Collecting data the hard way, by Alexi

   

Sunset at anchor (Great Bay)

     Finally, our hands are salt encrusted.   Parched, dried, with many small cuts just a hair wider than paper cuts.  When wet they sting.  Ten shades darker than before the wrist, I stare long at my strange hands.

     After unloading the boats and lingering on my porch a friend rides by on his bike.... Jim says "You're red, glowing, like you were in the sun too long."  I think to myself  (Is there such a thing as too long?)
    We are crawling into the ocean.  At some point we will attend a meeting with a large bass.  For now,  we play with the children.  What's good and bad about it all?  Observe: the marathon is unfinished.  People stare at the crazed daze (our crazed daze).  Strangers fill in their t-shirts with winter fat while floating by in their kayaks.  I, however, am dressed for Alaska.   The marathon is half run and I'm ready to fall over.  To fall over would be so pleasant, but I keep going.  Eventually the pain is numbed.  We know we won't win the race, but at least we have to finish it.  We catch fish, but we want to know for certain that there are bigger fish.  We hunt.  In the dark.  In strange places.  In the wind.  In the city.  In the Bay.  We hunt.  Just seeking something to pull a little line.  That feeling, the adrenalin rushing.  The excitement.  The moment. The hooks are sharp and the knots are well tied.  The rod quivers in anticipation.  Around every bend.  In every hole.   There is hope.  There is a chance, so we keep going.  We are not motivated by food or economics.  We are not motivated by fame, or competition.  We are compelled.  No one will be waiting at the finish line when we're done.  Just the park rangers waiting for the trash boat.  "Did you get anything?"  The answer is clear due to the hesitation.  " Some bumps."
Expectations are always high this time of year.  It's spring striped bass fishing.  The time of year when cows or "Moose-fish" are caught all over the New Jersey back bays.  And sometimes they are very large, so be ready.  And so we were ready.  We've been ready.

     And now a quick synopsis of three trips in one week:

We started the fishing frenzy in the Great Bay.  The yacht building company was testing some ships. Their wake really messed up our plan.  We caught some short bass on bloodworms and clams.

     Then there was the worst kayak launch ever.  Delaware river by the Commodore Barry bridge.  (We wanted to launch on the Jersey side)

vertical rock climb with kayaks

We caught some catfish.  This trip really deserves it's own story.  But I'd rather not re-live that night.  The wind picked up (a lot!)  The current was against the wind and the waves were hard to hit in the right direction.  The fishing ended abruptly.

one of several catfish, no stripers

     Then there was real fishing.  Fishing I can get behind.  Fishing in Barnegat Bay.  We stopped at the bridge to fish the light line from our kayaks.

one of many bridge fish

The fish were feeding on top.  Mostly in the 20" range, but some a bit bigger.
 We left them biting, striped bass up to 27".   That really got our blood flowing.  I was confident that if we went to Snake ditch with our eels we were likely to hook into some bigger fish.  We went to the sedges.

2014 IBSP pass

This was our first sedge trip of the year.  We were skunked.   But it was still great.  There were seals on seal island.  Skimmers.  Pipers.  Osprey.  Clams. Mussels.  Jellyfish.  I really felt at home.  The water was cold, and the tide was strong.  There were bass around, but either we couldn't find them or they weren't on the feed.

Sunrise at Seal Island

It didn't matter.  It felt good to be back at the Sedge Islands.

Floating in Barnegat Bay