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For me, this was not a striper summer. The striped bass action was good early — schoolies are always a gas after the winter — but it quickly cooled down, and I had moderate to poor fishing. The savior? Albies.
I shared a video previously about my friend Jared and I out off Watch Hill. He was kind enough to invite me back for another day out, and we hit it just right: tons of bait, and albies everywhere, hot in pursuit. At one point, spoiled by the action, I turned around, leaving my fly dapping on the surface, and I said, “I think we need to move!” At that very moment, an albie took my fly, proving two things: 1) I was dead wrong and, 2) these are confounding creatures.
At one point, we got into the kind of surface scrum Montauk is famous for: the air was filled with the sound of fish cutting the surface, their backs and bellies sliding over each other. At another, we got into skinny water and found babies blues. We heard tell of bass, but never made the hat trick.
Still, it was the kind of day that keeps you coming back, ignoring the bad, knowing that this too is possible if you just put in enough time. The kind of day that breeds the very hope that triumphs over experience.
Albies, my savior. Already, I can’t wait for fall.
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