One especially warm yet unforgettable day in July more than a decade ago my father and I were patrolling a rocky stretch of Naushon’s coastline. I was only a child then, and he had never been a fisherman. My rod felt unwieldy in my palms, though it was no larger than a heavy largemouth rod. My father was at the helm, focused on protecting his wooden skiff’s fragile hull from the submerged boulders that decorate the island’s shallow waters. I stood nervously at the bow scanning for them as well as any indication of rising fish as we puttered along. A great blue heron stalked schools of silversides along the bank. When I glanced down I could see the barnacle encrusted stones and forests of eelgrass sweep under the hull below my feet, a blue crab scuttled out from his lair when we drew near. Never in my life had I seen such beauty in nature.
I had been casting the same swimbait for hours, yet I remained hopeful that the next cast would finally grant me an opportunity to catch my first striped bass.
Growing up on Cape Cod, I had quickly learned that striped bass are one of the most revered gamefish in New England. Appealingly powerful creatures capable of growing to immense sizes, my father’s friends had told me stories of their wild encounters with these coastal fish. Growing up, I saw impressive photos of striped bass rivaling the length of those holding them, some dating back several decades. I was hooked, determined to master the pursuit of striped bass before ever feeling one’s weight on my line.
My father and I came across one of the many rock piles that dot the island’s coast, half-submerged in the falling tide. Excitement swelled in my chest when a fish broke through the water’s surface to the left of the rocks. My father shifted the little outboard into neutral and I casted as far as my little arms had allowed. In my excitement, I flipped the bail and immediately started a steady retrieve which finally managed to trigger a strike. The fight was not long, barely a minute or two at best, and all I could think to do was keep reeling. When that little schoolie rose next to the boat, silver-blue swimbait nearly too large to fit in its mouth, my father took a hold of the thick mono leader, hoisted the twenty-incher over the gunwale, and set it down on the deck. I pulled the hook from the stripers mouth and held it by the lip, examining the seven black stripes that traversed in parallel down each side. Back in the water, it quickly shot back to the security of structure with an energetic kick of its tail. Despite being small compared to the forty and fifty pounders I had seen in photographs, I was overjoyed and determined to continue fishing.
One of the legendary striper trips I had come to yearn for finally came a couple summers later in early June. It was the last few days of the school year and after classes I would head straight to the boat dock where my father kept his skiff. My father’s friend Arthur joined me, arriving with fishing rods and tackle box in hand. He had a lifetime’s experience catching striped bass and was generous enough to teach me what he knew.
It was nearly high tide in Woods Hole when we got to our first spot, just when the rushing waters began to slow. Squid were launching into the air in an attempt to flee the jaws of the striped bass below, drawing in hoards of seabirds hoping to fill their gizzards. My pencil popper was picked up seconds after hitting the water and the bite held strong well into the next tide. We caught striper after striper, each one approaching if not exceeding forty inches, we lost track somewhere in the thirties, and by the time we turned to head in the sun had set long ago.
Since then striped bass have always been the centerpiece out of all the gamefish I target. Fishing for them is easily accessible for in many places they are within casting distance from shore, they come in a wide range of sizes, there's a million ways to catch them, and they fight much harder than the majority of their coastal New England counterparts. Nearly every time I’m fishing on the cape my primary target is striped bass.
Unfortunately for me, everyone who fishes for these magnificent animals, and the ecosystem they play a vital role in, striped bass populations have been diminishing for the past several years. A similar event occurred in the eighties due to the overfishing of striped bass, yet strictly enforced regulations and temporary bans on catching them had brought their numbers back to a healthy population. Now, with these regulations still in tact, many conservationists are wondering what the cause could be. There are many reasons for migratory game fish populations to not show up as expected, such as a lack of substantial baitfish, excessive poaching, habitat loss, or even disease but none have been confirmed as the cause. Fish populations naturally fluctuate up and down over long periods of time, yet last season was a noticeable struggle. With proper timing of the tides and time of day our trips would typically end with bass having been caught, but I caught only five keeper bass all season; and according to everyone I spoke with this struggle was shared. The daily limit had been changed from two stripers a day to one, and disappointingly some still kept more than allotted.
Bringing striped bass back to desirable numbers will require efforts of conservationists and anglers alike, and hopefully we will not have to face the loss of this beloved game fish. My passion for fishing was formed by these fish and I fear that their declining population will hinder others from discovering the phenomenal experience fishing for them offers. Using single hooks when fishing for striped bass rather than trebles, keeping them in the water as much as possible when handling them, and making sure you are following your state’s regulations will be increasing the likelihood that striped bass will survive to make an effective rebound.
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