I have heard it said by at least one serious tournament-minded gentleman-angler type that one can really send his or her competitive advantage rocketing into the stratosphere by not just pre-fishing, but also reserving some of a crew’s collective “me time” for seriously high-power…uhhh…strategerizing? (I think that’s what it’s called.)
Anyway, in addition to running through custom flashcards to help each member of a tournament crew identify each piece of fishing gear in the boat not just by its common name (headlamp), but by its full brand name (LEDSmith NightHalo XT Pro Series Custom Edition) and manufacturer serial number (LDSNHXT-1176932-EX3456TY- R45M6) to facilitate interpersonal communication during defining moments in the cockpit, you really need to make time to lay out a battle plan before crunch time. That’s what my source told me, and honestly, the guy’s good.
With a major competitive angling event, the Fluke Til Ya Puke tournament, coming up quickly, I thought I might seize the opportunity to share a bit of my own process in terms of creating a careful and comprehensive document I call my “Statement of Competitive Intentions and Strategic Strategy Plan” in hopes that readers might generate impressive tournament strategies of their very own. Without giving too much away my plan is: win.
There are quite a few prizes on both individual and boat levels, along with several calcuttas you can enter. It’s actually in that latter category, calcuttas, that you’ll find the real essence of the competition. That essence—tournament organizer and seasoned strategerist, Capt. Brian Bacon of Green Hill, RI has called it “the most prestigious award in all of sports—greater even than the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup or the World Series” goes by the name “Shitfish.”
Candidly, any yahoo with a rod and reel, a boat, and a frontal lobe can dash out front and stick an 11-pound doormat fluke. If you’re looking for a much purer, less refined yet more potent and at once cerebral avenue to the very heart of the sporting essence, it is shitfish you seek, friend.
WHAT IS SHITFISH?
In simplest terms, shitfish is any spe- cies of finned quarry not designated as “gamefish,” and which has virtually no standard meat-for-cash exchange rate. There are numerous species arranged beneath the Shitfish heading: sea robins, sculpin, dogfish, several species of skate, and the brass ring of modern shitfishing, the shrewdly powerful yet supple Atlantic Torpedo, a bottom-seeking gladiator of uncommon cunning and superior weight.
Lesser anglers typically get about the task of shitfishing primarily as a byproduct of their attempts to land fluke. The true shit-hunter spends weeks or even months poring over old paper charts with an eye for shitty bottom. For the uninitiated, that means seek- ing out the muds, clays, mud-and-shells, the various oozes and brown to mottled green patches of seabed. You’ll find large specimens across a wide range of depths, but a nice edge where mud and ooze yield to sand out in the 20-fathom flats just might put you in touch with a substantial pile.
RIGGED RIGHT MOTIONLESS BLING GETS THE NOD
Bait and rigging options are nearly endless, but you’l get good results us- ing larger wide gap hooks (6/0 is a good choice) armed with proven baits like bilge-ripened mack- erel pieces, whole squid, bunker, and other pungent sta- ples baits. Whatever you favor, be sure to present baits hard on the bottom in accordance with the downturned mouth that is the call- ing card of heavy- weight shitfish o all stripes. Don’t hesitate to run your baits off motionless chrome fish-ball- type weights, and if you have some miscellaneous spin- ner parts, beads and other bait pret- tifiers, go crazy Shitfish go wild for bling, so long as it’s motionless and a least partially covered in silt or mud.
OH, AND THERE’S THE MONEY…
If you’re still not sold on the diverse merits of shitfishing, there’s one last thing worth some quick discussion. While the coveted Shitfish Award is, above all else, the last piece of material gain to secure an accomplished gentleman-angler’s sporting legacy, some of the less savvy tournament en- trants put their money on shitfish be- cause there’s the distinct possibility that a modest big skate, blood-stained dog- fish, or eye-popping torpedo ray could land you in paydirt north of $4,000—not a bad weekend at the office considering the $10 buy-in.
“You’d be amazed,” notes Capt. Bacon, “Almost every year, there’s someone who didn’t get in the Shitfish who comes home with a torpedo the size of compact car, ands kicking himself because he failed to pony up a $10.”
