`Bulldog’ bluefish who came to fight

CASCO BAY – The moment Captain Tim O’Donovan steered the 35-foot-long Bamba out of South Portland’s Marina East, his passengers knew this was going to be an enjoyable outing. Clouds moved around occasionally, a warm sun burned, and the feeling persisted, although summer had not died yet, each new dawning seemingly brought out a darker rust on the coloring maples.

A spring-painted beauty, the Bamba, boat-yard vintage 1967, poked gracefully through three-foot-high swells that slapped the ribs of her sturdy structure. The average bluefish-chaser might have needed little persuasion to call it quits and head toward safe anchorage, but there is nothing average about Skipper O’Donovan. He expected to find bluefish since conditions at the time suited him to the letter.

As the Bamba coursed through Whitehead Passage and toward Casco Bay’s Halfway Rock, he summoned for help. The skipper needed another pair of eyes to scan the limitless surface. Another pair of eyes to catch any glimpses of the Atlantic Ocean’s bulldog of tenants, the animated chopping machine, the finny cannibals with the insatiable appetite.

O’Donovan was literally searching for bluefish workings.

“Up there in the captain’s house,” chortled John J. Nissen, “we are being led by the two worst fishermen on the North American continent. I had those two tarpon fishing in Florida and we were surrounded by tarpon. Did either one hook a tarpon? Hell, no! They’re both terrible fishermen.”

“You hardly give a man much confidence,” I responded.

Long ago, Jay learned to back off on an argument, especially about fishing, with his dad. And Tim knows where the money comes from to buy the spread on his morning toast. John J. provides the bread. If the truth be known, also, the species being hunted is Maine’s bread and butter fish for Maine’s saltwater trade.

Not too long ago, during a conversation at Pier 8, Boothbay Harbor, charter boat captain Matt Wilder said, “The bluefish is the fish we exist on. The bluefish fuels the charter boat business. Anglers want to feel them pull. And that’s a fact, the bullying bluefish certainly does create excitement once hooked up.”

Skipper O’Donovan and his faithful navigator and co-pilot had now successfully taken the Bamba over normally productive water off Bailey and Orr’s islands without fireworks.

“Give me the wheel,” ordered the big baker. “Take that rod, Jay. You got the gaff handy, Tim? Brace your feet, Bud.”

John J. meant business. And he was on the mark.

“I got a good strike,” yelled out Jay.

“I have one, too!”

“My fish broke off. You got my fish. It left my bait and took yours. That’s not fair. I deserve an assist for your hookup.”

“This isn’t Fenway Park. You’re fishing. An assist. You messed up again, Jay. Like the Red Sox. You’ve not learned to make the catches.”

Meanwhile, the Other Worst Fisherman, Skipper O’Donovan, deftly set the gaff hook and lifted this angry bulldog with fins and the awesome dental arrangement out of the water, unhooked the fish, and released the catch.

“That’s a 16-pound blue,” I announced in a volume to be heard in Westbrook. “Might go 17 pounds.”

“Doesn’t weigh an ounce over 13 pounds,” moaned the man in the adjacent fighting chair.

The bluefish have been most cooperative Casco Bay tenants this summer. It is accurate to claim anglers have taken several thousand of these streamlined dreadnaughts. They have challenged anything resembling food in Potts Harbor, off Chebeague and Cousins islands, the Portland Yacht Club, and there regularly has been day and night action off bridges and piers.

And I should tell you, Jay and his 6-year-old son have caught them off the float fronting the two’s front dooryard.

ITEM 2: The day a party of 15 Maine anglers departed Bangor International Airport for Alaska, the city of Anchorage was struggling to get back to normal as residents cleaned up ash from the eruption of Mount Spurr.

What a greeting that must have been for the following rod-carriers: Claude Westfall, Cliff Page, Tommy Prue, Orono; Roger Bennett, Gayland Hachey, Wayne Heath, Richard Bennett, Carl Ambrose, Veazie; Jim Fitch, Leon Higgins, the John Chapmans, Bangor; Hazen Nelson, Newport; and the Stan Coles, St Petersburg, Fla.

The entire party left Anchorage for Soldatna, Alaska, and will fish the Kenai River and surrounding waters. Since the group will not return to Maine until Sept. 10, they are certain to get into quality fishing for silvers, sockeye, and the Kenai’s late run of king salmon.

Meanwhile, the hardy travelers are dusting the ash off their rods and enjoying the good life.

ITEM 3: You like bass? Then put down these dates, Sept. 4-6, otherwise known to the working stiffs as Labor Day Weekend. Why? The second Atlantic Bass Classic in Woodstock, New Brunswick, will be fished on 65 miles of the Saint John River and certain tributaries.

The competition is limited to 150 teams, and the $200 entry fee includes registration, breakfasts, box lunches and barbecue, entertainment, and hearty handshakes and enthusiastic goodwill of sponsoring Rotarians. The prize bag totals approximately $25,000 with a $10,000 check to the winner. For information: Stuart Kinney or Stephen Wilson, Atlantic Bass Classic, P.O. Box 1030, Woodstock, New Brunswick, Canada E0J 2B0.