South Carolina Father and Son Hook a Martha’s Vineyard Fish Tale
- Nelson Sigelman
- 2 days ago
- 6 min read
In mid-July, I received an unexpected photo of Cameron Bunce and his seven-year-old son Elliot of Rock Hill, South Carolina, cradling a striped bass on a dark Martha’s Vineyard beach. The photo capturing Cameron’s pride and Elliot's sheer joy and excitement was one of the best compliments I’ve ever received from a reader of “Martha's Vineyard Fish Tales: How to Catch Fish, Rake Clams, and Jig Squid, with Entertaining Tales about the Sometimes Crazy Pursuit of Fish (2019, Stackpole Books).
The photo was in a text from Ralph Norton of Oak Bluffs. I don’t usually expect to hear from Island plumbers in the summertime — they’re too busy fishing (as opposed to the winter when they’re too busy deer hunting). Ralph, a skilled fisherman and all-around good guy, said that, at the request of a mutual friend, Alan Fortes, he’d called Cameron to give him a few fly fishing pointers.
“After stopping by Coop’s [Bait & Tackle], they went out first thing this morning,” Ralph said. “We spoke shortly after, and he told me that he’d read your book before coming up. Although Dad fly-fished, he put on a sluggo for his son, per your recommendation: soon after, picture of a lifetime. Nice job!”
That lovely photo will encapsulate memories Cameron and Elliott will share for a lifetime. Knowing I was a part of making that happen makes me very happy, and reaffirms my purpose for writing the book.
Here’s a little history. For 26 years, from 1990 until 2016, I wrote a seasonal fishing column, “Gone Fishin’” published weekly in The Martha’s Vineyard Times. In June 2001, I received an email from Todd Emmel, a reader from Connecticut. Todd said he enjoyed my writing and he urged me “to write a fishing book that captured some of what it is like to fish on Martha’s Vineyard.”
I asked Todd what the book ought to be about. “This is what it should be about,” he said. “Fishing stories — Fishing the Vineyard — The unbelievable stupid things you’ve seen and the characters you have met fishing — you know — like your columns, but longer, all mixed in with a little actual Vineyard fishing know-how. I bet with the time you have racked up on the water there you should have at least two books worth of characters and stories, not to mention some good advice. What else are you going to do in the winter?”
[Todd was correct. I did have enough material for a second book, “Martha’s Vineyard Outdoors, Fishing, Hunting, and Avoiding Divorce On a Small Island.”]
In fact, I had a lot to do in the winter. I was a general news reporter for The MV Times, and later news/managing editor, and for the last two years of my career, editor. On Martha’s Vineyard, winter, as opposed to the busy summer months, is when Islanders have time to fight. I was kept busy covering some of the many stories generated on our small Island, comprised of six towns, which means six of everything — six boards of selectmen; six police departments; six planning boards, etc.
In October 2016, I left The Times. Free of my daily responsibilities, I was able to act on Todd’s long-ago recommendation.
I didn’t want to write a how-to book without capturing the richness of the fishing experience on Martha’s Vineyard. I was helped immensely over my career by the willingness of Island and off-Island fishermen to share stories — particularly if they thought the story might prove to be acutely embarrassing to their fishing partners. I hoped that the book would prove useful and entertaining for Islanders and visitors, such as Cameron and his family.
After hearing from Ralph, I contacted Cameron. I told him how pleased I was to know he’d had such a fun night fishing and asked him to share his story. His account follows.
This past spring, my mother-in-law, Karen Verechia, proposed that for her birthday this year we (the in-laws, their daughter, the grandkids, and me) should visit her friend Barb Fortes on Martha’s Vineyard. After saying, Yes, absolutely, I started to look into what the Vineyard was other than some island where presidents go on vacation.
My wife Dominique is from Hilton Head, SC, where her parents still live, and we live where I am from in the ‘upstate’ of South Carolina (up in both West and elevation sense), in Rock Hill. Since having two children, one of the things that we have learned together is fishing, and it has become a great way to explore and spend time together, with grandparents whenever possible.
We have fun surf fishing Hilton Head’s beaches, glad to add whiting to a dinner, and getting adept at releasing stingrays. And though we tie flies together and get excited about trout, we also know exactly what size and color the bluegill in the local pond really like.
Elliot and Mae have been known to pull up scores of the tiniest bluegill and sunfish with infectious excitement, while serious-looking bass fishermen wander the banks skunked.
Elliot will happily offer his advice, often something like “put a small worm on a size 16 Rainbow Warrior.”
So when Karen sent me Martha’s Vineyard Fish Tales, I gobbled it up. We compared notes on what we’d like to see or do, and with a lot of possibilities floating around, I offered that I’d like at some point to stand on a rocky beach with a fly rod in my hand. Elliot wanted a chance to hopefully, maybe get a crack at a striper.”
We got into Vineyard Haven on Saturday, got settled, and on Sunday ventured out for some exploring. We took the number 13 bus to Edgartown to see some of the Island and started to put ‘faces’ to the names of places I’d been reading about. After the sightseeing excursion, it was time to check in at Coop’s for supplies. I had brought spinning reels and fly getup, carrying an 8-weight 4-piece instead of the bigger surf rods we use at home.”
Aaron at Coop’s told us that instead of pairing my big reel with a rod, we would be better off with a lighter combo since the action was close in and on the surface. He showed us how he was rigging Slug-Go soft plastics in the color “Arkansas Shiner.”
I added a floating EZBody sand eel fly to the box of sinking and neutral ones I had made with the kids.
Aaron got us all set up, far more than just equipment and rigging, with notes from his fishing that very morning with his friend from Colorado. Elliot was soaking it in, the instruction on how fast to retrieve, where the action was. There was only one question: were we really going to get up, drive all the way to Menemsha for a chance at the action that was over at first light?
We put the kids to bed before dark and set the alarms for 2 am. Sleep did not come easy for all of us, but excitement makes up for a great many things.
After easing past a half-dozen deer, watching for their unseen friends, and slowing for bold raccoons, we made the last turn and the forest gave way to the booms of fishing boats at anchor. Elliot and I pulled on waders while Dominique and Mae got on layers and the four of us made our way to the beach.
The girls pulled up a chair and snuggled together under the stars while Elliot and I got our footing. In the dark, we could hear the fish rising more than we could see them.
As Elliot recalled, barely ten minutes had gone by when he called out, “Fish on!”
The reel sang as line went out and I went to help him land it. Elliot worked the fish as if it wasn’t the biggest thing he’d ever had on the line. After a few drag adjustments and some big splashes in the dark, Dominique put a flashlight on a striped bass coming out on the beach.
I worked to get the hook out, and realized that I didn’t have the tape measure at hand. After a beautiful fight, we didn’t want to keep it on hold while I fumbled in the dark and agreed to let it go. A picture later, we sent it swimming, hoping that it would get bigger and make babies.
We worked our way east as we fished and said hi to Aaron, who had come out again with his friend from Colorado.
The fish kept rising all around us, but the bite turned to porgy [scup]. The tide was rising, which I will always remember because as I was unhooking another of Elliot’s porgy, Mae called to me and pointed out that my fly box was drifting out and the birds were making a commotion about it. (It was caught) With the light, Elliot and Mae looked for fun colors in the rocks on our walk back to the car.
Porgies were enjoyed, but I’ll make sure the measuring tape is in my pocket next time.
The rest of us napped at some point, but Elliot didn’t, running on excitement all day.
Today (Tuesday) is Karen’s birthday, so the itinerary is hers and the bass will wait until tomorrow. Or maybe dark.
Mae is underrepresented as an angler in this story; she has put trout on a fly rod this summer, but she is a genuine enjoyer of the process. She cheered on every fight and attended every fish landed.
— Cameron Bunce
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