First, they were south of me: schoolies in Rhode Island. Then, they were suddenly north of me: schoolies on the North Shore. It was like I was the bulls eye no one could hit — until I hit it this afternoon.

Driving south to a new spot on the South Shore of Boston that I hadn’t yet fished, I didn’t know what to expect. The forecast was dicey — 60% chance of thundershowers — and the roads to where I wanted to go kept ending in dead ends, turnarounds and marinas. After this winter, I wanted the tug of a spring schoolie, bad.

I tried one spot that looked great. Nothing. I walked for a bit, and tried another spot. Nothing. The wind picked up, and the coils I thought I had stretched out of my line came back with a terrible vengeance. And then, I hit it.

With almost every cast, I starter getting into spring schoolies. They started showing around me, splashing on the surface. They were small, and none needed to be put on the Tibor. But they were great fun: a few nibbles here and there, and then a solid take, and a head shaking fight.

In all, I got about 7 over the course of the evening. For an hour, hour and half about every other to every third cast yielded some action. It was great. After this winter, the small fish — any fish — felt good. Washing off my waders when I got home, I brushed off a few scales, the smell of which reminded me of bigger fish in warmer months — months that are soon to come.

This is just the start. But a good start it always is.

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Note: I hope you enjoy the movie. I’m trying to do more of this. Let me know what you think, and if you’d like to see me do anything different! 

Trying to huck into a brutal wind.

Schoolie striped bass — small, but so much fun.