I'll be posting some photos and thoughts from my last two days of marathon fishing, diving, filming, kayaking and traveling; until then, here's a story I wrote about a breakwater on Martha's Vineyard...one I passed two days ago when we entered Menemsha Harbor.
This fabulous painting, "Fishing the Breakwater," was created by famous marine artist Ray Ellis. It and other breathtaking illustrations can be found in the Martha's Vineyard Bass and Bluefish Derby book "Fishing The Vineyard." The following story by Mike Laptew is an excerpt from the book.
There are many breakwaters throughout the United States, but few as famous and productive as the one so beautifully captured in this painting. Situated near the end of West Bayson Road, the Lobsterville Breakwater is the westernmost jetty in Menemsha Bight. The view from this rocky perch is extraordinary. Whether you're there to watch the sun creep over the hill behind Dutcher Dock or to witness the magic of a sunset over the Elizabeth Islands, standing on the breakwater is an experience to savor. And then there's the fishing!
This manmade finger of granite blocks and its companion jetty to the east create a gateway to Menemsha Pond. Through this narrow passage, floodwater from Vineyard Sound courses its way into the pond, providing an infusion of brine that fortifies this incredibly fertile area. This estuary nurtures crabs, lobsters, mussels, clams and scallops, plus vast schools of sand eels, mackerel, spearing and herring. During the ebb tide these baitfish are often flushed past the jetties and into the sound, providing an ample source of food for the local predators.
Anglers perched along the jetty walls stand to intercept a wide variety of game fish. Striped bass, bonito, bluefish, false albacore and other species line the banks, patrol the channel and take up station at the mouth of the inlet. Small wonder that many derby anglers target this area in their quest to take the elusive "grand slam" category.
As a diver and an underwater videographer, I have had the great fortune of seeing both the incredible beauty of this area and the awesome array of predators that prowl its depths. I'll never forget the time I was performing a salvage dive along the length of the jetty. With Coast Guard permission and accompanied by a private escort boat for safety, I rode a slackening ebb tide on an incredible journey. Without the aid of scuba tanks, I proceeded to free-dive the length of the channel. Swept along by the current, I drifted faster than any diver could ever hope to swim. Along the way I saw hundreds of striped bass, thousands of baitfish and many other interesting denizens.
The dive revealed a wall of stone that came to life below the surface. The granite blocks that appeared so stark and sterile above water took on a whole new appearance. Cloaked in moss, festooned with mussels and encrusted with barnacles, these chunks of granite were transformed into an artificial reef. Securely anchored to the base of the breakwater, long tendrils of kelp undulated in the current, while tiny fish darted among the amber-colored strands. A tautog swam in and out of its cubbyhole in the rocks, while stripers cruised both the shoulder and base of the jetty.
I had all I could do to keep from smashing into the rocks, yet the stripers were able to maneuver effortlessly in the turbulent flow. Occasionally, they would flash by with the push of the tide, but most of the time they would plow headfirst into the raging current with just a few sweeps of their powerful tails. I found several huge bass lurking behind large boulders that littered the bottom of the channel. These "cows" attained their respectable size by knowing how to get a substantial meal without expending a lot of energy. By stationing themselves out of the current they could easily ambush unsuspecting prey that was being swept past.
As I began to surface next to the very end of the breakwater, I encountered the largest bass of the dive, holding in what could be described as the post position. She was neatly tucked into the seam of two rocks, where she could eye everything that entered or left the inlet. Just a few feet above, a couple of fishermen struggled to cast their lures as far as they could into the center of the channel. If they only knew what lay beneath their feet! (I didn't have the heart to tell them.)
I guess part of the magic of fishing the breakwater is that every section of it can be productive. You can cast your lure off the very tip of the jetty with the hope that a school of marauding bonito will be working the area. You can soak a chunk of bait during a slackening tide with the hope that some gluttonous bass will devour it. You can wade the shallow edges and watch as stripers fight to eat your fly. Or you can cast your plug from Aquinnah to Chillmark in the belief that "the grass is always greener on the other side." It's no wonder that this collection of boulders has attracted anglers from all over the island and from all corners of the world. The pyramids of Egypt may be taller, the Great Wall of China may be longer, but few stonewalls can boast more fish, or a more beautiful view.
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