I walked a North Shore flat yesterday during a prime tide window and saw no striped bass. Not unusual on its own—fish move with tide, light, and conditions—but it stayed with me longer than expected.
The water was clear, better than average. The tide was fairly exposed. No bait flicker, no nervous water, no reason to expect anything, and still I had expected something. That expectation is its own habit. I fished it through more out of routine than conviction, eventually stopping with no expectation of seeing anything.
Later, I went back through old blog posts and notes. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just revisiting older seasons. But a pattern appeared anyway.
In earlier years—roughly 2012 through the post-COVID period—the flats were more populated. Encounters were more frequent, and fish were generally smaller. There were more shots per outing, more continuity between them. It felt normal to expect a few chances every time out.
Around 2022, that began to shift. Encounters became less frequent, and the fish I did see were often larger. That pattern has continued, and this season feels more pronounced. I now more often find either empty water or isolated fish, occasionally pairs.
What has changed most is not how many fish are present, but how much time passes between anything happening.
It’s the gaps that define it now—the stretches where the water holds nothing and attention starts to drift.
That contrast has become the real change: not the number of fish present, but the length of time between anything happening at all.
.jpg)
.jpg)
