Added on Thursday, May 27, 2010  Fish Post

There’s No “I” In Gaffer

“There he is!” came the call from Capt. Chesson O’Briant just a few minutes after we’d set our lines and begun trolling. My gaze leapt to the stern as Fisherman’s Post’s Sales Manager Eddie Hardgrove grabbed a squealing 30 Wide outfit from a gunwale holder, and I was thrilled by something I’d never seen before. The teenage dolphin attached to Eddie’s hook took to the friendly skies with a cartwheeling leap, and simultaneously three or four of its colleagues mimed the hooked fish, free-jumping from the cobalt sea into the air.

Four dolphin in the air at once is enough to get any angler’s heart racing, and Gary Hurley and I were in the midst of an ecstatic exultation as two more rods added their wailing drags to the stuttering symphony. Chesson, who operates CXC Fishing Charters out of Cape Carteret, added a whoop of his own as Gary and I struggled to pry another pair of trolling outfits from their holders.

After a phone call earlier in the week from the captain to inform the Fish Post crew that the blue water bite was on and we’d be fishing on Friday if the forecast held, the three of us had kept anxious eyes on the weather, which ended up beautiful, and here we found ourselves, locked in battle with a trio of gaffer dolphin under two hours after we’d crossed the bar leaving Bogue Inlet in the 29’ Century Chesson had secured for our trip.

As fast as the action came, it went. Somehow all three of our fish escaped the surly bonds of our hooks in quick succession, but Chesson seemed unconcerned.

“We know where they’re at,” the captain said as he spun the boat around. “Let’s get the spread back out and go get ‘em. Gary, grab the wheel and bump it up to 1700 RPM.”

While I tried to assist, Chesson hurriedly re-rigged the lines with fresh ballyhoo and we sent them back, adjusting the spread to the captain’s exacting specifications.

Our port flat line featured a five-lure daisy chain of Mylar-skirted lures terminating in a naked ballyhoo, the outriggers wore a pair of ballyhoo behind blue/white and green/yellow skirts, and more skirted ballyhoo swum on the starboard flat and shotgun lines.

With the spread reset, we continued down a ragged weedline to the spot where the sea had opened up with dolphin. Sure enough, just as we neared it, what we were all expectantly hoping for transpired. First the daisy chain rod began to squeal, the shotgun rod took a set and began giving up line, and the port outrigger line popped from its clip and came tight.

“Don’t you just love the sound of outrigger clips popping,” Chesson said, putting the Century into a slight turn to keep our fish away from the other lines that no one had time or a free hand to clear at the moment. “It’s the greatest noise in the world. I love it!”

Chesson’s enthusiasm was contagious, as it’s pretty easy to get excited with a leaping dolphin at the end of the line, and our Fish Post trio struggled to keep our lines tight through peals of laughter.

The fish, of course, were intent on escaping like their earlier companions had, and they made fervent attempts to weave our lines into a snarled mess, but Chesson was on top of them, directing us over and around each other and the lines remaining in the Century’s wake.

Eventually, the captain grabbed the smaller of two gaffs he’d brought and boated Eddie’s and Gary’s fish with smooth strokes, while mine played hard-to-get for a few more minutes.

Using its broad head like a planer, my fish was able to expend very little effort while making me work for every turn of the 30 lb. outfit’s reel handle.

Ultimately, I was able to close the gap on the fish enough for Chesson to reach out with the gaff, and the same wide forehead that the fish had used against me provided the captain a perfect target. Moments later Chesson slung the dolphin over the gunwale and dropped it on deck.

I’m proud to report that my fish was the largest of the trio, giving me the prerogative to gloat a bit while the fish flopped about in the cockpit. As most offshore anglers know, dolphin get pretty wild in the boat, and are especially known for managing to smack a certain part of the male anatomy with their tail spasms.

Chesson apparently was not intimidated, and with a grin he leapt on to my largest fish, flattening it on the deck as though he’d spent some time on a defensive line. With one hand he pinned down the fish’s tail, and with the other he grabbed the fish by the throat and squeezed. The death grab removed all the remaining fight from the fish, and witnessing the spectacle seemed to have calmed down the pair still on deck. After a brief photo session, the mahi were riding in refrigerated comfort in one of the Century’s massive fish boxes, and we were back to trolling.

After we reset the spread, with Chesson offering instructions to the three of us on proper ballyhoo rigging, we turned to parallel the weedline on another pass.

Chesson had punched the numbers for the Swansboro Hole into his GPS on the way out the inlet, promising that we’d stop at any weeds, temperature breaks, concentrations of flying fish, or other surface activity on the way there. The ride proved quiet in those regards, with a few scattered flyers, but as soon as we hit the Swansboro numbers, the water fairly exploded with flying fish ranging from just a few inches to nearly a foot long.

We came upon the weedline moments after putting lines into the 76 degree water, and the action followed almost immediately.

Our successful triple header gave way to enough down time for everyone to enjoy some drinks and snacks before the naked ballyhoo on the daisy chain again fell victim to a dolphin’s assault. Eddie, normally not a speed-demon (despite the nickname Turbo), must possess some sort of afterburner, as he’s quicker to a rod than just about anyone I’ve fished with, and he took the squealing outfit again.

Another gaffer in the 10-lb. class, this fish flew solo, and Gary and I looked on while Eddie followed the captain’s instructions, weaving through our remaining trolling spread to end up on the boat’s starboard side while Chesson kept the fish there with a shallow turn.

“We keep the speed up for a minute after we hook up,” Chesson explained, eyes on the angle that Eddie’s line was taking into the blue water, “so we can keep a proper presentation with the baits that haven’t hooked up. The commotion of the fish back there will often inspire second and third hookups. Turning the boat a little bit helps get the fish out of your pattern so you can keep at least some lines in the water.”

Though spirited and acrobatic, the 30 lb. tackle soon took its toll on the fish, and Chesson offered up the helm so he could go back and gaff it. Always eager to exercise and improve my gaffing skills, I offered up my services, and Chesson accepted.

“Go for it,” he said, grinning. “I’ll just run the boat.”

I grabbed the gaff and, as Eddie’s fish came up, took an overzealous and early shot at it. I was trying to use my lengthy arms to reach out and put the fish in the boat, but only succeeding at spooking it into tearing off 10 yards of line.

After Eddie worked the fish again back to the boat, I swung and missed again, a frustration that I do not enjoy.

“I’m not striking out,” I kept repeating as Eddie again had to pressure the dolphin into range, and I tried to shut out the peanut gallery’s assessments of my efforts. Finally, I planted the steel a bit forward of amidships in the cow dolphin’s back, swinging it into the boat with a wave of relief that I’d recovered from being down in a 0-2 count.

Of course, the disparaging remarks on my technique weren’t entirely over, as I learned when I picked up the camera for a photo of Eddie and Chesson.

“Max, you sure you don’t want to hold the fish when we get this picture?” Chesson asked through a mischievous grin. “I don’t want the people to think that’s where I gaff the fish.”

I shot back a defensive comment or two while shooting the photos, and we soon had our fourth dolphin on ice and our spread reset and swimming beautifully. We were lining back up on the weedline for another pass, and what, at this point, seemed like another sure hookup.

The weeds, running south-southeast in 500-600’ of water, didn’t disappoint, and we were soon fast to another hookup that turned into a double via Chesson’s insistence that we maintain speed after hooking up. Gary and I were on the rods for these fish, and were able to bring the 10 lb. class fish to Chesson’s waiting gaff in fairly short order.

“It’s time to put out the deep diver,” Chesson said, producing a rod rigged with a large Rapala swimming plug while we reset the spread. “This is a great mahi bait, except for the fact that the fish don’t stay hooked too well on it. Even so, I feel like having it down there helps bring them into the spread.”

The captain’s words couldn’t have been underscored more effectively or quickly, as the outfit bearing the diving plug took a bend and screeched a little drag off mere moments after he let the lure back into the propwash and planted it in a holder.

With his characteristic quickness (in this regard), Eddie materialized at the rod and drew it from the holder just as the 15 lb. fish came cartwheeling out of the water just 10 yards behind the transom, carving a neon green and yellow streak across the sky before gravity took hold once again.

The bend in the rod was noticeably different after the jump, and Eddie’s furious cranking brought only the plug back to the transom.

“What did I tell you,” Chesson said. “Those treble hooks just don’t have a lot of gap, and that plug’s got some weight to it that helps them throw it. We’re using 6/0-7/0 hooks on everything else, and the trebles have less than half the gap of those.”

With the diver returned to its rightful place in the propwash and a very mildly disappointed salesman in the cockpit, we aligned ourselves once again with the weeds and were able to troll a full five minutes this time before the sweet sound of popping outrigger clips interrupted our sandwich and potato chip munching.

“I guess we’ll have to stop fishing if we ever want to get any eating done on this trip,” I thought to myself while choking down a solid 9 Pringles and reaching for a rod at the same time. “There are worse problems I suppose.”

My internal dialogue over, I wound furiously on a fish only to have it spit the Ilander and half-ballyhoo out in midair.

Eddie’s rod remained bent with a healthy mahi, and while he went to work, I busied myself alternately with a few more Pringles and tried to get some action shots of the battle.

As the fish closed in, Gary grew excited.

“I want to gaff it,” he said with a face that belied the desire.

“Alright, grab that smaller gaff,” Chesson replied, bumping the throttles a bit to keep Eddie’s fish from getting ahead of the boat.

After a quick clinic on proper gaffing technique from the captain, the moment of truth drew near, but Eddie’s fish seemed intent on making things challenging. As Gary reached for it, it took a final leap, and I’m not positive, but I believe Gary stuck the fish while it was still in the air. If not, it must have practically landed on the hook, as Gary was swinging the fish into the boat by the time I took my eye from the camera viewfinder.

Though not too proud that Gary’s first gaff shot had put my previous efforts on several fish to shame (though I can say I put every one in the boat without too much damaged meat), I had to give the boss some praise for a good stick.

The rest of the morning bore out my premonition about eating, as every time I got a turkey sandwich or handful of chips anywhere near my mouth, the sound of a popping outrigger clip or a shrieking reel forced me into action and abandoning my snack. Again, there are worse problems.

Eddie’s turn to gaff a fish came on one of our next bites, and he planted a nice shot into the shoulder of a 10 pounder that Gary battled to the boat.

As the morning wore on, we discovered and commented on the fact that even though the four of us fish together approximately once a year, we make a solid team. Each time there was a single bite or one of the pandemonious multiple strikes, someone seamlessly took the wheel, we wove lines into and over each other as though the spread was a loom, and someone was waiting with the gaff every time it was needed. We didn’t lose a single fish boatside or anywhere near it. When it was time to reset the spread, Gary and Eddie caught on to rigging the ballyhoo immediately, and we were functioning like a well-oiled fishing machine.

On about our 15^th strike of the day, Chesson looked up at us with a grin.

“Hey guys, can I catch one?” he queried, and of course the answer was a resounding yes followed by plenty of disparaging remarks about why it was taking him so long to put it in the boat.

After Chesson’s fish hit the ice, we realized that we had plenty of fish for a week’s worth of mahi meals for everyone aboard and then some. We released a few of the next smaller fish we caught, resolving to put a few more big ones on ice were we fortunate enough to hook them.

“I’ve got a list of people I’m supposed to give fish to,” Chesson explained during another rare calm moment, “so let’s make one more pass down the weedline, put a few more in the box, and then try something else.”

It sounded like a great plan to me, and extremely shortly thereafter Gary was the proud owner of yet another bent trolling outfit harnessed to what appeared to be a bigger fish. After a solid 10 minutes of fighting, the fish finally came within sight, and, surprisingly, it was another cow in the 10 lb. class.

“Pretty fish,” we all said, and indeed it was one of the more colorful examples we caught that morning.

“Not pretty enough to warrant how long it’s taking you to get it to the boat,” my snide side felt the need to add.

“Did you see that aerial display?” Gary shot back, getting the fish within range for another textbook Chesson gaff shot. “This girl’s had an energy drink.”

I was lucky enough to hook our last big fish of the day on Chesson’s lightest trolling setup while sending back a long rigger bait that never made it into the clip.

The first run had the word wahoo in my mind, but all questions were put to rest when a fat gaffer took to the skies a good 150 yards off the transom’s port corner.

“Don’t you just love that rod?” Chesson asked as I realized that the fish’s first run wasn’t entirely finished. “That’s my favorite rod for just about any Gulf Stream fish.”

While it was still a 30 lb. class outfit, the rod had a much slower action and more give than any of the others, and I gladly admitted that it made the battle that much more fun.

This fish put me to the test for a solid 20 minutes, and the heckling I’d given to other members of the crew over the course of the day was returned in spades while I tried to use the tackle to coax the fish to the boat.

When finally I did, the dolphin appeared to have other plans than ending up on Chesson’s gaff, and took off in several frantic, last-minute bids for freedom. It was about to make another such attempt when Chesson leaned out and stuck a beautiful gaff shot into the fish as it changed directions off the port transom corner.

There was a bit of conjecture about who’d landed the biggest fish of the day as we stowed the trolling gear and made sure all the fish were well-iced in the box, and I’m afraid to report the results were inconclusive. Gary and I each had a fish in the mid-20’s, and several more right around the 20 lb. mark were in the box as well.

With 13 solid dolphin in the box and everyone’s fish needs well taken care of, we dropped deep jigs to some structure in 250’ and battled up a few almaco jacks to ensure our arms were fully exhausted. We then started the run back to Bogue Inlet, this time able to make only a 29 knot cruising speed in the slightly sloppier seas than the 34 knots we’d clocked on the way out.

Capt. Chesson O’Briant operates CXC Charters in addition to working full time at his family’s business, Emerald Marine in Cape Carteret. He’s the man to talk to if you’ve got a desire to hook up with what he’s come to specialize in, catching “big angry animals” at wrecks, rocks, and other spots from Bogue Inlet and Cape Lookout to the Gulf Stream. He’s also the man to talk to if you’re looking for a deal on a new or used boat, especially the Century line.

Give Chesson a call at (919) 215-1950, or check out www.cxcfishing.com to schedule a charter or get more information.