Originally published in the SurfcasterJournal. Reprinted with permission of the author John Papciak
“I simply needed to fish for Stripers! Large waves, big lures, large fish in inches of water, combat Surfcasting, my idea of dream fishing.”
Montauk has long been considered a “Surfcasting destination,” frequently attracting visitors from New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Connecticut. Those who live a ten-minute drive from the beach might believe ‘local Intel’ puts them atop some surfcaster’s pecking order. Time and again however, those who travel a considerable distance tend to do the research, and often show up with enough knowledge and enthusiasm to more than make up for it.
Then we have the guy who travels 3,300 miles to get here.
Well, maybe we should start at the beginning – Mike Oliver’s story.
I first met up with Mike in late October of 2013. A “Montauk Two Handed Fly Fishing Get-Together” invitation was posted to the popular Striper’s Online message board. The agreement was to meet at 3am in Montauk, at the 7-11 situated near the entrance of town. The wind had shifted northwest and accelerated, and the thermometer was now dropping into the 30s.
I had my own doubts as to whether some of these “internet fisherman” would even show. I pulled into the 7-11 lot at 2:30am to find about six trucks with all manner of fly gear lashed to roof racks.
The “ringleader” was already in a wetsuit, speaking with animated gestures, no doubt oblivious to the cold and the wind.
“Game On,” I said to myself.
Mike stood about 5’7”, and despite a receding hairline of gray strands, he appeared thin and quite agile for his 62 years. He darted between vehicles as more fishermen emerged from their heated 4×4 dens.
Mike was all too willing to swim with me to a couple of rocks on the North Side that night. Truth be told, I probably wouldn’t have braved the cold had there not been someone to nudge me. We called an audible at sun-up, and finally found bass chasing sand eels on the sand beaches at Napeague. The wind had slowed just enough, and the bass were all too eager to take a fly in the rolling waves. Mike was intent on wading through the trough to the bar. He ducked under the larger waves, and was rewarded with a 23-pound bass that morning. When the fish swam away he dove in and floated around to celebrate.
We saved the formal introductions for coffee and jelly donuts, courtesy of the Montauk Bake Shop.
“I was born in Birmingham in the UK, which is our second largest city in the Midlands, and up to my thirties, it was the industrial heartland of Britain.”
“We are known as “Brummies” and have a very pronounced accent that is mostly ill considered in the UK.”
“Me? I am proud of it, as are most Brummies.”
“Birmingham was full of Engineers and factory workers in the 1950’s. Industry was booming and (due to the desperate need for labour in our factories) we saw a huge influx of West Indians and Pakistanis. So I grew up in a multi-cultural society.”
Mike further reflects on his roots and upbringing.
“I did not realize it at the time, but by today’s measure we would have been considered as living in poverty. We never went hungry, but there was very little left over once the rent and food had been found for. What we did not have in material goods, we more then made up for with a solid family life, with loving parents. We were brought up quite strictly, and I value my working class roots and our principles very much. My dad was an exceptional Engineer, and in the Second World War he designed tanks at the Rover Car works in Solihull. He met my Mom Joan there when he was around 22 and she 18. They fell madly in love and remained that way until my father passed 5 years ago.”
And what about Mike’s earliest days as a fisherman?
“I had been a mad passionate (freshwater) angler from 5 years of age, but had been distracted by beer and young ladies in my late teens.”
In fact, Mike’s early days had all the missteps of a particularly outspoken and rebellious youth. An apprenticeship as a mechanical engineer went bust when Mike had difficulties conforming to company life. By the age of 21, he was fired and living on the dole. A low point may have been 12 weeks of unemployment, and then going into an employment agency after having had a few too many drinks.
“The supercilious clerk was looking down his nose as he inquired as to the reasons for my entering his (employment) office. I drunkenly replied. “Gis a job mate.”
Miraculously he was referred for a job as a telephone answering boy at Honeywell, and despite showing up for the interview with long hair and a beard, he still did manage to land that job.
This new gig, while at the bottom of the ladder, set the wheels in motion for some dramatic changes in Mike’s life.
“On my first day, I passed the typing pool office, and my eyes popped out of my head as I saw the most amazing pair of legs belonging to a very slim and lovely Lass, who had her head stuck into the inner workings of the telex machine.”
Mike quickly introduced himself.
“We started courting, Anne and I. Yes, that’s what it was known as in those days.”
He waxes philosophical as he reflects on the chain of events that ultimately brought him to the surf.
“We planned our first holiday away together, but it would need to be tent camping as we had very little money. I wanted to go north, to Scotland, whilst Anne wanted to go south to Cornwall, as she did not fancy the wet and cold Scottish weather. Cornwall it was. We arrived during a heat wave. Anne looked forward to sunbathing, but I was sure to get bored. I managed to persuade her to let me wonder off to a tackle shop. I ended up buying a light glass 11-foot rod with a Mitchell 410A spinning reel. I went that night, and at low water spotted a pool forming in the center of the beach. I cast my sand eel toward the center of the pool, and after a short while I had a hard take. After a brief but spirited battle I was gazing down at a 6 lb (European) bass.”
In an instant, Mike’s childhood passion for fishing had returned, this time in the form of a distant cousin of Morone saxatilis. More importantly, Mike made the connections on that trip that would allow him to take his newfound Surfcasting to the next level.
“Long story short, I met two local lads who invited me down to stay with them at weekends. For the next 20 years I went down very often, making the 400 mile round-trip journey on weekends to fulfill my new passion for surfcasting. It became so encompassing that I dropped all other kinds of fishing as the ocean took over my life.”
Mike’s career also got back on track, and in due time he was promoted to Sales Representative. Once his managers put two and two together, they made sure to keep Mike clear of sales territory that included coastal towns.
But his Surfcasting most certainly continued, and he was now accelerating along the European bass learning curve.
At some point, the ongoing evidence of a depleted local bass population prompted him to get involved in promoting conservation.
“I joined the UK Bass Sports Fishing Society (ukbass.com) about thirty-five years ago. A few years into my membership, I found myself on the Board, and then eventually I became the Chairman.”
“This society was the principle organization fighting for the resource. They still are fighting today, although my own involvement these days is greatly reduced. During my term as Chair, we set up a properly financed Restoration Team who traveled across the UK and Europe to further our cause.”
Eventually the challenges of bass restoration led UKBass to search for answers on the other side of the Atlantic.
“Malcolm Gilbert was our UKBass lead, and his research led us to the story of your striped bass. We learned of the Atlantic Striped Bass stock collapse, the moratorium, and the recovery. We wanted to take these lessons back to the UK, so Malcom eventually went to the US and connected with a US Fisheries Scientist named John Waldman.”
Waldman, who was especially known for his work with the Hudson River Foundation, ultimately took Malcolm Gilbert to fish for striped bass in Montauk in 1996. Proof of the resurgence of the Atlantic Striped Bass was a bent rod. Malcolm returned to the UK with a red-hot fishing report.
“Malcolm came back to give a talk on his Montauk experiences. He held up plugs the likes of which we had never seen before. He described what it was like to fish “Under The Light” and along Montauk’s south side beaches.”
It’s doubtful many back in England were more inspired with this report than Mike Oliver himself.
“My eyes glazed over. I could not wait for Malcolm’s talk to end so I could grab him and pump him dry for more information. I simply needed to fish for Stripers! Large waves, big lures, large fish in inches of water, combat Surfcasting, my idea of dream fishing.”
They talked for a good while after Malcolm’s presentation. The outcome was an agreement that they would both go back to Montauk the following fall.
And so began Mike’s long-distance love affair with US surfcasting, and Montauk in particular.
While Mike is generally known today as a fly fishermen, his first few years were spent building a foundation, primarily with traditional spinning gear throwing bucktails and plugs. Mike is adamant that he be thought of first and foremost as a Surfcaster.
“Fly Fishing is just a tool.”
“My first need was for as many fish as I could catch, and as big as possible. In the UK, catching 30 Bass a year puts you in the ‘Sharpie’ category. At first, I could not get my head around catching that many bass, or more, in a day. It was more powerful than any street narcotic. I loved Montauk’s big surf and the thrill of fishing Nor’easters.”
I pressed Mike for details on those early days. What exactly motivates a Brit to book a 3,000 mile 20-day fishing trip, year after year?
“I think it was my third Montauk trip and I was fishing with Malcolm. One pre-dawn day found us parked up by Jones Reef. The beach was drivable to Scott’s at that time, and had not yet been washed away. It was a cold grey morning, and we sat shivering inside our vehicle, wondering where to fish. We found good rocks and started to cast. Nothing. As time went, one by one, the other guys left until it was just Malcom and myself.”
“This was rare in good fishing years to have the whole point to yourself. I think it was around 0900 that we started to catch our first bass on bucktails by casting into the rip and letting them swing.”
Then all hell broke lose.
“Huge pods of fish started to arrive from the direction of Jones. They were porpoising through the waves taking bait. Not huge fish, most were around the 15 lb mark. We now started to catch at a rate of one a cast. It was incredible, a huge blitz and only the two of us prosecuting it. We caught like machines, for who knows when it might end. We did not stop for food or drink. After two hours our arms and shoulders were screaming for relief, but no chance. The Bass were then joined by Blues pushing around 12lbs, and they fought even harder. Still word had not got out, and we had the place to ourselves. By 1400 (2pm) I looked across to Malcolm and spoke for the first time in quite a while. I remember telling Malcolm I was knackered. My hands and arms were cramped up. I couldn’t make another cast. I was unable to crank my reel one more time. We were both covered in blood and fish slime and our hands were cut to shreds, but our bodies were overflowing with Adrenalin. We were unable to estimate how many bass we had landed. Malcolm was in the same condition. The bass were still rolling through the waves but we could not continue. So we made a pact. A fast walk off the beach, back to the car, drive to our rental house, get cleaned up, re-stock with Bucktails, and then high tail it back to the Point… and eat along the way.”
Mike continues, as if needing to defend the desire for a break after 4 hours of blitz fishing.
“It is important to put into context the inner conflict we were both experiencing leaving this fishing. Back home we blank or catch just one or two, and the vast majority of our fish will weigh less than four pounds”
“After arriving back at our house near White Sands Motel (just west of Montauk’s Hither Hills), we cleaned up and replenished our gear. We made a cup of tea and took a short rest. This was a tiredness not just borne from the day’s efforts, but from the previous ten days and nights of non-stop fishing. Nothing new to Surfcasters around the world. It’s part of the game.”
“We got back into the SUV for an anxious journey back to the Point. Would word have got out? Could we claim a rock? It was now 1800 (6pm) when we drew into the lower lot and thankfully saw very few other vehicles. We practically ran down to Scotts.”
“The fishing was not quite as furious as before, but it was good and the size of the fish had not changed. We learned just how strong 3 oz gear was, as we leaned in hard in order to land them quickly and go to another. Sheer and utter blood lust.”
“We only stopped when the fish moved off. It was like a light switch. Not a gradual slowing of the bite. We were almost relieved as we could not call it ourselves, tired as we were. We looked at each other almost speechless and tried to figure just how big our catch had been in total. We both agreed on a figure, but it’s best I don’t share that as many might not believe it, and some might question why we did not stop sooner.”
While the spinning gear was proving very effective, and Mike continued to rack up some impressive numbers with each trip, he began to experiment with fly gear in the surf by the late 1990’s. Back in England, he began to target European bass on the fly. As relatively slow as it was with conventional gear and bait, it was a considerable challenge with a fly rod. But in due time, he did connect. The desire to apply the fly rod to Montauk Stripers was helped by a growing body of literature that was now rolling off the presses.
“I read Lou Tabory’s book, “Stripers On The Fly,” and then Ray Bonderew’s “Stripers and Streamers.”
The author who probably did more to shape Mike’s approach to fly fishing the surf was Frank Daignault. Mike reasoned that Daignault’s stinging assessment of the salt water fly fishing “trout mentality” only served as further motivation.
“He wasn’t kind to the Fly Boys, with their approach of seeking easier water, instead of fishing where the bass actually were. Those words stuck with me. I took it personally – not personally in a bad way, but personally because it was about fly fisherman like me, and he was right.”
“I decided to rid myself of the totally unsuitable fly fishing uniform of chest waders and jacket. I got into wet suiting with the fly rod. I was shown how to wet suit by the locals in Montauk. This was beyond fun. The idea of deep wading to small rocks, and swimming to others, then getting knocked off, this was my kind of fishing.”
With each new year, Mike focused on how to best make use of his 15-20 day extended trips in Montauk, for swimming and rock hopping. The Striper population had now rightfully recovered, and the opportunities to target fish were better, so long as one could fish longer, and push out when necessary.
“Before I came over each fall I made sure I was fit and able to mix It with my Spin Boys. It was (and is) fantastic fighting a striper on a spinning rod, but on a fly rod it’s a whole new ball game.”
Mike did concede the fly rod meant some limitations when wind and waves conspired against him, or when the fish were just out of reach.
“I caught a fraction of the stripers when compared to the spin fishermen. Many a time, I had to suffer watching the surfcasters bailing fish that I could not reach. But that’s the price you have to pay. The rewards are just incredible when you hook into a Striper in a big surf on the fly. I will take that trade off any day of the week. But, many times no matter how hard I tried, I could not beat the wind and the surf. I used to be blown around and often rolled in the surf… I still loved the challenge.”
Mike became less willing to give up on the fly rod in the surf on those days when conditions were far from ideal. He turned his attention to the technical limitations and spent a great deal of time back home considering ways to compensate.
“To beat the wind, you need casting ability, with a (fly) line as heavy as 500 to 600 grains, and you need a very powerful rod to generate high line speed,”
This ultimately led Mike into the world of Two Handed (TH) fly rods, where casting those heavy lines was more technically feasible. While two handed fly rods were traditionally used in specific freshwater situations, there was a small but growing interest in the Northeast in applying TH rods to the salt.
“You can’t get this (delivery of heavy lines) with a single handed rod, so ten years ago I started my quest – a passion project, call it what you will. I became totally obsessed with finding a solution to be able to fish “out front” in conditions where most single hand fly guys would never even consider.”
The existing production two-handed fly rods were not the panacea that Mike had hoped for. None were specifically designed for the surf, and at the time, it was impossible to line up and test cast the range of designs needed to pinpoint the most viable options.
“I had never even casted a TH fly rod before, let alone owned one. I started blind-seeking for the most powerful TH rods I could. The problem was, and still is, that most TH rods are designed for rivers, not the ocean. They have action more suited for Spey casting, where room for a back cast is a primary concern, not the overhead casting (with much more line in the air) into silly winds needed in a big rolling surf. So I spent a great deal of money buying very expensive name branded TH rods. I would take them down to the beach. They just could not cut into strong head winds…you need way more power in a beach TH Fly rod than in a fresh water spey rod. No different to spinning tackle. Trying to get a quite well-known Spey guy to understand the line matching is almost impossible, unless you can get them out fishing with you.”
After a few years of frustration, and spending a small fortune on rods, Mike ultimately decided to try his own hand at rod design.
“Frustration is a great driver,” reasoned Mike.
“I looked globally to find suitable blank makers. The breakthrough came when I found a blank maker in the US who I could closely work with. This blank maker was traveling along a parallel path. We teamed up and shared the knowledge, and then the costs.”
The breakthrough came around 2009, when a new batch of TH blanks were delivered that appeared to offer a significant departure from prevailing TH rod designs.
“They were stiff and more powerful than what I had been trying. I very quickly built them into finished rods. My test casting was done on the open beach, not in some back bay or farmer’s field. At last we had the mark, and over the next few years we narrowed it down to a range of five rods from 12’9” to 14’. I now had the tools to take on both the surf and wind, and with my wet suit approach.”
The TH fly rod is now Mike’s preferred choice when fishing the surf on American side of the Atlantic.
“There is a small group of us who meet up to fish (primarily) with TH Beach fly rods . We have become very close friends. For the past five years we have organized TH “Fly days” on Cape Cod for anyone who might be interested. They have been great fun and pretty successful. The only cost to the guys is their time and maybe some coffee and doughnuts.”
While these TransAtlantic fish calls and get-togethers continue to this day, the trips to Montauk sadly have not. This was in no way for lack of interest on Mike’s part, but lack of fish.
Today Mike offers a blunt and sobering assessment of the Striped Bass fishery. Over the twenty years he has been coming over, he has noticed a steady decline in both the numbers of fish and the sizes.
“It took us a couple of years to get on the pace (in Montauk), but when we did, we could catch pretty heavily most days. There was a year when Montauk was full of tiny bass and it was hard to get any fish over ten pounds, but by our own standards it was still very good.”
“In the early years, nearly every day there would be separate flocks of gulls from Shagwong Point all the way round past Browns and beyond. Thousands of birds in total, all marking fish. Then, I guess it must have been 8-10 years ago, we noticed a steady fall off in numbers. We had days and nights when we could not catch a single fish. Over our typical 20-day stays in the fall we would still get some great days and that kept us coming.”
Mike’s observations were not limited to Montauk.
“We started fishing Cape Cod. We were tempted by stories of large numbers of fish by other Brits who had been fishing the Cape for the previous three seasons, all fly fishermen. They (reported) 50-fish days and great sight fishing on the South Side with some large bass. The sight fishing at Monomoy was stunning. Sadly, the year I arrived it died and has not come back.”
As the fish became even more scarce, Mike ultimately had to make some hard decisions about the time and expense allocated to Montauk.
“About four years ago we went 8 days (in October) without a fish, and there was hardly a Surfcaster to be found in Montauk. The following year I only managed 20 Bass over a 19-day trip. That (final) year the Local Sharpies were conspicuous by their absence in the surf. Gary (Stephens) was fishing for Tautog as it was a waste of time with Stripers.”
“I see my situation with Montauk as almost like a divorce, but not by my choice. It’s devastating, it’s been such a big part of my life that I can’t imagine a future without it. But this is where we are at.”
While Cape Cod was also in decline, Mike felt it was still a much better option than Montauk.
“Guys fishing the Canal could still do well on the right tides. While fly fishing, it was still possible at times to get into high numbers, but difficult to get even small legal sized fish. The huge seal population must also be a factor in the Cape.”
And what of his current plans on this side of the Atlantic?
“I plan to fish the Cape again this year for three weeks in late May to early June, and again for two weeks in the fall, as the return is still worth the cost and effort.”
“As sports fishers we can’t live in denial. If the returns are not there, I will have to find other fish to angle for. This would be devastating for me and all other Surfcasters whose primary love is to fish for Striped Bass.”
“I can only offer my anecdotal evidence over more than twenty years – and only during a 3-5 week span of fishing effort each year – but I can’t ignore what I have experienced.”
“To nearly lose the fishery once was bad enough. If it is lost a second time, that would be nothing short of criminal. If a bass fisher from 3000 miles away can see that all is not well, then it should not be beyond the wit of the fisheries managers to protect and sustain the resource.”