The end of April marks a point of transition in my fishing. From about March 1 to April 20, all I want to do is fish for largemouth bass. In my opinion, it’s the best time of year to target a big one and, even though I don’t always hook that giant I am envisioning during that time, it’s that image that keeps me in the game. I am not a bed fisherman, I don’t think it’s fair to make repeated casts to a captive audience. This a personal choice and I’m not trying belittle someone that enjoys bed fishing, it’s just not for me. But, the fact that the bass get on the beds around the end of April or first week of May, makes it a perfect time for me to transition to fishing for stripers.
Anyone that has followed my writing over the past 17 years knows that my first true love is the striped bass and I fully expect that romance to last a lifetime. In the early segment of the season, I make very few casts, I feel like I’ve caught more than my fair share of schoolies over the years and I don’t think I’m doing these first-migrators any good by catching them. This again, is a personal choice, done with the intention of reducing my personal impact on the next generation of stripers. With that said, I will sit back and enjoy every moment of watching my daughter catch them. Or even just seeing them pushing bait, seeing the osprey eyeing them from above, seeing the herring streaking in the coves.
These early moments really put me at ease. There’s no pressure in this tiny segment of the season. I don’t feel pressured to push myself to go out and hammer the surf…yet. I don’t feel the pull of the after-work largemouth trip, because the fish are bedded up and I don’t need to bother them. So instead, I absorb and I observe. The promise of what is to come in just a few short weeks reignite that dormant flame that was held at bay all winter long by building lures and making occasional runs for trout: striped bass begin trending in my thoughts until they are all I can think about. In those moments I realize that I haven’t been myself for several months. For me, the winter is a sentence to be endured, the striper season is akin to summer vacation at age 14. A snapshot of time, so rife with possibility and promise, that you can almost squint hard enough to see it stretching out in front of you.
When you’re waiting at the beginning, none of it is wasted, all of it holds possibility and it’s all there for you to take. It is a certainty, that we will squander a lot of it, other days and nights will be lost to obligations, chores and work, but the season looks like a clean slate from here and all we can do now is reserve ourselves to taking advantage as often as possible—because, not one of us knows how many seasons we may have left.
