In light of the fact that this site is called "fish
stories," I suppose I have to post a least one story from time to
time. So...
One July day a few years ago, my wife (then fiancé) and I were staked-out on a good flat not far from Stage Harbor in Chatham. The flat's most prominent feature (that year) was a deep hole well up on the flat which was accessible only through a long, narrow channel. We had arrived at the ramp early, run the Hewes out to the edge of the flat, poled the boat from the outer edge to the uptide lip of the hole, and eaten breakfast while we waited for the light to improve and the tide to begin to flow.
Within a half hour, immense pods of very large stripers could be seen foraging up the whole flat as they worked toward our position. I threw every fly I could think of with no luck. Shortly after the fish arrived, the first other boat appeared on the flat. I normally try to avoid other anglers and probably would have left, but there were too many fish around and I wasn't confident I would do better elsewhere. Within the hour, two other guides were on the flat and things were getting kind of ugly. Remember, I had poled my way onto this (empty) flat and waited for the fish. Now guides were motoring back and forth, jockeying for position to intercept the fish. I was still poling the boat to maintain my drifts across the flat, when a guide put his skiff up on a plane not twenty feet from me. He returned shortly and set up again not two boat lengths away.
Out of desperation, with fish still swarming on all sides of us (and in a race with three other boats to be the first to hook-up), I dug to the bottom of my tackle bag and pulled out an unnamed crab fly for the first time on a Northeast flat.
The first fish that was offered the fly took it confidently. It was followed by two others. I was elated. The other guides began switching flies for their clients in vain.
At this point one of the other skiffs motored behind and around me and set up a drift IN FRONT OF ME. I was beside myself with anger. If I could have reached him with a pushpole I would have knocked him off of the platform.
While I stewed, an enormous single swam out of the hole and in between the two boats. The fish was only fifteen feet off of my bow, but I rolled the fly in front of him anyway. The fish rose to take the crab mid-water-column and immediately bolted toward the other skiff. It swam right under the feet of the clients on the other skiff (one of whom yelled, "look at the size of THAT"). Soon my backing was running under the other skiff and off of the flat as well.
The other guide had to back away and let me fight my fish as his clients were looking at him strangely.
Ten minutes later I landed the fish, which taped at 35". I was rather pleased with my success.
As I revived the fish, my fiancé looked up from her book and yelled, for all of our neighbors to hear, " You got that one on a crab fly too!?"
My father still teases her about this.