Fall Surf
September 20, 2017
From New England to the Carolinas, this is the season of the surf. Everything is on the move – striped bass, bluefish, albies, red drum, hawks, bait of all denominations, storm after storm.
From New England to the Carolinas, this is the season of the surf. Everything is on the move – striped bass, bluefish, albies, red drum, hawks, bait of all denominations, storm after storm.
A group of hard-fishing captains heads to the Cape each June for the spring striper run
The author recalls a cold, rainy November night and a wild fish that came out of a rip off a coastal island, which Hurricane Sandy later flattened.
Greg Myerson caught a big fish four years ago that literally changed his life. The fish was an 81.88-pound striped bass, which broke by 3 pounds the International Game Fish Association record that had stood for 29 years.
The peanut bunker were so thick you could walk on them, and stripers romped day and night.
Here at last was an almost-virgin, freestone stream that looked like the streams that Arnold Gingrich, Ray Bergman and A.J. McClane had written about.
Boats were everywhere on opening day of Maryland’s 2015 spring trophy striped bass season.
The sun was almost down when Jack called out. “I’m on,” he said, and I watched him lean back as the fish turned and made its first run.
From New England to the Carolinas, this is the season of the surf. Everything is on the move – striped bass, bluefish, albies, red drum, hawks, bait of all denominations, storm after storm.
Five writers unravel why these fish became their favorites
The writer remembers the striper that made his world go topsy-turvy.
A group of hard-fishing captains heads to the Cape each June for the spring striper run
The author recalls a cold, rainy November night and a wild fish that came out of a rip off a coastal island, which Hurricane Sandy later flattened.
Greg Myerson caught a big fish four years ago that literally changed his life. The fish was an 81.88-pound striped bass, which broke by 3 pounds the International Game Fish Association record that had stood for 29 years.
The peanut bunker were so thick you could walk on them, and stripers romped day and night.
Here at last was an almost-virgin, freestone stream that looked like the streams that Arnold Gingrich, Ray Bergman and A.J. McClane had written about.
Boats were everywhere on opening day of Maryland’s 2015 spring trophy striped bass season.
The sun was almost down when Jack called out. “I’m on,” he said, and I watched him lean back as the fish turned and made its first run.
