FLETCHER’S COVE

It’s just before 7 a.m. on a Sunday in May, and once again I am entranced. The river, smooth and glossy, reflects the new greens of the forest along the banks. Cormorants race downriver, as a pair of osprey turn their circles higher up. I string my rod as fast as I can, but the beautiful morning light distracts me from the task. So does the knowledge that beneath the surface a legendary migration of fish pushes upstream.

What really blows my mind, though, is that I am only four miles from the White House as the eagle flies. And if luck holds, I’ll soon hook into an American shad, an anadromous brute whose runs and acrobatics make me giddy.

So it goes at Fletcher’s Cove, gateway to the Potomac River and one of the great and quirky fisheries in the country. Every spring, striped bass, shad, white perch, and herring pass by here in boggling numbers to spawn. They join small-mouth, walleye, snakehead, blue catfish, and other species in the water below Great Falls.

That bounty triggers a rush of local anglers annually, who in turn create a rare cultural and sporting ecosystem. Fly-rodders in waders share the shoreline with spin casters in jeans and devoted catch-and-keepers, some of whom wrap heavy monofilament lines and treble hooks around soda bottles. Think dishwashers and landscapers; tech workers and marketers; lobbyists, lawmakers, and, according to lore, even a Supreme