The magazine you are holding in your hands is the Winter–Spring 2016–2017 issue. We call it that for a good reason: we haven’t thought of a better name for it. After all, half of the time winter here feels like spring, while half of spring can feel a little uncomfortably like winter. As for 2016–2017, we were tempted to just leave the 2016 off this year, so weary were we with the pleasures of living in this great republic during election season.
After the Pikie revolution it was off to the races as demand for striper plugs surged, and dozens of small tackle businesses sprang up across New England.
I’ve come to know that the junk hauling industry on this Island is not positioned for growth.
It’s the oldest complaint in the world. At least as old as “God said to Abraham, ‘Kill me a son.’” And Abe, who God apparently thought wasn’t grateful enough for the world he’d been given, said “Man, you must be putting me on.” (Dylan 6:1) The real problem, of course, was that God wasn’t sure that Abe was willing to make the sacrifices necessary to get along in the world. “Young people these days,” the old deity might have been thinking of Abe, who was a hundred years old but still young enough to be siring a kid with his equally ancient wife, Sarah.
Breaking news: another summer has come and gone. But I’ll not bore you with the tried and true recitations of how the ocean is still warm, warmer than July in fact, at Great Rock and Norton Point, State Beach and under the cliffs at Gay Head.
For pure pulse-racing, adrenaline-surging angling mayhem, the narrow channel known as The Gut has no equal when false albacore or “Little Tunny” invade in late summer and early autumn.