A Rocky Beginning

A couple of weeks had gone by since the infamous day of 53 as it had come to be known, at least in my mind. The shad were few and far between having now either traveled far upstream to lay their eggs, or having completed their spawning mission, were now on the way back downriver to the Chesapeake.
Small herring remained in the area and white perch began to show up in good number. Cormorants still hung around but not as thick as they had been when the normally brown water ran silver with shad. Above the river’s surface, blue heron and ospreys continued to feast heavily on wayward baitfish. But below, new predators stirred up the river during feeding frenzies, eating anything they could fit in their mouths.
There were new kings of the food chain in the James—striped bass, or striper, or rockfish depending on one’s latitudinal demarcation. According to several nameless locals and the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries, (VDGIF) striper follow the shad’s lead, weeks later, into tidal tributaries to spawn; feasting on their predecessors and really anything in the way. In the James River, the striper made the 80-or-so mile trip from the Chesapeake to the James’ Fall Line where they dispersed their progeny and chased herring and white perch with reckless abandon.
A rainy May 1, signified the official first day of striper season in Virginia. Schoolies, (small young striper) had began showing up here and there in the river weeks earlier, but the talk down at 14th Street centered on the anticipation of when the moms, dads, and grandparents would make their journey back to the River City. During the first two weeks of the season, only fish over 32” could be kept, officially deeming this the Trophy Season. The rain lasted a full week making fishing impossible for the most part since the James was at an early flood stage. Once the water had cleared and its level subsided enough to make fishing realistic, May 15th had already arrived. Though I wouldn’t mount a fish and keep it on my dresser with my old hockey awards, I decided I wouldn’t mind a trophy striper, so I set out to the Mayo Bridge at 14th Street with a new bag of tackle.
I kept one heavier freshwater rod with me just in case, while my med/light rod stayed on the bench. A sub entered the game in its place—standing at nine-feet tall and weighing at least seven ounces…coming out of a tackle shop in Sunset Beach, North Carolina, a medium action surf rod by Shaaaaaaaaakespeare! And the crowd goes wild. I’d purchased the rod 11 years ago, somehow still hung onto it. I figured this rod was my best bet for casting my late mother and step-father’s heavier Cape Cod striper gear across the river close to the James’ opposite bank. Rod in hand, gear strapped around my shoulder, and dog (Casino) on leash, I embarked on my first river-striper adventure.