The Over-the-Hill Gang
Years ago, the three of us were honorary members of the Wild Bunch. Then reluctantly we became an operating branch of The Professionals. Eventually, many years later and deeply into at least our 60s, we ended up as a ragged remnant of the Over the Hill Gang. Bill, my younger brother, Randy Steck, our long-ago adopted brother, and I were lounging in my 17-foot skiff and rocking at anchor a half mile out in the Chester River. It was as adventurous as we manage now.
Setting up the second of two chum bags, I was hoping for rockfish. The red-hot bite at the Bay Bridge was mostly spent, and we were chasing rumors of a possible school of mixed-sized stripers in 20-plus feet of water well out from Love Point off of the Eastern Shore.
Sinking one chum bag deep, just off the bottom, and the second streaming below the surface over our stern, I was doing everything I could think of to precipitate some encounters. We were fishing fresh-cut menhaden on two-ounce sinkers. Several boats around us were already set up and chumming with two or three trolling through the area. But most of the crews were sitting listless, and we saw no nets being waved.
Randy, with his usual luck, was sitting the closest to the bending rod. Alerted by a number of loud and profane instructions, he finally turned, wrestled it from the holder and began the battle. The fish did not intend to come quietly.
It was a good-sized striper, and demonstrating grace under pressure, Randy eventually finessed it into the net as we all breathed a sigh of relief. The skunk was out and we had a nice fish of about 27 inches in the box. Quickly rebaiting the hook, I cast the rig back out, and we awaited the continuation of action — without result.
One by one, the boats anchored around us departed for better prospects, while we argued among ourselves whether to wait out the tide, which seemed to have stalled, or to join in the search for better conditions. Eventually we were the only boat remaining. Finally, we decided to move.
But as we brought in our lines, one rod turned out to have a good-sized fish hooked up. Surprised, we endeavored to get this fish to the net. Any rockfish, regardless of how it is seduced, is a good experience.
Remarkably the bite continued to heat up as we then scored one fish after another. Though there were a number of throwbacks (anything under 20 inches for us), our six-fish limit was filled within the hour, just as our bait ran out. It was scarcely 11am.
Fish Finder
Against my fears, the 2019 rockfish season is outstanding. The eastern side, where salinity is higher, is teeming from Swan Point to Poplar Island and farther south.
On the Western Shore, the hot bite doesn’t start seriously until as far south as Point Lookout. Trolling, chumming, jigging, fishing soft crabs and throwing jerk baits and swim baits are all scoring fish, some up to 30 inches.
Channel cats also remain in the mix throughout and will probably stay around until Bay salinity rises. Spot have begun to show up. White perch are finally arriving, but only here and there. Crabbing has been very slow in the middle-Bay despite persistent claims of a great season from Maryland Department of Natural Resources.
Bottlenose dolphin in good numbers have also been seen again this year as high up as the Chester River.