As far as evenings go, it looked unpromising. A thick low cloud clung to the coast, the surf was big and an abnormally high tide had pushed a mountain of water up into the river. As the tide gradually switched from slack to outgoing, the river picked up pace and began to empty back into the sea.
Having fished this river often I knew there was only a few feet of wading room before the drop-off so I gingerly edged forward into the frigid Maine waters in the evening gloom. As I began to throw my rookie double hauls into the current, I had already resigned myself to another skunked striper session.
Today, however, it happened - twice. They were far from monsters but heavy-weights in significance. My first stripers on a fly, and one I tied no less.