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The school of striped bass blitzing down the beach had to be at least a quarter mile long and a hundred yards wide. Sometimes I saw their heads break the surface, other times their backs and dorsal fins sticking out. They frothed the ocean water white, trying to salvage the seven different types of baitfish swimming frantically about. The bait schools seemed to think getting close to shore was a good idea, as though salvation sat on the other...

I trimmed up my outboard, cut the motor, and drifted into the channel. The southwest wind blew warm and soft with a light smell of bladderwort drying on the rocks. I lobbed a short 10 feet of anchor rope because I wasn’t going to be there long before getting back after the stripers. My sand flats grocery shopping wasn’t going to take much time at all.
Friends from out of town came for a visit, and landlubbers always like seafood. Tonight we would...

I grabbed the striped bass by the lip and hoisted him over the gunwale. He was a good fish, a perfect fly rod fish in fact— a scratch over 34 inches in length and weighed 15-or-so pounds. He was an easy spot on the flats some 15 minutes earlier with his pronounced, vibrant, black-and-purple coloration. This fish hadn’t been inshore for very long, because if he had spent some time cruising the skinny, sandy water, his coloration would have...