Neither is white. Even orange on a green jighead isn’t getting bit. It’s a chilly sunny April day and I’m out with Paula and Gordon in a Fletcher’s rowboat, bouncing tandem bucktail jigs for white perch. Every year the Potomac’s migratory species—shad, herring, and perch—swim up out of the Chesapeake Bay to spawn. Every year, the three of us go out to meet them. It’s how we mark the death of winter and the beginning of spring, the end and start of another circuit on the big merry-go-round. It’s how we honor the stupefying