When life gives you lemons, you make sashimi and enjoy it with craft beers!
The one thing that I look forward to, more than anything else, is being able to buzz around in my aluminum boat pursuing hardtails. If you know me personally (or have discovered the “Easter Eggs” I hide in my writing) you’ll also be aware that I’m a huge car guy. I’ve got a particular affinity for unique stuff, especially the three pedal varieties. Unfortunately, this would (nearly) prove to be my undoing during the 2025 season.
My “old reliable” tow rig, a 2003 Ram 2500 with a V10, 4WD, and of course, a 5-speed manual, was on borrowed time with some major work needed. Before the season had even begun, its time had run out. I was now staring at a 6,500-pound lawn ornament, which left me with pair of old BMW’s that would begrudgingly get my wife and me to work but certainly weren’t pulling boats. One is an E39 530i, the other is a 335xi powered by an N54… “if you know”, you know as the kids say.
A Silver Lining
On the plus side, 2025 was already shaping up; the bonito showed up early, like unreal early. If the Ram was down, I could at least wake up early and make “the great loop” from South County to Sakonnet and catch fish from shore. And my 2003 530i proved to be ideal for making that circuit. I scored a few fish and saved a ton of money on fuel, while riding in air-conditioned comfort.
Eventually the bite moved west and the fish settled into their seasonal patterns on my home turf. I split my days off between firing the parts cannon at the old Dodge and adapting my bonito strategy to the new playing field. Instead of chasing them on a boat, I had to intercept them from the rocks. It was a choice of either getting ticked off watching blitzes that I couldn’t reach, or learning, adapting, grinding, and becoming a better angler. In an effort to justify drinking sunrise beers on my days off, I chose the latter.
Tweaked Tactics
Many of my most successful boat days weren’t the days I spent burning a half-tank of fuel, but the ones where I launched early and hung out close to the jetties near the ramp. Maybe being shore-bound wasn’t the end of the world. Just like I’d done from a boat, I got out there as early as I could. I’d walk out in the dark and start casting before the sun was technically up, finding out on a few trips that false dawn was the ticket. I’d “met the fish for breakfast” when they became active to feed and pinned bait into the walls, and was rewarded with bonito sashimi for dinner.
In those early morning hours, low and slow was the ticket for success. Maybe hardtails aren’t so different from people… in that they don’t move as fast when they first wake up. Maybe I’m overthinking this and it’s got more to do with these fish being cold blooded, visual hunters that don’t operate at their peak in low light. I did pass biology in high school… finally got to use it I suppose!
Whatever the reason, letting an epoxy such as a Fat Cow, or a soft plastic like an un-weighted Albie Snax or 4-inch RonZ sink and working it back slowly helped. Epoxies worked best bounced off the bottom. I let my Snax sink to the bottom and worked them with long, slow sweeps of the rod. The RonZ was most effective being jigged back in. Longer, higher pumps of the rod for the epoxies, Shorter, rapid hops for the RonZ. Things changed as the sun came up. The RonZ remained effective for fish that clung to the bottom. Epoxies not as much. Plastics still got hit, but higher in the water column. Some things remained universal, green for epoxies, white for Albie Snax, and sand eel or green for the RonZ.
Accoutrements
Just as the lures didn’t change much from running and gunning to rock hopping, neither did the rest of the tackle. The same G. Loomis E6X (845S MGM) and G. Loomis ProGreen (PGR884S Heavy) paired with Stradic 4000’s worked just as well off the rocks as they did on the boat. Spooled up with 20-pound Suffix FG’d to 20-pound Seagaur fluoro was still my go to. One (obvious) caveat, the rocks do a number on your line and leader so check it often. Be ready to retie often and know you could have to re-spool. Plus, your knot game improves thanks to the constant, on-the-fly practice as well.
Success also meant staying upright on the wall, as in not falling into the ocean. Studded soles are essential for safety on slick, uneven surfaces, without my Korkers Redside Wading Boots, I wouldn’t have been able to unleash my inner mountain goat. Plenty of anglers used studded soles that strapped over an existing shoe but I’ve always preferred a dedicated boot for the ankle support and less of that somewhat clunky, disconnected feeling. Otherwise my summertime wardrobe remained the same.
Albies Arrive
It wasn’t long before I was scrolling through my “fishing log” which most people know as Google Photos. It would soon be the first week of September and according to my iPhone, this is when the switch would occur. My records indicated that historically this was the week the albies would show up. That being said, the previous season’s albie season only lasted a few days. Either way, I wasn’t catching them from the couch.
I also wasn’t catching them from my boat. The Ram was still down for the count. Hope was on the way in the form of rust-free 2016 4Runner Trail that my wife and I had purchased from Florida. We just had to fly down to Orlando and drive it back. I’d be ready just in time! Or, so we thought. We made it as far as Georgia before one of the most reliable engines in the world self-deleted. And let’s just say it wasn’t a manufacturing defect (and it wasn’t my fault for once.) We booked a flight home and regrouped.
Just as it always does, time marched on. The calendar flipped. It was go time. Everything was lined up. It was a Monday so I was off. The weather was perfect. The fish “should” be there. Of course the E39’s light control module had started to fail leaving me with flickering headlights and no turn signals. Despite this, I decided to go for it. What if we only a day or two of albies? Most people don’t expect a BMW to use blinkers anyway, I kid, I kid. Maybe the gamble would pay off. Maybe it wouldn’t and my car would get stolen because at this point I also couldn’t lock it due to an actuator issue. Odds are high that the perp wouldn’t know how to drive stick anyway and I wouldn’t have to Uber home.
Jetty Camaraderie
I walked down the wall and recognized a few friendly, familiar faces. I’m an introvert who’s forced to be an extrovert by my career as a bartender. Boats allow me to hide from the crowds and run from “the public” however my situation had forced me to be more social on my days off. And you know what? It wasn’t that bad! I’d made a few connections with whom I’d carefully shared intel and tactics. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing these folks out there. Sometimes we’d catch up on last week’s action, or what their plans were for the next few days, fishing or otherwise. Other times we’d swap beers from recent brewery trips (I cheated, my wife works at Tilted Barn) and other days we’d just smile and nod, not knowing each other’s names but knowing we shared the same goals and considered ourselves “stewards of the wall” who tried our best to catch fish and keep the place clean.
That Monday started off quiet, one “low and slow” bone before the action nosedived. I’d started chatting with a nearby angler who’d also been pounding sand. We commiserated on our lack of success and dubious reports of fish in locations anywhere but here. Then we both noticed something; splashes and slashes in the water. Not bass, not blues, probably not bones. The sun was up fairly high in the sky, maybe we’d reached the point where the bones wouldn’t cooperate.
On the flipside, I hadn’t forced myself to wake up early after a late night and long weekend of work for nothing. I had a good feeling, and even if my intuition was incorrect, I still had a pair of cold IPAs in my cooler bag keeping that night’s sashimi company. It was time to go old school. Turn and burn. Feel the need for speed. Whatever other cheesy movie references you can think of. I grabbed my plastics rod and hurled out a white Snax. Fish began to blitz at our feet. Panic ensued. Before long we were both tight. Shortly after, we’d both popped off our fish. Thankfully this wasn’t the end of the story.
Wait and aim for the sniper shot? Or just rip it and hope for the best? That day it didn’t matter. I wound up landing my first of the season (and in over a year) followed by my fellow angler landing his first-ever. As excited as I was to break last season’s curse, it paled in comparison to watching him hook and land his first albie. We exchange photos of our catches and both went on to catch several more. I congratulated him and apologized for my very minor role in introducing him to this new addiction. I walked back to my blinker-less BMW refreshed and far less stressed.
| FOOD FOR THOUGHT |
| When it comes to taking a bonito home, you need to prioritize temperature control. Working with a small arsenal of carefully curated tackle I was able to downsize my lure box and maximize ice storage in my cooler backpack. I’m of the mindset of “better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it” when it comes to ice. Every cube counts. Worst-case scenario, the beverages stayed nice and cold. Enough ice meant a beautiful sashimi/crudo feast for my wife and I, plus our neighbor, and whatever friends were fortunate enough to be free that evening. Not all of my fellow jetty jumpers had the same philosophy. However I think I scored a few “karma points” on my slower days donating some of my ice to more fortunate, but less prepared, anglers. |
Was it the perfect season? No. Was it a lost cause? Absolutely not! I’m fortunate to have great friends who took me out on their boats despite our limitations on time and schedules, where we shared some epic days. I even got to bookend the season with another day of monumental shore action with a good buddy. On that day, taking my boat out would have been suicide. Conversely it was a perfect day on the wall, dropping pressure from an incoming storm, cloud cover, stiff wind at our backs, and raging albies. It was topwater mayhem until the seals crashed the party and closed us out for the year.
I’m back in the saddle now, as far as a tow vehicle is concerned, the dealership made good on an engine replacement for the 4Runner and as you’re reading this, you can bet I’m pulling the boat somewhere looking for my fix. But for those who find themselves in a similar predicament, or for those who rely on friends to get them on the hardtails, take it from me, whether you’re driving an old BMW or your mom’s beater station wagon, the shore game for hardtails is not only productive, it’s a ton of fun and will teach you a lot about who you are as a fisherman!
