Innehållsförteckning för Fall 2025 från Anglers Journal

SUMMER FLOUNDER, OR FLUKE, have all the attributes you’d look for in a leading role. They’re strange and mysterious, willing and cunning. They inhabit a wide range of environments, and their devotees follow them throughout the season like fanboys. Despite the draw, fluke don’t get the same admiration as, say, striped bass or tuna, but they’re one of the most sought after saltwater fish on the East Coast, as evidenced by ever-changing minimum sizes and bag limits to keep the fishery healthy. Most of the fluke caught range between 15 and 22 inches, roughly 1 to 4 pounds, but when targeted on light spinning gear, they put a hearty bend in the rod punctuated by rapid head shaking. They are challenging to find and fun to catch, and the fillets…

In setting out to reflect on 60 years of fishing, I assumed it would be the old battles with fish large and long sought that would remain most sharply etched in memory. I was wrong. Except for some milestone fish — first striper from the surf, first 50-pounder, a linesider taken as a young teen in a snow squall, that sort of thing — my most durable fishing memories are the people. It’s the people and their stories that stick with me. The tales told by a slew of fishing friends and others I’ve encountered on beaches, on the rocks and on the docks when the weather kept the boats tied up. It’s our oldest story: family, friendship, kinfolk, camaraderie, loyalty, bloodlines. “Nothing,” Springsteen intoned in his world-weary voice, “feels…

The heartbeat of the Northeast fishery is strongest in the fall, when large migrations are underway, daylight is waning, and anglers try to tap into one those fabled blitzes that must be experienced to fully appreciate. In the weeks before the equinox, birds, baitfish, the most sought-after gamefish and a host of other critters begin to marshal their strength to sail southward or offshore. That’s when you see early signs of autumn in the changing light on the water, though the calendar still says summer and you’re still happily wet-wading. The first weeks of September are the best time to snare a few stripers early, then lean your rod against a beach log and body-surf the crisp, translucent break. The water is still plenty warm. You pick a day with…

DOGGONE GOOD I had just returned from a two-week family vacation in Iceland and was thrilled to read “Dog Days” in the Summer issue. William Sisson did an excellent job capturing feedback from a variety of captains who chase elusive summer cows. As always, the storytelling and photos capture the vibrant and passionate nature of the captains you spoke with, as well as the writer’s own desire to catch summer striped bass. Numerous veteran captains have texted me with feedback about the article. I also appreciate that he mentions my late father several times in the article. His passing this past February has been weighing heavily on me; seeing his name in print brought a tear to my eye. You have my heartfelt thanks. One of my father’s best friends…

SITTING ON A ROCK BY THE RYNDA RIVER ON RUSSIA’S KOLA PENINSULA, the tall man with tousled gray hair and big blue eyes greedily feasts on a piece of rare Moscow beef, the juice running down his fingers. He has spent the morning making graceful casts with his double-handed fly rod. His private MI-2 helicopter, a relic of the Soviet era, is perched on a ridge behind him, the pilot ready to whisk him off to the next salmon pool after lunch. Two quiet Russian fishing guides are hunched over a campfire, cooking him potatoes. “You know,” says the man, with a smile. “It’s good to be at the top.” In Stockholm, James Prosek, the artist and author, and I board the chartered Embraer 145 jet, bound for Murmansk, with…

My mom and dad, Dave and Barbara, owned a little marina in Manasquan, New Jersey. Some of the greatest captains on the East Coast would spend their summers behind my mom and dad’s. I started cleaning boats when I was really young, and I’ve had all the opportunities in the world to stay wet.  One great thing about blue marlin fishing, which was Don Tyson’s passion, is it doesn’t matter where in the world you are — a blue marlin is a blue marlin. From the opportunity of a lifetime working for Don Tyson, I was extended a second opportunity of a lifetime, and that’s working for Johnny Morris. [John] loves going to Cat Cay [Bahamas] looking for bluefin tuna. And honestly, it’s not for the faint of heart. Seeing…

Growing up in Vancouver, British Columbia, I was always on or around the water. My dad was a tugboat captain, and the marine environment was my favorite thing to photograph. I worked as a photographer for a fishing lodge in northern British Columbia on and off for 15 years, and when the company opened an offshore operation in Panama in the early 2000s, they offered to send me south. I was shooting for the Vancouver Canucks as a backup photographer at the time, and the NHL team made it to the Stanley Cup Finals. I had to pick between game seven or Panama. I found out that rather than shooting the final game of the series, I was going to be stationed under the arena doing edits for the main…

I RUN A 2021 CHITTUM SNAKE BITE. It’s a 100 percent carbon, 18-foot skiff with a fivehatch layout. This was one of the original layouts from the early 2000s when Chittum was trying to come up with the ultimate guide boat, with plenty of storage and a large live well. My first Chittum was the two-hatch layout, but because of the variety of fishing I do, the company offered to bring this one back into production for me and have built a bunch of them since. I don’t fish live bait like I used to, but I have a 35-gallon live well behind the helm. I had Chittum install two 1,100-gph, run-dry live well pumps on a bilge manifold system like you would see in a Viking sportfish. If I…

If we’re lucky, we get to experience many milestone birthdays. Some are more fun than others. Eighteen and 21 stand out, as the rest ebb toward the reality that we’re no longer young bucks who can battle through everything with the resolve of an age-defying vampire. This past May, I turned 50. A big one for sure, but it wasn’t so much the number; it was more about coming to terms with being “old” that was messing with my head. I’m standing midstream in the river of life, gazing at the rocks and riffles below and casually glancing upstream for any fishy spots I may have missed along the way. Some guys go a little haywire as they wade further into midlife. They may jump into an expensive sports car…

The late-90s, forest green, nearly rusted-out Chevy Suburban pulls into the train station parking lot in Stamford, Connecticut. It’s late summer circa 2019, and I am drenched to the bone in sweat, still donning my corporate fatigues after having caught a last-minute express train uptown from Manhattan’s Financial District and an express Metro North commuter. Such is the existence of the boatless, carless weekend warrior when a last-minute invite for a bluefin tuna trip pops up. The invitation to fish came from Colin and Ryan Kelly, brothers whom I’ve known most of my life dating back to high school. Ambition and itinerance have carried them a long way since our intrepid teenage exploits. Patience, however, does not rank high among their virtues. Had I arrived at the predetermined rally point…