Stormy Night Bull Reds on Chesapeake Bay

Most people don't leave an area with biting trophy fish but sometimes you just have to cut your line and go during a perfect storm

It was a dark and stormy night.

My apologies to Snoopy for stealing his well-known opening line, but there seems no better way to start this story about catching huge redfish on Chesapeake Bay in Virginia.

The tale begins with a phone call to Claude Bain, who was then the executive director of the Virginia Saltwater Fishing Tournament, a program similar to Master Angler programs in many states where anglers receive recognition for catching trophy-size fish. I had fished with Claude before, catching monster cobias and sharks in Chesapeake Bay near Virginia Beach.

Now, my good friend Jeff Samsel of Clarksville, Georgia, would be with me for a conference in Virginia Beach, and both of us were hoping Claude would take us out to target some of the Chesapeake’s bull redfish. He agreed.

“We’ll meet at the dock tomorrow afternoon and stay out as long as you like,” Claude said. “I think there’s a good possibility we can find and catch some trophy bulls, including some that might earn you a trophy citation.”

Claude was being highly optimistic because a qualifying redfish had to be at least 46 inches long to earn the angler one of the program’s highly coveted plaques. An average fish that size would weigh at least 36 pounds, a trophy in any angler’s book. Jeff had caught reds that size, but despite having fished for “red drum” in several states, my biggest to date had been a 26-pounder.

The weather on that balmy October day couldn’t have been nicer. As we motored out past the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel (“one of the Seven Engineering Wonders of the Modern World”) around mid-afternoon, we were blessed with calm waters, blue skies and moderate temperatures. For this we were appreciative because Jeff and I both needed to shoot numerous photos of the fish we hoped to catch.

The fishing spot Claude had chosen was a quiet bay with 8- to 10-foot depths. He anchored us when we arrived, then showed us how to bait our rigs with blue crabs.

“Bull reds eat a lot of different things,” he said, “but nothing gets their attention quicker than a fresh blue crab on the line.”

He was right, of course. Decades of saltwater fishing experience made Claude an expert on every fish that swam in the bay. He knew where they would be and what baits were likely to entice them. Having cast our baits and let them sink to the bottom, all we had to do was wait and hope the redfish cooperated.

Cooperate they did, but it wasn’t a quick thing. We’d been soaking our baits more than an hour when the clicker on Jeff’s reel sounded off. His line barely moved at first: click … click … click. But when he lifted the heavy baitcasting outfit out of the rod holder, the fish at the end of his line decided to make a run for it. Zzzzzzzzz! Line buzzed off the reel with mind-boggling speed, and after the redfish made a short run, Jeff laid the steel to it.

“Holy smokes!” Jeff exclaimed when he tasted the power of his quarry. “I’m not sure this is a redfish. It seems like something much bigger — a shark, maybe, or a big ray.”

Claude’s expert eyes told him otherwise. “Could be something else,” he said, “but from the way it’s fighting, I’d say it’s almost certainly a big bull red.”

Fifteen minutes passed before we knew for certain. The powerful fish pressured Jeff in every way possible, putting up an unforgettable fight. Jeff is an experienced saltwater angler, however, and soon he brought the massive redfish near enough for Claude to net.

I’d never seen a redfish so huge. It stretched almost four feet and weighed nearly 50 pounds.

“That’s what we came for,” Claude said, smiling. “A citation redfish.”

“What a beast!” Jeff grunted, trying to hoist the monster onto his lap for a few quick photos. “It’s not just the biggest I’ve ever caught. It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen, too.” With some difficulty, he lifted the behemoth over the gunwale and released it unharmed. We were ecstatic.

I hoped I’d be lucky enough to catch a citation fish, too. But as the afternoon dragged on and the sun began to set, it looked like Lady Luck had abandoned us. For several hours, our baits had sat untouched.

“We’ll stay as long as we can,” Claude said. “But looks like we have some bad weather moving in.” He pointed to the southwest where black thunderheads roiled on the horizon. It looked nasty, but we persisted with our fishing.

A half hour passed. The wind picked up. The sky darkened. The small cabin cruiser from which we were fishing was tossed about on the waves.

Then suddenly it happened. Jeff’s rod went down, then mine. We set the hooks simultaneously, and the fights began.

I found it terribly difficult to control the massive fish at the end of my line as the boat was buffeted about by increasingly high winds. The wind’s roar was so loud we had to shout to be heard, and a lot of shouting was going on as Jeff and I tried to stand upright and gain line on these fish. We stumbled from one side of the deck to the other. But somehow we managed to keep from tangling our lines, and Jeff soon brought another enormous redfish near enough for Claude to net. My big fish surfaced just as Claude swung Jeff’s in, and Claude deftly netted it as well.

They were monsters. Jeff’s stretched more than 50 inches, mine 48. Both surely exceeded 50 pounds. We quickly shot photos then released them unharmed, and not a moment too soon. Another rod had gone down, and I set the hook in what was obviously another big fish.

I wouldn’t fight this one long, however. “Cut his line, Jeff,” Claude suddenly said, a look of distress on his face. Jeff looked at him incredulously. I protested. “Are you fricking kidding? This thing’s huge!”

“There’s no time for debate,” Claude said. “We have to go now. Right now. Look at the weather radar.”

Each sweep illuminated a gigantic tempest that was quickly descending upon us, and the storm was between us and the marina. Jeff didn’t hesitate to cut my line now. I groaned miserably but knew we’d probably hung around too long already.

Thinking back it on it now, I remember a scene like that in the movie “The Perfect Storm.” Rain fell in a deluge. Rogue waves poured over us. The boat barely crept along as we strained to see buoy lights that would guide us back in the inky blackness.

It seemed like hours passed before we could make out the lights of Virginia Beach. But considering the circumstances, and the intense fear that gripped us all, Claude did a masterful job getting us back safely. When we docked, he gave a huge sigh of relief and slumped over in his captain’s chair, exhausted.

“Boys,” he said. “That’s the scariest boat ride I’ve ever been on. I was worried we wouldn’t make it.”

Jeff looked at him with a big smile. “I agree,” he said. “But it’ll make one hell of a story.”

You judge. I think I did