If you’ve followed along for these last five years that I’ve been back at the helm of this magazine, then you probably already know that the striped bass is the species that has captivated my obsessive mind for the better part of three decades. When I first moved to the shore and had open access to this amazing fish, I wanted to know everything there was to know about them. Naturally I got a subscription to this magazine, bought a ton of books and immersed myself in all that data.
One of the things that seemed to always come up in these writings was the Young of the Year Index (YOY). It was 2002 when I made this move and I was just 22 years old. But with the biggest-ever YOY return having occurred the year prior, the massive 1996 class just crossing over the keeper-size threshold and the robust 1993 class hitting the mid-30-inch range… I felt like I’d up and moved to striper heaven.
I found it fascinating that these numbers were so predictable, a strong year class could be followed as it grew up and with these YOY surveys, it was possible to play stripers like the stock market. I looked at that 2001 number of nearly 60 juvenile striped bass per haul along those breeding sites in the Chesapeake and I started doing the math. In the late Frank Daignault’s book, The Trophy Striper, there was a chart that connected the dots between size and age and the accepted ‘cook time’ for a 50-pounder was 20 years. At the tender age of 22, I found myself looking forward to my 40s.
As I’ve become more in tune with the YOY and committed the strong year classes to memory, it’s not uncommon at all for me to silently note the probable birth year of the fish I’m steadying for release. This line of thought also leaves me with the notion that certain rare year classes are to be treated with the utmost care. The seven-year hole in the fishery caused by seven years of poor spawns, dating back to 2019, means that all fish under the 30-inch mark were born in years of poor recruitment. It’s funny how the human mind will unconsciously make note of things like this.
Since the last strong spawn in 2018, playing the striper stock market works in reverse. Where we used to dream about the days the big spawns would come of age, now we reap the rewards of past spawning successes and we pretty much know what sizes we will catch and the sizes we are unlikely to see. Again, the YOY survey is proving to be a very reliable gauge of what’s actually available and I still find it remarkable.
Why do I think it’s remarkable? Because, you would think there’d have to be anomalies, years when conditions made the stripers spawn sooner or later than normal and skewed the numbers. I’m no biologist, but I can imagine many scenarios where this might occur, but it just doesn’t. You might also think that other breeding grounds like the Hudson River might smooth out the low spots, but they really don’t. The Chesapeake Bay, very clearly, is the lifeblood of the East Coast striped bass fishery.
The spring run of 2026 has been one that most of us will remember for a long time. The lion’s share of the bass we’re seeing this year are from two strong years classes in 2014 and 2015. These fish are now 11 and 12 years old and have combined to send that massive wave of 20-pound class stripers up the coast that everyone is catching in numbers this year. We also have the 2011s which are now 15 years old and should be around 45 inches. It’s funny how, once again, the numbers predicted this.
I’ve been following the dual strong spawns from 2017 and 2018 for years, while I feel like I’m not seeing as many in this 30- to 33-inch bracket that I thought I might so far in 2026, there are still lots of them around and they are now entering their best breeding years, let’s hope things come together for a big number, soon.
Those striper age charts all seem to stop at age 20, even though a quick Google search reveals that the oldest striped bass ever tested and confirmed was 31 years old. With that piece of data in hand, it gives us all some hope that maybe a few dinosaurs from that historic 2001 class are still swimming. I’ll remind you again that I sold myself out in my 20’s longing for my 40s when I thought there’d be a lot more big fish around. Recently, I read a quote online, the prompt was “what’s the dumbest thing you did in your 20s?” The best answer I saw was “wished I was older.”
If 22-year-old me could have experienced the sizes I’ve caught in my age 45 spring run, he’d be confident that he was right to feel that way. I’ll reserve my judgement on that subject for a cold night in December, but however the cards fall for the rest of 2026, I know I’m going to have a blast chasing a result that proves my younger self right.
