Lets be honest, nobody likes England. What better a way to celebrate 234 years independence from that bloated, priggish tyrannical kingdom across the pond than to partake in an activity as uniquely American as baseball and/or apple pie; bottom fishing. Pictured in this spread are Tommy and Robby from the MV east, Sophie from St. Louie, Brooke from Christmas Cove and Drew from Gotham. Even the sea robin tickler got into the fray right around hour 11, when he abandoned the bait station momentarily to cajole the prehistoric teradactyl of the deep pictured above. Today's bag was comprised of, but not limited to, a nice mix of left-eye Lopez, rockbass and split-rock porgy. The first drift over the digits yielded a triple hook-up and the fish of the day, the shag carpet displayed below by Sophie B. who was clearly a rug trader in another life. After a drift that productive all the souls on board are thinking the same thing; this is gonna be a sick brown-out Cap, obviously I should shoot my neighbor a text and make sure that little bastard makes some room in his freezer for the bag I'm bringing over. Sadly though, the rest of the day played out more like the Boston Massacre than the Battle of Yorktown for our militia of guerilla fluke fighters. 3 more drifts were met mostly with by-catch, shorts and a few more button keepers for the box. Soon, the crew was tattered and exhausted and the leadership decided that in order to avoid a Valley Forge type scenario that it would be best for Captain Tommy to hurl F/V Tuna Helper back through the sound like a silver dollar across the Potomac. He did, and the crew was rewarded with fish tacos and cold barley sodas. Happy fourth of July...
God Bless America,
Captain W. Brice Contessa
www.contessaflyfishing.com
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