At this time of year the water comes alive. I idled out of a back bay into water teaming with baitfish (As depicted in this artist’s rendition.***) Large schools of finning adult menhaden swam in ever tightening concentric circles. Even larger schools of peanut bunker flitted on the surface. When wind ripples hid their location, diving terns betrayed them from above. Then the gulls would make a beeline to a location, signaling that the bluefish were about to go off.
Watching bluefish corner and start ripping through a school of bait is to watch pure savagery. The water’s surface boils in a froth as the bluefish chomp and shred the helpless victims, and birds fly in low to pick off the injured or stunned.
My mission when I see such an undertaking: Exterminate all the brutes! Or, rather, catch them with a fly rod. Motor up to the birds as it starts to unfold, watch the water boil, cast into the fray, hook a bruiser, watch your fly line zip out of your guides and your reel start to spin, glance at your backing, reel, watch the bluefish breach like a baby tarpon…Reel more, watch the bluefish jump again, lose line, reel, watch your knots, see the bluefish vomit, bring it boatside, boga grip it, snap a photo, and release. Imagine that in one month’s time this could be stripers.
(***Artist’s rendition consists of delicious crackers.)
