Tag: Barnegat Light

Fly fishing for albies with Fishhead Greg…

September 11, 2026 / stflyfisher / 0 Comments

Can you fish tomorrow morning? It’s lights out albie fishing on the fly.

text from Greg Cudnik, “Fishhead Greg”

The text was simple and to the point: did I want to go fly fishing for bait-busting Albies? Is a frog’s ass watertight? Does a bear shit in the woods?

I had received Greg (aka “Fishhead Greg”) Cudnik’s text just before I left for the Jersey shore to see my parents. Greg owns Fisherman’s Headquarters on Long Beach Island (Ship Bottom, NJ), a well-known bait and tackle store and that year he got his Captain’s license, allowing him to take anglers on fishing charters.

Looking for a chance to capitalize on the fantastic fall fishing of the New Jersey shore, I checked in with him about a possible fly fishing charter. My first inquiry found him up in Montauk, chasing the legendary striper/bluefish/albie blitz. He said he would get back to me, but after hearing that, I figured he might be out of action for a while. Greg is, after all, a fishing addict as his fishing moniker attests. So I packed my salty fly gear nonetheless, figuring I could shore fish Barnegat Bay, the inlet, or the surf during my visit to my parents. And as it would turn out, that was a very good thing, for on the way down, shore-bound, I got his text – “lights out fly fishing for albies” – and it was game on. I was anxious to fish for a species I’d long ago heard was tailor-made for saltwater long rodders…

The false albacore goes by many names—little tunny, fat albert, albie—but whatever it may be called, this species is prized for its blistering runs and never-give-up fight. One of the smallest members of the Scombridae family, the false albacore is not a “true” tuna (genus Thunnus) but is more closely related to the mackerels. The species’ streamlined body, powerful tail, and pelagic lifestyle make it pound-for-pound one very powerful game fish, especially to light tackle enthusiasts like fly anglers. Classified as a pelagic, false albacore prefer relatively warm water and spend much of their lives in inshore waters, making them very accessible to anglers, especially in autumn. They can be found wherever baitfish congregate—in inlets, around jetties, and sandbars. Like other fish that feed in schools, false albacore will drive bait to the surface or into shore in order to concentrate the food. Albies lack a swim bladder so they must be in constant motion, which explains their phenomenal swimming speed and power.

Captain Greg Cudnik with a “fat albert” on the fly (pic courtesy of Greg Cudnik).

I met Greg at the marina before 6 am. It was still dark and the stars dotted the ink-black morning sky like so many glittering diamonds. I dressed in my foul weather gear and broke my rods and tackle out while Greg readied his 21 foot Parker center console for action. His boat proved to be a great sport fishing machine with an especially large and unobstructed bow that was perfect for fly casting.

Greg brought the 150 Yamaha to life and we slid out of the marina and cruised slowly towards Barnegat Inlet. In the darkness, I rigged my rods – a 9 foot 8 weight with an intermediate sinking tip and a 9 foot 9 weight with full intermediate line. The game plan was to fish the north jetty of the inlet while we waited for signs of bird play outside the inlet.

050313-A-EO314-103 — An aerial view of Barnegat Inlet. The small town of Barnegat Light is to the bottom left in the picture above – the North Jetty is to the top right – with the bay entrance to the left and the ocean to the right.

Barnegat Inlet connects Barnegat Bay with the Atlantic Ocean. It separates Island Beach State Park and the Barnegat Peninsula from Long Beach Island. Watching over the inlet at the northern end of Long Beach Island is “Old Barney” the historic Barnegat Lighthouse.

albie5 — Old Barney, standing watch over Barnegat Inlet (pic courtesy of Greg Cudnik).

The inlet gets its name from Dutch settlers who in 1614 named it “Barendegat,” or “Inlet of the Breakers”. The inlet can be extremely dangerous when ebbing or flooding tides run counter to high winds, building the heavy seas the Dutch must have observed before naming it.

Once we got out into the inlet, Greg nosed his boat within 30 feet of the end of the visible part of the north jetty. The rest of the jetty leading out to open ocean is submerged rock. The constant swirling and crashing of the sea over this section of the jetty creates a cauldron of froth that is known to attract stripers and blues all year. I fly fished at first, casting a streamer into the froth, allowing it to sink, then stripping it back, but no one seemed to be home. Greg had me switch up to a light saltwater spinning outfit using first an imitation eel and then a white bucktail with a hot orange plastic tail. After a number of casts I hooked up and landed a nice “cocktail” blue. Not long after, I felt a good bump and retrieved my bucktail with most of the tail bitten clean off. For the unknowing, bluefish and plastics don’t mix too well but as Greg added, at least we’d gotten rid of the skunk.

As the eastern sky began to glow orange, bird play started outside the inlet. At first, the numbers of birds were small and their concentrations, weak. Greg said the seabirds, including brown pelicans, were searching for bait. He continuously spied the horizon for denser groups of birds and sure enough, as the sun broke the horizon and the sky lightened with the new-found dawn, birds wheeled in bigger and tighter groups. Then they began diving, a sign that it was time to move in – but not recklessly. According to Greg, many anglers are apt to drive their boats right into birds and fish, not realizing how that can put the blitz down. We parked a bit outside the developing fray and Greg had me blind cast the area. The fishfinder was lit up with tons of bait.

I threw a “deadly dick” metal for a while – then Greg had me switch up to a white plastic. He had me experiment with retrieves, “burning it” at times, letting it pause, and even jigging it as I retrieved. I worked the water column as best I could and on one retrieve saw what looked like a boil not far off the stern. I continued my retrieve only to have an albie flash at it right at the boat, then take it solidly and dive. The drag on the spinning reel screamed and I was on. I was at once amazed at the sheer power and speed of these saltwater bullets. I’d gain a little on the fish only to have it take off on blistering run after run. Eventually, we had the fish boat-side, and Greg deftly tailed it…

albie1 — My first albie… (pic courtesy of Greg Cudnik)

This first albie was followed not long after with another on the same soft plastic lure.

albie3 — Another nice albie on the spinning rod. About this time of the morning the fish began to feed on the surface (pic courtesy of Greg Cudnik).

By this time the sun was up and the surface action began to improve. The albacore were driving bait up from the depths and slashing through the confused schools from all directions. Birds wheeled just feet above, hovered, and dove. With two albies tallied, Greg said it was time to break out my fly rod…

Greg had me tie on a unique fly that has been garnering a lot of attention in the northeast saltwater fly fishing world. The fly is the innovative design of local fly rodder and fly designer, Bob Popovichs. Greg felt the fly was a perfect imitation of the “white bait” the ablies were chasing.

22549960_1788431681465000_4698076119308831124_n — The “Fleye Foil” fly Greg had me use was a perfect match for “white bait” in the water. This fly looked great in the water, cast well, and never fouled (pic courtesy of Greg Cudnik).

I tied this fly to 15 lb tippet off a 6 foot leader on my full intermediate 9 weight line. As the sun came up and the fishing exploded on the abundant bait, the wind began to blow and the sea took on a bit of a chop, but Greg did a terrific job positioning me for optimum casting, given the stiff breeze.

I experimented with retrieves and found that sometimes allowing the fly to sink a bit worked better than stripping fast through the blitz. This was harder than one might imagine. With fish blasting through the water, it was very tempting to strip fast. My first albie ate the fly with just one strip after the drop. The take was solid and fast, and it was all I could do to clear the line and get the fish on the reel.

albie4 — The first of 3 ablies on the fly. I lost two more as well. The false albacore just might be the ultimate gamefish for the saltwater fly fisher (pic courtesy of Greg Cudnik).

Two more albies followed and I also lost another two fish after brief hook-ups.

As late-morning approached, the blitz seemed to settle down. Fish would pop up here and there. When they did show up they were not around long. Boat traffic may have contributed to the slow-down. Indeed, we observed a lot of fishermen driving right into some blitzes. Most anglers were spin fishing – a much less taxing way of reaching pods of fish. Greg noted many of them were throwing metals far larger than the baitfish the albies were feeding on and the lack of hook-ups for these anglers backed his theory.

Research I’ve done on angling for false albacore indicates that fly fishing is often the “high hook” method of fishing for them. Albies, like most members of the tuna and mackerel family, have excellent eyesight. When they are focused on eating one food item, anything that isn’t the same size, color and profile will be totally ignored and only a near-perfect match will score a strike. This favors fly-fishermen, who can match the color and diminutive size of almost any baitfish.

While we fished, Greg did his best to avoid the “run and gun” game. He’s fished enough days when sitting and letting the fish come to him was far more effective than chasing. The key seemed to be positioning the boat in an area of action and then waiting for the schools to pass by.

Anyone interested in this form of fly fishing should gear up with an 8 to 10 weight saltwater fly rod. I found my 9-weight to be perfect. The action of the rod should be medium-fast at minimum with fast being a better choice. While the fall can be warm and the sea almost calm at times, the opposite can be true as well, and this fishing is truly open water fishing. So, a stiffer action helps combat windy conditions. Also keep in mind that while casting at long distances is not always the case, you will cast a lot.

A saltwater-rated fly reel with a good disc drag is also needed as these fish will quickly peel line off well into the backing. Multiple reels spooled with floating, intermediate, intermediate sink tip, and sink tip fly lines will address a variety of fishing conditions. If I had to go with just one line, I’d go with a full intermediate line, preferably clear, as these lines will get the fly down beneath potentially choppy seas. You’ll also want a selection of tapered fluorocarbon leaders rated from 20 lbs down to 12 lbs. Tippet should range from 20 lbs down to 10 lbs. As previously mentioned, albies have excellent eyesight. They can be finicky. Bite guards are not necessary with albacore, however, bluefish can be mixed in with these fish at times, so you might want to have at least some heavier mono available (30 to 50 lbs) just in case.

Fly choice should match the hatch but a good selection of clousers, deceivers, and the foil flies mentioned earlier will typically do the trick. Colors should also match the prevailing bait but silver, white, pink, light tan and light olive will work well in most situations.

alba-clouser — The Alba-Clouser is an excellent example of a clouser tied specifically for false albacore. This pattern uses synthetic fibers for toughness and flash. Note the light pink and white blend and the sparse use of material. (pic courtesy of saltwatersportsman.com).

While fishing from surf and jetty is one way of getting into albies, this fishing is best done from a small boat. Hiring a licensed captain is a great way to get the access to these incredible fish. If fishing from a small open boat, dress for the weather. A good set of fishing bibs, a foul weather jacket, and boots will help shield you from the effects of wind and water. Underneath, it’s best to layer up in fall. The weather can turn on a dime and the wind and water can make a mild day seem very cold. A hat with a good visor and sunglasses are also key with the sunglasses serving double duty: better vision into the water and eye protection from the sun and errant hooks! Lastly, anglers without sea legs might want to prepare for sea sickness ahead of time. Small boats will move quite a bit in a sea.

I’ll end this post with a tribute to Captain Greg Cudnik for doing a masterful job guiding me for some awesome albie fishing. Greg was thoroughly prepared, organized, and had a solid game plan for the day before we set out on the water. His fishing skill and knowledge was absolutely top-notch.

The mark of a great guide or captain is truly recognized at the end of a day’s fishing. For me, it was in that good, tired feeling from fishing hard, the joy in attaining a fresh perspective on the amazing opportunities for fly fishing in the salt, the gaining of new-found knowledge, and lastly, the capture of so many memories of deeply bent rods, screaming drags, and the still-present rocking motion from a day on the water. Above all though, it’s the renewed passion one gets to get out and do it again.

Fathers, Haircuts, and Fishing…

May 9, 2026 / stflyfisher

Now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big rivers alone…

Norman Maclean – A River Runs Through It

He sat with his back to me as I stood behind him with a clipper and cut his hair. His skin was paper thin, stretched tight over his bald head and mottled with age spots. With each pass of the cutter, wisps of white hair, thinner than 7X tippet, fell to the floor. As I cut and trimmed, we talked, and part of me reached back to times when I was in his seat and he was standing in my place. Back then, the Sears trimmer was fitted with what I called “the claw.” The claw was fixed over the cutter blades, assuring an even crew cut. The process was easy – move from the base of the head, up and over, like shearing a sheep. I remember the trimmer snagging and pulling my hair on occasion and I would wince with each pass. And then there was the smell of 3 in 1 oil and the itch of hair falling down my neck.

My Dad, like the rest of my family, was not a fisherman. But Dad had a supplier salesman in business who loved fishing. Mr. Meehan, if I remember his name correctly, loved saltwater fishing. He was raised somewhere in the Big Apple and at one time drove a cab. Later in life, he got into sales but retained his cab-driving tendencies when he drove us around on business trips. I remember two trips – one to Belmar, for albacore and bonito – the other way out to Montauk for blues and stripers. Both were productive, especially for a young boy. I could barely handle the fish, be it big blues or fast running tuna, but oh did it set the hook even deeper into a life already infused with fishing.

Later in my life, Dad still did not fish, but he did participate. He was there for me, in a word. There is a story told by educator and author, Stephen Covey, where he interviews a father, who in an effort to understand and get closer to his son, decided to take a month off of work one summer with the goal to attend every major league game the team played away from home. Beyond time, this took a lot of money and painstaking preparation. On hearing of this, Covey commented to the father, “you sure must like baseball,” to which the man replied, “no, but I love my son.”

During my college years, my father purchased a center console 21′ Proline with a 140 hp outboard. My parents had bought a place on Barnegat Bay, and the boat was a wonderful extension to that home by the bay. In it, we fished the tidal estuaries, the channels, the cuts and holes, and the inlet. When we fished it was all me – baiting Dad’s fluke rigs, setting him up, tirelessly instructing him on how to bottom bounce the rig. He never mastered that fine art, but somehow the fluke didn’t care, and I’d spend more time netting his fish, releasing them, and rebaiting or rigging than ever tending to my own line. Just the same, it was enjoyable time spent together.

With the years, age played its hand. Dad sold the boat as it became too much for him to handle alone, and my time in the Navy and a subsequent civilian job in Texas meant less time to visit. Kids came, responsibilities mounted, and summer days on the bay dwindled to holiday visits that were too short for any serious fishing, though we still would go.

A great day of November bass fishing on the Miss Barnegat Light. I’m slightly left of center, holding up a 39-pound bass that won the pool that day.

Our last fishing trip together was in September of 2012. Dad was 83 then. I remember proposing the trip during a visit and as the words came, I automatically prepared myself for the normal response, an apologetic decline. But this time was different, a hesitant “yes.” “What time do we have to get up?’ came the question I knew was coming. Dad never liked getting up early. “The boat leaves at 7:30 but we’ll need to be there earlier to get a good spot on the rail. He sighed. “Ok, I’ll go…” he replied.

Dad did get up on time, though slowly. He could still walk but had to reply on props like countertops, tables and chair to get around. His balance had faded such that when he did walk, there was what us kids termed “the wing”, used as a counter to his stooping posture. We had collectively warned him in the prior years to get up and move, take a walk. The alternative, we insisted, would be a gradual decline in mobility, ending with a wheelchair.

We made our way out to Long Beach Island and turned left onto the boulevard that took us past the once quaint, now glamorous and overbuilt beach towns, starting humble but gaining with wealth-clad hubris along the way – Ship Bottom, Surf City, North Beach, Harvey Cedars, Loveladies, and finally Barnegat Light, where things turned back to a bit more of a blue-collar fishing town.

The boat we’d take, the Miss Barnegat Light, or the “Red Sled” to many who fished on her, sat stern-to at the dock, and the gangway was open. A few anglers had already taken up position along the rails, and we got ours – starboard quarter just where I liked it.

We got underway on time. The engines – twin Caterpillar turbocharged V-12 diesels, started with the deep roar of 2800 horsepower coming to life. We motored out of the slip and into the narrow channel that led up past more slips, a bait and gas station, the Coast Guard station, and finally Barnegat Light itself.

Dad always liked the ride out. It was a glorious morning – chilly enough to hint of the coming of Fall, the horizon rimmed in pre-dawn crimson. We huddled along with the other fishermen in the deckhouse. The air was filled with the optimism of fishermen. There is, I am convinced no greater hope in any gathering of human beings than this…

The trip out was a long one. We arrived at a patch of sea already populated with fishing boats. We motored slowly about in searching loops, the captain using his fish finder for something deep down – a lump, a mound, a distinguishing feature of the bottom. Fish are, after all, creatures aligned with structure. I once read of an experiment where bass were placed in a large glass tank of water, it’s bottom a white sheet, featureless and barren. The bass were observed to just swim around randomly. After some time, a different sheet was slid under the tank bottom – this time again white save a small black stripe. The bass were then observed to congregate around the black stripe. So, it is with fish.

We anchored up and with the boat’s horn as a signal, dropped our jigs down 90 feet, “baited” in hope. Jigging is a fun way to fish and when working a heavy jig deep, an exercise worthy of Popeye forearms. Soon enough rods could be seen doubled over with good bluefish in the 6 – 12 lb., range. The fish were ravenous. Yours truly started scoring as well…

The good fishing lasted well into the afternoon. Dad had a fine time, sitting near me, taking pictures, and soaking up the abundant sun, though he complained about his legs being sore from the rocking motion of the boat.

That was the last I fished with my dad. He passed away on May 9, 2022, not long after retiring for the night but not before having his daily martini, extra dry with an olive and on the rocks.

A favorite picture of Dad, with my younger brother, David.

I still return to Barnegat, in late Spring to fly fish for stripers and blues, and then again in late Fall to try and catch the big striper migration south. Though my sister and her husband moved from Barnegat to a nice bayside home in Seaside Park about an hour away, it is different now, somehow lonely, as if my ties to this special place have worn and faded with time, the family cloth threadbare, a place first baptized with summer vacations, and then a place where my parents chose to retire to enjoy family gatherings, garnished with wonderful evening cocktails and bountiful seafood meals.

Now I fish alone and perhaps now too, I am haunted by waters…

Three barbers

November 11, 2023 / stflyfisher

“From this day to the ending of the world, we in it shall be remembered. We, lucky few, we band of brothers. For he who today sheds his blood with me, shall be my brother.”

Henry the Fifth

The Doris Mae left the dock promptly at 7 that morning with a good mix of New Jersey’s and Pennsylvania’s best aboard. We shoved off with high hopes that big bluefish would be boiling in the chum slick.

The party boat passed Barnegat Inlet lighthouse close to starboard and her captain, Ron Eble, pointed the bow into the flood tide ripping through the channel. Eble throttled up Doris Mae’s triple turbocharged diesels to a roar, power you could feel through the deck. The horizon to the east was alight in a blaze of red, orange, and yellow. Fishermen huddled aft of the boat’s superstructure shielding themselves from the early morning chill, some smoking, some gazing seaward, others chatting enthusiastically about the fishing reports from earlier in the week.

I dressed in my slicker bottoms and boots. Fishing for blues when chumming is always a messy venture – there’s blood, bait and chum from bow to stern when the fishing is good, the mates ladling a a soupy mash of ground fish chunks and guts over the side and gaffing each hooked fish any way they can to haul them over the rail.

We cleared the inlet and steered northeast to the Mud Hole, a big depression in the seabed known to congregate fish. It would be a long ride out, but past reports buzzed that it was the place to be.

After dressing, I went back aft and came upon three men seated around the top of a big cooler where a game of dominoes was in play. They joked and laughed with each other as men are apt to do when playing board or card games. I approached and engaged the apparent senior of the three in conversation. He was wearing a dark blue ball cap, with “US Navy WWII Veteran” embroidered on it. Thanking him for his service, I asked in a joking way what he had in his “water bottle”, the color of the liquid being the rich brown of bourbon. The old greying veteran let out a deep belly laugh in response. After talking about his service, the conversation turned to my own. “You see” he said to his two veteran friends, “I knew he was an officer”… The men chuckled as if they knew too.

We all talked on as the dominoes game unfolded. Before me sat a Navy WWII veteran, an Army Korean War veteran, and a Marine Vietnam veteran. We joked about the services represented – Navy men always having a clean comfortable bunk and hot chow at sea, the Army being second rate to the Marines, the Marines being a part of the Department of the Navy – the good-natured banter carried through the day even while we fished. And with that I felt that I was one with them, a privilege not forgotten and greatly treasured for these three barbers represented three generations of the best of America from three wars – WWII, Korea, and Viet Nam – all African American and all working out of the same barbershop in downtown Philadelphia.

Veteran’s Day is a day to honor those who served, who heeded the call, voluntarily or involuntarily, and who did what our country asked them to do, no questions asked. Three barbers served the span of some 30 years of military duty, fought far from home in foreign lands, across vast seas and I had the honor to enjoy their company that day. I’ll remember that trip for the opportunity to meet these three who fought and served, witnessed the best and worst of mankind, and returned home and settled into the everyday oblivion that is America.

The fishing was good – we slaughtered them – the blues as thick as thieves in the chum slick. But it wasn’t the fishing that engraved the memory of those three veterans in my mind, heart and soul. While fishing has its own bonding experience, there is nothing like the military that forms connections lasting a lifetime. Veterans serve their country but fight for each other, and in so doing, become a band of brothers.

I’d like to believe that I left the Doris Mae that day, and the three barbers, a lucky man, and luckier still if I had the honor to be considered by them, a brother in arms.

Men, it’s been a long war, it’s been a tough war. You’ve fought bravely, proudly for your country. You’re a special group. You’ve found in one another a bond, that exists only in combat, among brothers. You’ve shared foxholes, held each other in dire moments. You’ve seen death and suffered together. I’m proud to have served with each and every one of you. You all deserve long and happy lives in peace.

General Officer speaking to his men in the movie, “Band of Brothers”

Tag: Barnegat Light

Fly fishing for albies with Fishhead Greg…

Fathers, Haircuts, and Fishing…

Three barbers

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