PORGY FOR A POOR BOY

I should be fishing out front like a big boy. I should be plying the Block Island Sound’s surging surf for big summer stripers. I should call them cows and use limpid superlatives like “epic,” “insane” and “behemoth.” But I am done. Last night I emptied the bucket. I stayed out past midnight, again, got drenched by sea spray, caught an anemic schoolie I could have hooked in a nice calm back bay, slid around on rocks as slick as black ice and tiptoed along granite outcroppings thinking about broken legs and a more pissed off than distraught wife should I come to grief doing something as stupid as this. I am weary and frail of heart and tired of grinding it out. Call me a wimp. You would be right, and I don’t care. What I need to break the funk is not a broom-tailed striper to drag my sorry ass all the way to the Vineyard, but the exact opposite. I need something foolish—like flyfishing for porgy.

Porgy are to New England’s coast what panfish are to freshwater anglers the country over. Tarnished silver and copper with sapphire highlights, they are shaped like bluegill, and while not big, they make up for their size with plentitude and accessibility. If you live on the northern end of their range, you may also know them as “scup.” Both names are perversions of their Narragansett name, “mishcuppaug,” which, depending on your source, hints at smaller fish’s profusive bones—a deterrent to ham-fisted filleters. Back in the 19th century, this earned them the label “porgees for poor young men.” The moniker and its implied classism endure today. They are considered fish for children, the aged and those looking for a cheap meal. Relegated to the concern of bait chuckers, they are ignored by fly anglers. Admittedly, the lack of attention is largely justified. They tend to hang on the bottom, and while game fighters, they are not, by any stretch of the imagination, the carp of the Atlantic. This is only an issue, though, if you are actively comparing; a good way to sour any small joy. When approached with about the same seriousness as skipping rocks, flyfishing for porgy is guiltless, introspection-defying fun. 

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