THE STRANGER OF OLD BARNEGAT

“I SWUNG BACK ON THE ROD AND HEARD THE STRIPER THRASHING ON THE SURFACE. I HAD NEVER BEEN SO NERVOUS FIGHTING A FISH.”

e had scratched again. Six hours of throwing plugs and metals in the New Jersey surf that began in the cold, pre-dawn dark—and not a tap. This wasn’t the first time my friend Chris Foster and I had failed to beach