The Thanksgiving Blitz of 2024
“November is the new October.” If you’re a striped bass fisherman from New York or New Jersey, you’ve heard this phrase uttered in bait and tackle shops, beach parking lots, or among friends during a night tide. Over the last few years, from the South Shore of Long Island to Northern New Jersey, the fall run of striped bass seems to peak during the eleventh hour. Mild water temperatures (by November standards) have found acres of bunker parading west and south along the sand beaches near the Big Apple. There’s no telling for certain when the final wave of bass will move through your area, but last week, with a strong easterly blow and pouring rain forecasted for Thursday morning, surfcasters on Long Island took notice and hit the sand with high hopes for some action in textbook fall run conditions.
Our plan fell into place during my voyage across Long Island Sound late on Wednesday night. The group text Nick Cherkas sent to me and Sean Conway read, “Look forward to seeing you guys tomorrow. I plan on being in the lot by 7 a.m.” The December new moon was approaching, we’d have the ebb tide on our side at daybreak, and a storm front moving in from offshore. Everything was lining up perfectly.
In the parking lot, it was raining sideways. I took the final swig of a sugar-free Red Bull and began to strap up my waders as Nick pulled in. Sean was running a little behind, which was to be expected since he had a longer drive from the eastern North Shore, so Nick and I began the hike out to our first spot. We couldn’t have been walking for more than 5 minutes when, in the distance, a frantic scene began to unfold. “Do you see that?” I excitedly exclaimed with my rod tip pointed toward a black cloud of low-flying gulls and gannets directly ahead. Our leisurely stroll turned into a hustled speedwalk, and as we reached the beach, a lineup of 3 or 4 surfcasters to our right were tight to fish. A few drenched anglers were already heading in with their slot fish slung over one shoulder and surf rod over the other. There were a handful of center consoles braving the conditions, each chasing their own wolf pack of surface-feeding stripers around the inlet, while 100 yards to our left, bunker were being pinned to shore in less than 2 feet of water. I’m not an NFL player, so I don’t know what it feels like to walk out of the locker room tunnel during the Super Bowl, but I’d imagine the adrenaline rush feels something like this moment. “This is what we play for.”
Given the conditions and the presence of adult bunker, we packed large plugs and lures capable of cutting through strong headwinds and digging into rough surf. My single-tube ODM bag carried a selection of yellow and white bottle plugs, darters, needlefish, metal lips, bucktails, paddletails, and minnow plugs. Nick and I clipped on minnow plugs to start. The internal weight-transfer systems of lures like Mag Darters, SP Minnows, and Shimano Current Sniper jerkbaits, would help us to reach the fish now boiling 60 yards out in front of us. We launched our first two casts, and within a few cranks of the reel handle, we both came tight and landed over-slot stripers. I let out a few hoots and hollers that were all but muted by the 35-knot wind and pelting rain. Two casts later, I got bit again and lost the fish, along with my entire leader. “Bluefish”, I murmured through clenched teeth. I retied, and again, my 5-inch NLBN paddletail was stolen on the first cast. In hindsight, we didn’t see a single bluefish caught all day, and my guides weren’t chipped, so I donated two lures due to my own shoddy knot tying, which I attributed to already-numb, wet fingers and being overly eager to get back out there. “Where the hell is Sean!?” Nick shouted as we each landed and released another fish before deciding to press closer to the inlet.
It didn’t take long to realize a move to the inlet was a good choice. It was a funnel for all the bunker that were being flushed out of the nearby backwaters, and the water was far more turbulent. We discovered Sean had already made his way to the inlet, where a lineup of 10 to 15 surfcasters were clambering over the jetty rocks (and each other) to land their fish. The swell was breaking right on the jetty tip, sending walls of sea spray over the heads of anglers fishing the outgoing rip. The three of us secured a spot along the inside, where a shoal had formed due to storms like this one depositing loads of sand into the inlet. As the tide continued to drop, waves broke over the edge of the bar and sent blankets of white water rushing in parallel to the jetty. Any lure that landed in the frothy, tumbling wash came back in the lip of a striper. By now, there was more standing room on the bar, and many of the casters from the jetty joined us at the base of the rocks to occupy that open space and fish the white water.
Surprisingly, there were only one or two tangles the entire time. The etiquette exhibited by this group was a pleasant surprise; we silently worked out a casting rhythm using a nod or thumbs up to let the next caster know they were good to go without crossing lines. Through the wind-driven rain, the only audible sounds were high-pitched cackles and slipping drags. Guys were catching on anything and everything—surface-swimming metal lips, glidebaits, minnow plugs, poppers, you name it, it was getting bit.
I wanted in on the topwater action, even though poppers weren’t being vacuumed up to the same degree as subsurface lures. But after deep hooking a slot-size striper with a white, 2-ounce Wally’s Pencil Popper, I decided the last thing I wanted to be dealing with in these conditions were treble hooks. Instead, I clipped on a white Yo-Zuri Hydro Minnow LC armed with two 5/0 VMC inline single hooks. With limited space to land our fish, and waves crashing into us in the process, this was the right move. It made both handling and releasing the fish easier, quicker, and safer. The plug change came at the right time, because moments later, mid-sized bunker were swimming right between our legs, seeking sanctuary from their aggressors that were stacked only a few yards out from the jetty. This wave of fish consisted of slightly larger bass, around 16 to 18 pounds, and they were blowing bunker clear out of the water. Any cast placed on the backside of a furling wave was acknowledged by a hungry teen-class striper. Sean, Nick and I would have been perfectly content catching a couple schoolies on Thanksgiving… but consistently catching fish of this class, this late in the fall run, was a blessing. However, getting them back in the water quickly was my number one concern, and the treble hooks were not helping that cause.
By now, it was late morning and the wind had shifted from a stiff east blow to southeast, which brought bigger surf and created a pronounced bow in each of our lines, making it challenging to stay in contact with our lures. At one point, I turned to release a fish, and an incoming wave smacked me in the chest, soaking my warm layers and temporarily lifting me off me feet. I shivered it off, laughed, and, in the interest of soldiering on with single hooks, decided it was bucktail o’clock. Five casts of a white, 1-ounce Dead Reckoning Bucktail with an XL hackle brought 5 fish to hand, and Nick and Sean quickly reached for the closest copy they were carrying. What’s not to love about a good bucktail bite? Next to paddletails and swim shads, I think a bucktail provides the purest, most direct connection that lure fishermen can have with a striper; there’s no swivels, split rings, or hard plastic involved, just a lead head and a hook shank. Our bucktails were able to punch through the wind and minimize the bow in our lines, and the jigs were frequently taken on the drop—we were coming tight before even picking up all the slack line from the cast. The three of us stood shoulder to shoulder with 8 other anglers and wailed on stripers from schoolie size to almost 20 pounds until just before noon.
With more fish than we could have possibly hoped for over the course of 4 hours, I pulled out my phone to snap a few photos of the melee still unfolding in front of us. Whether it was due to my raw, chafed thumbs or a generous coating of salt water and fish slime, the iPhone’s heat-sensitive touch screen did not respond well. But I still managed a few good shots.
As it turns out, the Thanksgiving Blitz of 2024 wasn’t specific to our location on Western Long Island. I later learned, after speaking to family friend and owner of Turtle Cove Tackle, Kenny Lucano, that a similar blitz occurred simultaneously out east near Moriches. Kenny said the bass he and friends were catching were on the smaller side, but nonetheless, it was a Thanksgiving morning for the books. Across Long Island, those storm conditions triggered stripers of all sizes to fatten up and feast with their relatives before it was time to head for home. Ironically, 90% of Americans would spend the rest of the day doing the same.
Like any good striper fishing story, this one ends with “we left them biting.” Back in the lot, Sean, Nick and I grinned ear to ear as we wished each other a happy Thanksgiving and parted ways to spend time with our families. Before pulling off, I sat for a moment in my truck, where it was almost uncomfortably warm and quiet. After hours of wooing, shouting, and whistling wind rapping against the hood of my jacket, the now gentle pitter-patter of raindrops on the windshield was strangely deafening. If you’ve ever left a loud concert and jumped into a taxi cab or an empty car on the LIRR, you’re familiar with this sound of uncomfortable silence. Just then, “Gimme Stitches” by the Foo Fighters began to play over the car stereo; I cranked up the volume, but the uncomfortable silence lingered. I think it will stick with me until sometime in the early spring of 2025, when it will be broken only by the sound of crashing surf, a slipping drag, or the WOOO! of an exuberant surfcaster.
Related Content
Epic Stories of Striper Blitzes
Long Island’s Best Fall Run in 60 Years
New Jersey Surfcasting Report: Come for the Bunker, Stay for the Sand Eels
Source: https://onthewater.com/the-thanksgiving-blitz-of-2024
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