Predator, Prey

The waves were alive, with the splashing of fish. Which mandated that we chart a new course, post haste.

We had set out for a nice summer boat ride, with a plan to venture out of the river and into the Atlantic Ocean to watch the salvage of a fishing boat that had wrecked a month ago. Approaching the scene, we were surprised at the number of boats bobbing offshore on a Monday afternoon. Why were they paying little heed to the tall crane on the large barge that was lifting a ragged hull from the water?

The salvage operation was not the main event. There were thousands of fish around us, a massive school swirling and breaking the surface of the water. Which meant one thing: they were desperate to evade something bigger, something that was driving them toward the shoreline.

We sprang into action. Fishing poles and net were pulled from the cabin. Tackle boxes were liberated from a cabinet. No need for bait: Cast a line into the swarm and enlist a live one.

The next plan that changed was dinner. Main course: Striped Bass in Agrodolce Sauce. The recipe calls for farm-raised fish, for which we happily substituted our fine wild specimen. Approximately 28 inches in length, it weighed in at 28 pounds.

The local newspaper featured a story about fraud in the fishing industry, where inexpensive species are deliberately mislabeled and marketed as higher-priced, more desirable types. These days, it is a rare privilege to look your food in the eye. I know what I ate.