Ed Jerome died Tuesday, September 18. The retired Edgartown School principal and longtime — forever, it seemed — president of the Martha’s Vineyard Striped Bass and Bluefish Derby, was a great guy.
I knew him as a fisherman first, then as a member of the Derby committee, and later when I worked as a news reporter, as a respected Island educator. His death was sad news for the entire Island and extended fishing community. No matter the organization, Ed’s was always the firm g
I am a fly fishing minimalist. I pretty much rely on sand eel and squid imitations when pursuing striped bass. The black sand eel in the foreground has some floatation in the body to help it ride high when the fish are sipping bait off the top. Inside the rustic Martha’s Vineyard Rod and Gun Club overlooking Sengekontacket Pond in Edgartown on a recent Monday night, discussion focused on the techniques needed to wrap synthetic hair and tinsel around a hook to make it appealin
It is often the first comment I hear when I hand someone a copy of Martha’s Vineyard Outdoors: “What a beautiful cover.” The cover illustration is the work of Michigan artist Glenn Wolff. The images include fishermen at Wasque Rip, a deer under a holly tree, a big striped bass I caught in the Squibnocket surf, my beloved dog Tashmoo and his duck hunting companion Emmet, longtime Chilmark selectman and decoy carver Herbert Hancock, and a fisherman in the surf at Gay Head Light
In September 1996, when I was younger and cared more about the pursuit of fishing glory, I was on the beach with my fly rod for the start of the 51st Martha’s Vineyard Striped Bass and Bluefish Derby.
Jared Hull of West Tisbury and I had arrived at East Beach on Chappy just before midnight with ambitious plans. We would fish for striped bass, catch a few hours of sleep in the luxury of my truck, then look for a morning run of false albacore and bonito at Cape Poge gut. My s
Years ago, striped bass swirling on bait along Martha’s Vineyard’s premier fly fishing beach were a predictable sight in June and early July. I am reluctant to write about the “good old days” because I worry that it will only confirm my descent into codger status. So I will assign responsibility for invoking past Island fishing glory to my good friend Cooper Gilkes of Edgartown, who was fishing next to me as striped bass jumped and swirled along the length of Lobsterville Bea