Football Season
As fans shuffle toward Kenan Stadium, the first fall breeze sweeps through the tops of the oaks before it touches the tailgaters looking for relief from the combined body heat of the crowd. Fans sweat through painted faces, tuck airplane bottles in boots, and cheer as the fight song rings from the marching band. Football season is here. While tailgating is the most adventurous outdoor activity many will participate in this fine fall weekend, politely not me.
A few hours away the north wind carries a cloudless sulphur, a clumsy yellow butterfly, south. That north wind, while she is often more cruel than friendly, is a force we count on like the tide. Bait fish like menhaden and silversides, locked into a timeless struggle against nature, school up this time of year. Bait swims into the wind according to the old timers. Their fight against the north wind schools them along east-west islands like Shackleford Banks.
This is fall in eastern North Carolina with cool evenings, shoals of bait, and the migration. Along with the cool north breeze come footballs. No, not the pigskin of those tailgate worshipers. It is a silvery, bullet-like football by the hundreds or thousands. I'm talking about False Albacore.
False Albacore aren't known for their table fare, but they are known for action. If you are looking for a place to test your knots, knuckles, and fly rod, this might be your scene. Rods bend and break. They eject from the boat if left unattended with a fly in the water. Fly lines are pulled and tested if not by fish, but by a troller that will still make 6 knots no matter how hard you pull on the trawling gear behind that diesel.
Against this backdrop, anglers travel from near and far to see and hear the blitz. In the stadium you might hear pads crashing and the roar of the crowd. Out here the silence is broken by the sound of bait showering as 10-pound tuna slash through the surface of the water by the dozens.
Nature's ultimate display of football is a game of X's and O's as bait schools swim trying to make safe passage. False Albacore gorge themselves on the feast as boats filled with anglers try to position themselves for a shot. The goal is to put your impression of a Clouser Minnow in front of the white water (not behind it). It is a dance between captain, angler, and quarry.
The captain plays chess as he navigates what some people may consider a social experience. Where are the fish coming up next? The simple flick of the wing of a tern flying overhead could be enough to give you the edge over the other boats in the area. The captain moves just fast enough to get the boat there in time, but just slow enough not to attract the attention of the other boats who watch him like a hawk. Breaking a wake may draw too much attention. Not breaking a wake might not get you there before the blitz is gone.
On the front of the boat, the angler bobs up and down as swells and boat wake alike pass under his feet. The captain says hold on, I'm going to run, school at 10 o'clock. The angler grips the oh-shit-handle on the front of the boat as the bow rises out of the water. A quick run about 300 yards and the boat is now coming off of plane.
The boat is gliding, hopefully not straight at the school but on a collision course that would produce a side swipe in traffic going down I-70. If the captain aims straight for the school, he'll likely put them down. Also, there's no way a fly angler can strip line fast enough to overcome the speed of the boat. The ideal shot is side to the fish as the boat is out of gear and still carrying a little momentum almost parallel to the fish.
This is where the first test of an angler comes into play. Line management is the name of the game. In the commute, did the angler pick up his feet off the deck even a quarter inch? That's all it takes to be standing on the running line instead of beside it. Was the rod tip in the air, so the leader is now tip-wrapped? Did a loop of line tighten around a cleat or a cooler handle? There are a million and one ways to miss the shot. Good line management and situational awareness are the only way to be ready for the shot.
Using the water moving past the boat to pull a little more line out of the tip of the fly rod, the angler water loads his first haul. One good back cast, and the angler shoots the running line. It was behind the wall of white water created by the blitz of albacore. He strips wildly to recover his line. Coils fall on the deck. Feeling the fat fly line under his foot, he picks up his foot as he makes an off-balance cast. Without time to think, without time to react, the fly line passes from left to right across the boat, then back left again. The back cast was better lined up this time, almost opposite the direction of where the fly needed to go. This tension has the rod bending the tip back as the angler pushes the rod forward and tugs the running line with his left hand. This quick move doubled the bend in the rod, and that little Clouser knockoff turned into a rocket. The fly lands 8 feet in front of the false albacore, mouths chomping like pac-men. Strip. Strip. Strip. A streak of green lightning strikes. The angler holds the running line in his left and rod in his right like he's driving a school bus with a wingspan between his hands to clear the line. The angler is putting tension on the fly line as it heats up going through his hand. Chunk. He picks up his foot, clears the line, hears the drag, lifts his rod, and smiles.
The captain and angler exchange cheers like the crowd up there in Kenan Stadium. As the end of the fly line chugs with a double Bimini through the eyes of the rod we're into the backing. The angler reaches for the handle on the reel as it thuds across his knuckles. The fish is still running for deeper water.
This is also where the captain encourages the angler to fight down and dirty with the rod tip down in the water and pulling the opposite direction the fish faces. This creates more drag on the fish for two reasons. First, if he's running right and your rod is down to the left, you're pulling more directly opposite of the way he is going. Second, having more line in the water creates more drag. This means even if that silver bullet runs straight toward you, the line cutting through the water should be enough to keep the hook pinned in his mouth.
About fifteen minutes later and a few runs, the captain grabs that silvery football by the tail from beside the boat and hands it shaking and spitting up snot bait all over the angler's new sun shirt. We're all smiles.
Football season is here.
– Greg Barnes