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Angler coast down journey striper

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On the Run: An Angler's Journey Down the Striper Coast
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David DiBenedetto is the editor in chief of Garden & Gun magazine. He is the author of On the Run: An Angler’s Journey Down the Striper Coast and the editor of the. Sep 01,  · On the Run has 94 ratings and 13 reviews. Eric said: Eric GattoniMrs. ZuckerAmerican Literature Period 5January 15, A Great ReadThe book On the /5(13). Find great deals for On the Run: An Angler's Journey down the Striper Coast by David DiBenedetto (, Paperback). Shop with confidence on eBay!


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Angler coast down journey striper
Find great deals for On the Run: An Angler's Journey down the Striper Coast by David DiBenedetto (, Paperback). Shop with confidence on eBay! David DiBenedetto is the editor in chief of Garden & Gun magazine. He is the author of On the Run: An Angler’s Journey Down the Striper Coast and the editor of the. On the Run: An Angler's Journey Down the Striper Coast, by David DiBenedetto. The official site of the book, including an excerpt, photos from the trip, a list of top.
Angler coast down journey striper
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Angler coast down journey striper Angler coast down journey striper
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Angler coast down journey striper Angler coast down journey striper
David DiBenedetto is the editor in chief of Garden & Gun magazine. He is the author of On the Run: An Angler’s Journey Down the Striper Coast and the editor of the. Each autumn, one of nature's most magnificent dramas plays out when striped bass undertake a journey, from the northeastern United States to the Outer Banks of North. On The Run, An Angler's Journey Down The Striper Coast. This is a splendid book for the avid Striper fisherman, which describes me to a large degree/5(3).
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Javascript is not enabled in your browser. Enabling JavaScript in your browser will allow you to experience all the features of our site. Learn how to enable JavaScript on your browser. Each autumn, one of nature's most magnificent dramas plays out when striped bass undertake a journey, from the northeastern United States to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, in search of food and warmer seas.

Along his route, DiBenedetto also delves into the natural history and biology of this great game fish, and depicts the colorful cultures of the seaside communities where the striped bass reigns supreme. He is the author of On the Run: Truth was, whizzing in my neoprene bodysuit was the least of my worries. I was standing at the edge of the roiling Atlantic in Montauk, New York. Clouds covered the sliver of a moon, the chilly October night as black as the bottom of a well.

In a few minutes I would follow Melnyk into the ocean. We planned to lie on our backs, fishing rods held under our arms, and kick our way three hundred yards offshore. Once there, we would float on the current that ran parallel to the beach, casting live eels for striped bass. After we were carried for a half mile or so, we would kick back to where we started and begin the drift again.

Melnyk, a Montauk local who invented this form of angling, calls it skishing a cross between skiing and fishing, since large stripers often towed him like a water-skier. As one guide told me before my skishing adventure, Melnyk was on "the extreme end of extreme. The night before our trip, a surf fisherman, with both feet on shore, had landed a fifty-pound striper, and Melnyk wanted to best that mark.

He was sure the fish was an indication of a school of trophy striped bass in the area. There was no turning back. We huddled behind a large dune to zip our wet suits and run through an equipment check. His levity was lost on me. I knew enough about the area to realize that the threat of sharks was no joke. A little more than a decade back, a Montauk charter boat had landed a monstrous great white seventeen feet, 3, pounds that had been snacking on a dead whale not far from the point, and just that summer a fourteen-foot mako had been pilfering stripers from the ends of fishermen's lines and ramming boats near Cape Cod.

Up and down the East Coast, had been the summer of the shark. There were also rip currents, some of which ran at eight knots. If we got caught in the wrong place, we would be shot out into the ocean as if on a water-park ride. Remember, this is a shore break.

These waves can pick you up and slam you on the beach. It'll ruin your week. Once we clear them it's easy sailing -- make that kicking. The surf zone was a cauldron of white water, and beyond it the sea's lumps melded with the sky.

When the water reached our knees, we dropped on our backs and pulled on our flippers. With the waves rushing to shore, it was a clumsy endeavor, and twice I rolled face first into the water before succeeding. We were kicking side by side when the first breaker rushed over us.

I swallowed a mouthful of seawater and bobbed to the surface. Melnyk hooted with delight. The next wave lifted me up and carried me tumbling back where I'd started. I gathered myself and pushed off again. In less than thirty seconds we were out of the surf, rising and falling on the choppy waves of the ocean. At fifty-six degrees, the water breaching our wet suits was breath-stealing.

On the crest of each wave I could see the shore. TV sets were flashing muted blues and reds in the windows of the beach motels above the dunes. I found myself envious of the occupants, who had little fear of disappearing into the Atlantic. Suddenly there was a surface commotion just in front of our heads, like a broom slapping the water. Eventually Melnyk yelled, "We're here, man. The thick wet suits provided enough buoyancy to keep us chest high in the gin-clear water.

I flipped my headlamp on; it illuminated a circle in front of me, the strobe reaching toward the bottom. I could see my purple flippers flexing as I flutter-kicked to stabilize myself. I wondered what could see me from below, and inched closer to Melnyk. Melnyk kept each eel in an individual sandwich-size Ziploc bag for easy handling.

He passed one to me. It squirmed within its plastic confines as I hooked it through the jaw. With the hook in place I pulled hard, ripping the bag and freeing the eel.

It danced on the end of my line. If I didn't cast soon, it would tie itself and the line into a slimy knot. I turned my light off. Melnyk already had his eel in the water. He was floating about ten feet from me.

His black neoprene hood combined with his surf rod rising from the surface made him look like a seagoing knight, his trusty steed a sea creature from Proteus's flock. As I went to cast, Melnyk's rod quivered, then bent deeply. He reared back on the fish, then yelled, "Oh baby, they're here. See All Customer Reviews.

Read an excerpt of this book! Overview On the Run: HarperCollins Publishers Publication date: Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Available now wherever books are sold. A Journey Back Home. At the age of seventeen, in At the age of seventeen, in , he led the civil rights movement in Madison. He did voter-registration work, sit-ins at restaurants, and recreational facilities, conducted training seminars, and demonstrated in Pearce and his wife Emily are living in Bath, when Minister of War Henry Dundas turns up and suggests a second mission to the Vendee, this time as a liaison between the French emigres intending to land in Brittany Reminiscent of novels by Nick Hornby, Muriel Barbery, and Jonathan Tropper,internationally acclaimed novelist David Foenkinosdelivers a heartfelt and deftly comedic tale of new love brightening the darkaftermath of loss—and of wounded hearts finding refuge in the strangest ofplaces.

In , year-old Robin Lee Graham began a solo around-the-world voyage from San Pedro, California, in a foot sloop. Five years and 33, miles later, he returned to home port with a wife and daughter and enough extraordinary experiences to Girl in the Woods. On her second night of college, Aspen was raped by a I Was Right on Time: As a first baseman and then manager of the legendary Kansas City Monarchs, O'Neil witnessed the heyday of the Negro leagues

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