the North Carolina sounds, where palmettos, alligators and great stands of bald cypress first appear."
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-- Patrick Ottenhoff, Washington, DC
I’m writing a book called 52 Week Season featuring a hunting or fishing experience for each week of the year.
From bluegills in June to smallies in July to white marlin in August, below is a rundown of the summer months.
Read the full Interviews here.
The best place to catch lunker bass is on farm ponds. There’s a 16-acre lake on the Eastern Shore that holds some real bucketheads. About two-thirds of the lake is surrounded by fields and steadily gets deeper as it pushes up against an earthen dam, and about a third of the lake, the shallower or “up creek” end, fans out into flooded timber. By about mid-May, the lake looks healthy, full, and tea colored, and if you catch the lake on the right evening, it can be mirror flat. The best evenings are right before a thunderstorm. Maybe it’s just an imagined anticipation as you see the front moving across the radar, but meteorologists also suggest the dropping barometric pressure can trigger fish feeding, and the low light surely helps. It all comes together when you strip that popping bug across a glassy surface, and an angry largemouth shatters the surface for it.
When the water hits the 70s and stays there for a week or two, bluegills begin to dig out frisbee-sized nests and spawn. In the dog days of summer when the air is heavy and the days are long, head to pond or lake with some cold beers and the next generation of anglers. The whole region is pock-marked with farm ponds teeming with bluegills that will attack a fly that lands over its nest like a wolf defending its carcass. “What most people don’t know about bluegills is if we have a long hot dry summer, bluegills can spawn up to three times in a year,” says Beau Beasley, author of Fly Fishing the Mid-Atlantic.
Angus Phillips once joked that the Beaverkill is famous for its Hendrickson hatch, Penns Creek is renowned for the green drake hatch, Henry’s Fork is celebrated for its salmon fly eruption, “and Washington has the mulberry hatch.” Says Phillips: “The mulberry hatch provides Washingtonians their once-annual chance for high-sport angling for one of the least glamorous breeds of aquatic life. Great big ugly carp.” The “mulberry hatch” hits in early- to mid-June when the red-purple fruit drops. You’ll know it but the sticky carpet on the sidewalks in Georgetown; the carp will know it by that distinctive plop in front of their snout.
It’s all about finding that seam between the Gulf Stream and the Labrador Current. A few dozen miles east of Ocean City, Virginia Beach, and Oregon Inlet, the cool, nutrient-rich waters of the Labrador Current sweep south and meet the warm tropical current of the Gulf Stream. Eddies peel off and churn up the canyons off the continental shelf, creating one of the best tuna fisheries in the hemisphere. “Late spring into early summer is a really good season for yellowfin,” says Salt Water Sportsman editor Ric Burnley. “The yellowfins will be about 10-15 lbs. in early June, and by July and August, they’ll be 20-30 lbs. … When the word goes out that the yellowfin are in, people drop whatever they're doing and run to get out there. Every parking spot it taken, and you can't find a place to park your truck!”
Affectionately or derisively known as the crab-eater depending on who you talk to, cobia show up in mid-summer when the Bay’s waters are at their warmest. Cobia mostly stick to the deeper waters of the lower Bay. “You have a mass exodus of adult rockfish when the core temp of the bay is 65 and start seeing a big influx of cownose rays and the inward migration of cobia and drum,” says Tyler Nonn of Tidewater Charters. They’ll stay most of the summer and then “start to leave with the first couple of north winds in late August.”
Mid-summer in the back bays of the Delmarva is flounder time. There are perhaps no more popular fish in towns like Ocean City than flounder, mostly because they can test the skills of any level of angler, they are abundant, and they are delicious. Flounder can be caught on everything from a dangling minnow to a lure or fly if the action is right. These flatfish love to lie in wait and ambush unsuspecting bait fish in the shoulder hours around a peak tide. These are true saltwater fish so are found in the lower reaches of the Chesapeake or the Atlantic back bays and will be found in the highest numbers when the large mullet and baitfish come into the creeks in July. Bigger bait will catch the fat flounders, or “doormats” as they’re called around here.
Lefty Kreh once declared smallmouth bass, “my favorite freshwater fish.” For a fly-fishing legend who traveled the world from Cuba to Alaska to Borneo, that’s a high honor. But anyone who has ever floated down the Shenandoah River in late July, tossing poppers to one eager smallie after another, knows exactly what he’s talking about. You can meander down the valley in a drift boat or canoe or inflatable raft, covering perhaps a mile an hour, and find plenty of bass hiding in the shade under the sycamores. On a good day, you’ll catch dozens, all on topwater. “At the peak of the heat, there is a ton of insect activity and on the surface -- cicadas, ants, beetles, and damsel flies can fall in the water,” says Virginia guide Matt Miles. “There’s a just a bunch of insects concentrated on the surface -- it's really a great time of year for the topwater flyrodder.”
On the first full week of every August, the epicenter of the sportfishing world descends on Ocean City, Maryland for the White Marlin Open. Thousands of anglers in hundreds of registered boats compete for millions in cash prizes. The world’s largest billfish tournament also draws thousands of spectators for the weigh-ins each night and generates tens of millions of dollars for Ocean City’s top purveyors of diesel and dark-and-stormies.
Biologists Alice Lippson and Robert Lippson, authors of the sober Life in the Chesapeake Bay described their ferocity as “killing for the sake of killing even when they get their fill.”
The bluefish’s Latin name, Pomatomus saltatrix, actually has nothing to do with salt – it means “leaping fish” – but the saltier waters of summer do go hand-in-hand with bluefishing. Blues can a wise change of pace when the suffocating waters of summer make it tough for rockfish to survive catch and release and prefer the high salinity of high summer.
Some of the best tarpon guides have some of the best accents. Capt. Jack Brady fits the bill, but he doesn't speak with the Caribbean patois or islander Spanglish that so many tarpon anglers are accustomed to. Capt. Brady has the distinct dialect of his native Eastern Shore community of Oyster, Virginia -- or arster, as he says -- where he's lived for over 80 years. It was off Wreck Island that Capt. Jack Brady caught his first tarpon, the same year that Hemingway was fishing with Castro.
“Over here on the seaside, they get here in June, and stay until two northeast winds come in September,” says Shore angling legend Capt. Brady. “when they disappear, you have no idea where they're going. They're like a ghost!”
Looking at map of the Chesapeake, Tangier Sound looks like a big chunk of the Eastern Shore disintegrated into the Bay -- which, in a way, it did. Bounded by a chain of soggy islands to the west and endless expanses of marshes to the east, the sound is underlain by a texture of submerged islands, grass flats, channels, shoals, and in some places, stump fields where groves of hardwoods once stood. The diversity of water creates some crazy currents, which keep the Sound well-oxygenated and make a pristine habitat for fish.
“The speck fishing in Tangier Sound can be world class. We have the best specks anywhere north of the Carolinas,” says Tangier Sound guide Chris Karwacki. “May can be the month when a nice grade of specks begins to move into the sound. … I like the last week of May and the first week of June.”
“When I started working,” says Captain Billy Rice, who began his career on the water in 1965 when he was 10 years old, “oysters were our #1 money maker, followed by striped bass and white perch, and then followed by blue crab. Today it’s the opposite: blue crab are our #1 money makers, followed by stripers and then oysters.”
“We would get $10-12 per basket,” says Rice of the old days crabbing. “Now [in 2016] it’s $140 per basket but there’s fewer to go around. Also, the table trade for crabs is really where it’s at these days, and the market now demands big, fat, happy #1’s. We don’t worry too much about competition from other places, because if we can provide the supply, there is a good market demand all year.”