Match the hatch.
…Faith in humanity, restored.
They’re in! Drop everything. Over
A photo from my office window of fall-like weather rolling in over the Hudson. Follow the Hudson south under the Verrazano into the Bight and out to Breezy, and, dammit boy, you’re bound to hook up with something.
When I woke with the morning’s sunrise, the outdoor thermometer read 61 degrees. The dead season is almost over. All the little gits that cut you off at the local break will be back in school. Boats pulling tubers through prime topwater bust locations will disappear. Jet skis will decline precipitously. This is our time*. We just need the fish to hold up their end of the bargain. Come on, predators, show us what you got. *With the exception of sailors and their fall races, which don’t really bother anything anyhow.
Soon to be used and abused.
We interrupt all regularly scheduled programming on Fishing Jones due to an outbreak of false albacore on the beach…