Southbound

It is the third week in September, and I am up at 4:45 a.m. and on the road a smidgen after 5 o’clock. Second car in the lot. The temperature dropped into the low 40s overnight, and the sky is as clear as new fond ice.

I am surprised to see how much the swell has built — 3 to 5 feet and larger on the o_ shore reefs. The waves are fast and powerful, and they break in clean, hollow tubes that turn a translucent silver-green once the sun reaches the right height.

I fish beside two out-of-state guys who hiked out to this frothy reef in the dark, hours earlier, and already had a decent fish of maybe 25 pounds on the sand. The striped bass hang just outside the breakers, but they save their most rambunctious forays for those moments just after large waves break on the reef, leaving broad swatches of white water and scores of discombobulated baitfish. Then they sweep in and feed furiously. If you time your cast correctly, you work your plug for maybe a three-count, at most, before it gets rocked.

The action is