Almost 20 years ago out on Cape Cod, a man in an inflatable dingy harpooned a fish the size of a chest freezer a few hundred feet from the beach at Truro. With the aid of an outgoing tide and, most likely, some divine intervention, the man wrestled the beast into shallow water and finally subdued it on a sandbar. We’ve all heard our share of dubious fish tales, especially ones that seem to defy the laws of physics. Just imagine 8-to-10-foot long fish swimming within casting range of beachgoers frolicking in the surf. The truth is, you don’t have to imagine – this really happens.
Now there’s no need to panic, close down the beaches, or launch a campaign to reunite Quint, the Chief, and Hooper. I’m not “talkin’ about sharkin'”. I am, however, talking about some of the biggest bluefin tuna in the world, residing in a body of water that you can actually see across on a clear day.
A Cape Cod Bay Giant
The place is Cape Cod Bay, a pocketful of ocean surrounded by sandy neighborhoods and beach houses. For most Cape Codders, the presence of grander-size bluefin in their backyard is simply an intriguing and widely accepted myth. Many believers have set out to confirm this local “Loch Ness” legend first hand. Few have been able to witness anything more than a long wait at sea followed by a short ride back to the dock.
“It’s not like it used to be,” said Bob Sampson, captain and owner of one of Cape Cod’s most successful harpoon boats for giant tuna, the Scratcher, hailing from Barnstable. Bob was referring to the ’70s and ’80s, a time when Cape Cod Bay was home to a thriving giant bluefin tuna fishery. “There were truly a lot of fish in the Bay back then. On any given day you might have seen fifteen to twenty different schools of fish on the surface.”
Bob recounted one August day in the mid ’80s when a pod of killer whales penned a school of giant tuna against the beach just outside the east entrance of the Cape Cod Canal. The orcas darted around like sheep dogs, surrounding a frantic herd of 600- to 900-pound tuna, while harpoon boats took turns moving in for a shot and plucking fish from the school. “It was as if the whales knew what was happening the whole time and were offering up a few fish,” Bob recalled. Eventually, the mammals submitted to their hunger and turned the sea into a raging blood bath. Bob delineated a bloody mass of ocean that seemed to stretch for several acres.
This was a time when the bay was truly teeming with giant tuna. Beachgoers could often watch as Downeast-style crafts with gangling pulpits chased down the wakes of massive fish into the sandy shallows of the Bay’s southern reaches.
Rod-and-reel fishing was popular, too. The Unificationists, an organized religious group hailing from Gloucester, Massachusetts and often referred to as “Moonies,” created its own fleet of small, wooden boats that probably caught more giants in the Bay on rod and reel than the average Japanese longliner. One of their hotspots was just outside the marshy flats of Wellfleet Harbor in 80 feet of water.
On any given summer or fall day, the Bay came alive with the pursuit of a dream for those who had the boats, the stamina, and the love of big fish. Some of the more talented souls made a decent living at it, and to boot, were usually home for dinner with their families by the end of the day.
Bay of Dreams
The dream is still alive in 2015, but most of the heavy hitters have moved on, as the number of giant bluefin showing up in the Bay has declined significantly over the past 20 years. Most fishermen speculate that commercial purse-seining practices are to blame, while others seem to think it’s a cyclical trend and the Bay might once again become a hotspot for giant tuna fishing. I agree somewhat with both theories, and not having the purse-seining vessels in the Bay definitely helps!
A serious setup is necessary to land a giant like this one, caught by the author last fall on the Castafari.
Either way, most Northeast giant tuna fishermen are focusing their efforts elsewhere, in offshore waters sometimes as far as 150 miles from port. Last season, I put over 1,000 miles on my boat, the Castafari, to make four trips to Georges Bank for giants. There are a few sneaky salts who pull giant tuna from Cape Cod Bay all season long, and sometimes on a fairly regular basis. Granted, they are most certainly killing an exorbitant amount of time, but this backyard fishery still has a pulse!
This was all just a bunch of dock talk for me until one late afternoon in July of 1998, when this fishy myth became a breath-stopping reality. I was running the Castafari back to port with a charter on board after a fairly uneventful day of trolling for school-size bluefin tuna around Crab Ledge, east of Chatham. The Castafari was pointed on a northerly trek, hugging the backside beach of the Outer Cape just outside the pot line.
The sun was crouched low, and the sea was a rolling sheet of glass. My mate Al was hard at work on the cockpit deck, carefully filleting the one and only tuna we had seen all day, while the rest of us drifted off into space, mesmerized by the monotonous hum of the twin Caterpillar diesels. I gazed out at the barren landscape of Truro, just a few hundred yards to our port. I’ve always been intrigued by the way its deserted cliffs merge with the sea, continuing their downward descent into the deep ocean floor just a stone’s throw away from the beach.
As we rounded Race Point Light at the northeastern tip of Cape Cod Bay, I noticed a disturbance off the port bow. It was a huge school of baitfish moving swiftly across the water’s surface. I slowed the boat down to gain a better look, and at first glance, the flurry appeared to be a giant school of menhaden.
We all watched the churning slick, half the size of a hockey rink, rip its way across the flat rolling swell toward the beach. Then out of nowhere the ocean exploded, and without exaggeration, well over a hundred 10- to 15-pound bluefish entered the atmosphere! A few seconds later, another enormous flock of toothy prey fled from the frothing sea, and before I had time to think, two car-sized tuna were 8 feet in the air! Silhouettes of massive fish vaulted into the air with a powerful grace all around us. My crew and I screamed in unison each time a hungry tuna blasted from the ocean.
I followed the speeding ruckus in an absolute panic, practically onto the beach. We all turned our attention to the fishfinder as I adjusted the unit’s range to accommodate for the drastic decrease in depth from 200 to 40 feet. The top half of the screen was completely littered with red streaks, certainly the marks of bluefish that scattered just a few feet beneath the hull. It was what suddenly entered the bottom half of the screen that sent my mind spinning.
Fat Fish In Skinny Water
Fat fish in skinny water is a really cool concept as far as I’m concerned. Whether it’s 20-pound carp on a shallow mudflat, 150-pound tarpon in the backwaters or 700-pound tuna within swimming distance to shore—it’s a surreal experience.
I like the tuna concept the best though, and in Cape Cod Bay this fantasy keeps a few fishermen’s hopes alive. Every angler who has access to a boat, whether it’s a skiff or a 60-foot battlewagon, has a shot at catching a behemoth fish in the Bay, even if it is a long shot.
It’s a long shot, but for a minimal investment Cape Cod Bay can reward a lucky captain with a huge return.
Though the numbers of giant tuna showing up in the Bay isn’t even close to what it used to be, most of the giants that do still wander in there during the late summer and fall months are huge, averaging around 700 pounds, with a few fish topping the grander mark. Giant bluefin usually roll into town in late June and can appear in the Bay as late as December.
Unfortunately, there is no rhyme or reason to the presence of Bay giants, and they’re basically here today and gone tomorrow, despite the availability of bait or water temperature. Some fishermen speculate that the fish venture into the Bay seeking refuge from the open ocean and that feeding is a secondary priority. Bob Sampson referred to the bay as a “retirement community” for giants, since many of these fish are over 20 years old.
Every year tackle shops buzz with tales of inshore anglers having their quarries snatched from hooks and their tackle spun into submission by monstrous shadows that appeared out of nowhere. A few summers ago, while fishing just west of Billingsgate Shoal, a 12-year-old boy was pulled from the swim platform of his father’s Grady White after a huge tuna showed up at the transom and picked two writhing bluefish off of his umbrella rig. Don’t worry, the boy is fine, and probably loves telling the story.
Of course, these are the good stories, and I won’t bore you to death with the real ones. The truth is that tuna fishing in the Bay can be downright depressing. Yet if you possess a noble wealth of patience and you’re willing to roll the dice, with time, there’s a remote chance you’ll find yourself latched onto the fish of a lifetime, surrounded by pleasure boaters peering at you through binoculars with their jaws hung open. You may also find yourself cursing back at the dock while stowing tackle, swearing to never do it again. I’ve been to both extremes.
The Bay & Its Inhabitants
Cape Cod Bay is approximately 15 miles wide and 20 miles long with an average depth of around 60 feet. The Bay’s northeast corner is the deep end of the pool and supports depths in excess of 200 feet. Some of these deep holes lie only a hundred feet off the beach, and many giants have been hooked within yelling distance of the shoreline in this area. During the early fall of 1999, my mate and I hooked a “determined” fish off Wood End Light that spun the Castafari into Provincetown Harbor. What’s even more bizarre is that we were just one of several boats that were hooked up in the same confined area and at the same time! Watching a fleet of circling boats in the wake of the Boston ferry was quite a sight. Unfortunately, after sweating it out for almost two hours, we broke our fish off as it paraded through a row of lobster pots.
The Bay’s southeastern section is heavily shoaled and as a result is usually home to a thriving ecosystem of bait and shallow-water gamefish. Whiting, herring, sand eels, menhaden, fluke, striped bass, bluefish, sharks, and the occasional cod all call the Bay home for summer and fall. Every one of these species is also on the bluefin tuna’s menu.
Get Up & Go Wishin’
If you’re interested in exploring this close to home fishery first hand, here are a few tips to help get you started. Before you leave the dock, it is essential to outfit your vessel with a good anchor, mooring ball, retrieval ring, and enough line and chain to accommodate depths of at least 200 feet.
Since space is limited in the Bay, drift fishing is really not an option. There’s far too much lobster gear and boat traffic around to pull it off, and when the bite is on and the word gets out, things can get pretty crowded. The last thing you want to do is to float aimlessly through an anchored fleet of tuna fishermen.
Trolling isn’t very popular for the same reasons, though some fish have been trolled up in the early morning and late afternoon hours. The Bay giants are very skittish at best. Your best bet is to chum these fish up. The whiting season opens October 1st. It helps to pay very close attention to the draggers. On the Castafari, we like to stay right in the dragger fleet if we can.
Most good giant fishermen revolve their entire day around tide changes, and slack tides are always a good time to have a choice bait in the water, especially in the Bay. The ocean’s water flow comes to a screeching halt during slack tide, and once the current lets up, schools of bait tend to separate and scatter, which in turn sends tuna into a feeding frenzy. Some fishermen also speculate that giants can maneuver a lot easier when there is little or no tide present.
To land a giant tuna, you’ll need specialized tackle to get your catch on board and iced down. If you don’t have the gear (or the proper permits), consider chartering a tuna captain for the ultimate trophy fishing experience.
The day after a strong northerly wind is a bonus for fishing the Bay as a north wind can often help to push and eventually trap baitfish inside the arm of the Cape. This is especially true during the fall months after a nor’easter blows through, but even then, the Bay can be void of big tuna. Northwest wind, for some reason, tends to provide good action.
Just this past season there was a decent bite during the last week of October and into November. A small fleet consisting of a few South Shore locals managed to keep things quiet for several days while they were hooking into some very nice fish. We caught the tail end of the action and my mates and I caught several very nice fish to 800 pounds.
By the time the word got out, the fish were scattered, and I spent my second-tolast charter of the season sitting in a fleet of 75 boats in a 2 mile section of ocean.
We managed to hook a fish in the early am that eventually broke off. We saw one fish caught, by my former mate (adding insult to injury). That’s giant fishing, though the Bay seems to remind us of this just a little too often.
Popular Areas for Hunting Giants
There are five popular areas in Cape Cod Bay that are frequented by giant tuna fishermen throughout different times of the season.
1. The most popular spot is the “900 Square” which is situated roughly in between Race Point and Green Harbor. This is a good spot to try in the fall months. It supports a muddy bottom with hardly any structure, but is often the home to vast schools of groundfish such as whiting and herring. It sustains an average depth of around 180 feet.
2. “The Pamet” is another popular area to fish all throughout the summer. This section of water sustains an average depth of about 90 feet and is often frequented by passing schools of bluefish that are migrating to and from the shoals of Provincetown Harbor. Its bottom is mostly sand.
3. This spot is known as “Wood End“, named after its location a few hundred yards from Wood End Lighthouse, can be a productive spot to fish in the early morning or late afternoon hours. Unfortunately, during the day it is usually inundated with boat traffic and can sometimes be crowded with lobster gear. What makes this place special is the drastic drop-off, where 20 feet of water drops off into 200 feet just off the beach.
4. The area called the “Gas Buoy” (though there hasn’t been a buoy here for almost 10 years) is still recognized as a decent spot to go tuna fishing in the summer and early fall. Like the waters of the Pamet, this place is often frequented by schools of bluefish. Its depth averages around 100 feet, and its bottom is mostly sand.
5. “The Whiting Grounds“, is an area frequented by whiting draggers in the fall. Its incredibly muddy depths average around 180 to 200 feet and are often home to scattered schools of whiting and herring.
Chum, Chum, Chum
Tuna love chum, especially Bay giants. They’ll rarely pass up an easy meal – as long as it doesn’t have a hook in it. Many days we have marked tuna under the boat that were gorging themselves with chum and managing to avoid our hook-baits, be they dead or alive. Don’t be afraid to go light and deep. We use 180-pound fluorocarbon on the Castafari and set all of our baits at 80 feet and deeper. Some guys go even lighter, but at a cost.
These Bay fish are a lot smarter than the average mackerel and frequently exhibit very shy behavior. The best way to bring out their true personalities is to litter the ocean with a constant stream of bait. There’s no shame in joining an anchored fleet of boats in the Bay, so jump right in and add one more entree to the dinner table. Just be courteous to other fishermen around you, because in this business, what goes around most definitely comes around. Do not set up too close to a guy who has already taken the time to settle in.
After a few days, a chumming fleet can sometimes hold a “domesticated” school of giant tuna. Herring seems to be the most popular form of chum in the Bay, and if you can get a tote of fresh whiting off one of the draggers in P-Town, even better.
I recommend trying as best as you can to present all of your hook-baits directly in the chum line so they resemble a random piece of drifting chum. Remember to stagger your baits at different depths to correspond with your sinking chum. Pay close attention to the angle of scope on your main line. This will ultimately determine the placement of your hookbait. I try to place my live baits in the same fashion. You’ll discover that curious giants, hungry or not, will likely be in the area of your chum line. A live whiting is by far the best bait known to man for this application. Herring are a close second. For some reason, live pogies while chumming, are not nearly as effective.
Even after you go through the trouble of setting up a steady flow of chum, the real trouble is not knowing whether or not the tuna are even going to be there. More than 75 percent of the days I’ve fished in the Bay, giants were nowhere to be seen, and the only creatures our chum seemed to attract were birds and dogfish. This is when patience comes into play, and you truly need to put your time in, even if it seems like you’re just wasting it away. If you mind waiting, do not fish the bay— some guys have been waiting for years!
The Dogifish!
Not to put a damper on things even further, but the Bay has yet another uncontrollable obstacle to offer giant fishermen: the spiny dogfish. These small sharks are given roughly the same amount of respect from tuna fishermen as rats, and for good reason. They will absolutely ruin a day of fishing if you’re not paying attention, converting all of your baits into bare hooks in a heartbeat.
The Bay’s bottom is sometimes carpeted with them, and when they move in, the best thing you can do is take two aspirin and hope they simply go away. Also, try deploying one free-lined hook-bait from your hand at all times, and be sure to check it every few minutes. On the Castafari we deploy this bait by simply free-lining it from the spool, and letting it sink naturally, without any tension or friction, for roughly 2 minutes before retrieving it.
The trick is to never stop chumming, no matter how torturous and futile it may seem, and keep a close eye on your fishfinder. If you are able to lure tuna into the area, you won’t have to worry about the dogfish hanging around since I’ve seen giants back at the dock that had stomachs full of them.
Choosing Backyard Baits
Though big tuna will eat just about anything that gets in their way, the food of choice for Bay giants seems to be whiting, bluefish and herring. For years, the best bait in the world for tricking giant bluefin in the Bay was fresh menhaden, and it’s no coincidence the Bay used to be crammed with adult-size menhaden, especially after a hard northeast wind.
Where Has All the Bait Gone?
Huge commercial fishing operations have done a number on our baitfish stocks. Many fishermen point to a lack of bait as the reason why more giant bluefin are feeding in Canadian waters and bypassing the waters of Cape Cod Bay.
To learn more about how recreational fishermen can get involved in the fight to conserve our baitfish, check out:
• The Herring Alliance
• The Menhaden Coalition
• Honest Bycatch
Unfortunately, over the past 15 years, the local menhaden stocks have disappeared, and I for one think this is a principal cause of the Bay tuna fishery’s decline. Along the southern beaches of North Carolina, when menhaden stocks are thriving, so is a giant bluefin tuna fishery. When the menhaden aren’t around, neither are the tuna.
On a brighter note, live menhaden (pogies) are a great bait to fish in the Bay. They work great for 75- to 85-inch fish. We’ve caught giant tuna on live pogies, but there are more productive baits you can employ for really big fish, especially as you get later in the season.
The Bay still supports a healthy population of bluefish, and many giant fishermen like having their livewells stacked with 5- to 10-pound choppers. Kite-fishing live bluefish on the surface and/or running them 50 to 100 feet off a balloon is a common practice. I strongly recommend using a kite when live-lining a bluefish or pogy.
There is still a population of whiting in the Bay, which keeps more than a few giants hanging around during the fall months. I heard rumors in 2004 that giant tuna were becoming accidentally caught up in the nets of whiting draggers; it made perfect sense since giant tuna are quite fond of whiting.
With all the bait flying around behind these vessels while they’re working, fishing around the whiting draggers can be advantageous if there’s tuna in the area, especially late in the season. One of the fish we caught just this past season was hooked right next to a dragger while it was hauling back its net.
Whiting, as well as herring, can be jigged off the bottom with Sabiki rigs, and both make excellent live baits if handled correctly and bridled with a small zip-tie, floss, or rubber band. Puncture the air bladder of a whiting carefully with a rigging needle before sending it back down. If you don’t take this step, your bait will not swim correctly. On the Castafari, we usually deploy a mixed bag of both live and dead baits at different depths. Just be ready to go once everything is in place as the big boys love to show up at inopportune moments. I’m usually asleep when this happens!
The Lure of The Long Shot
Despite the scanty odds and numerous obstacles, you may still be considering giving the bay a try sometime. Let me just offer a few words of wisdom. First, be sure to bring along some good friends, good food and good tunes. This remarkable piece of ocean, despite its rich history and beautiful landscape, can become an incredibly boring place, especially for giant tuna fishermen. All the cool stories and pastoral surroundings don’t seem to matter much during the 12th hour at sea, especially while anchored in the middle of a dormant and seemingly abandoned fleet of boats.
It’s a lottery out there, where even the luckiest of the lucky come home empty handed. Certainly the odds at catching a fish don’t lure giant tuna fishermen back out on the water in Cape Cod Bay—or do they? It could be that deep down some of us are infatuated by the “long shot” roll of the dice, the chance to reap a huge return without having to bet the farm.
I know I’ll be back out there placing a few bets next season after a half-hour run. And who knows, if we can straighten out this bait situation, we might start witnessing some of the magic that was around 20 years ago. Wouldn’t that be nice!
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