Striped bass decline threatens East Coast fishing tradition

Scientists cite human, ecological pressures on $8 billion striped bass fishery

On most October nights, Bill Wetzel can be found navigating the shores of Montauk in a modified 4x4 pickup truck, rumbling over boulders and thick sand as he scans the Atlantic for signs of life. He logs where he spots seams in the water’s currents, cuts in sandbars, points and coves, troughs along the shoreline, or birds working over bait pushed to the surface by predators. Between nocturnal surfcasting customers, he tunes his VHF radio to the marine forecast ahead of a mid-afternoon nap; the squawking voice tells him something new, and he mutters “Northwest …” aloud, pondering what the wind change might mean for his next outing. He already knows the tides, the moon phase and the best spots to fish under whatever conditions the ocean offers. What he doesn’t know is whether there will be any fish left to catch.

The uncertainty reaches far beyond one guide’s nightly rounds. In some years, fishermen make more than 17 million fishing trips seeking striped bass. Scientists say the species is in decline because of a host of human-caused, environmental and ecological changes, putting the $8 billion industry in jeopardy and threatening a generations-old tradition of standing on the ocean’s edge trying to catch a fish that can grow larger than 50 pounds (23 kilograms).

Wetzel grew up striper fishing and wants that for the next generation. He is obsessed with understanding and finding these fish and, contrary to what one might expect, he doesn’t want to kill them. Instead, he wants to save them so future generations get the opportunity to enjoy the sport he loves. He has led fishermen to Montauk in search of stripers for more than 25 years and is one of the best-known guides on Long Island. He uses his social media platforms to talk conservation, and he remembers the collapse of the stock decades ago that led to a fishing shutdown in the mid-1980s. He doesn’t want to relive those days, but he fears it’s coming. “I haven’t seen a blitz in four years,” Wetzel said, referring to the chaotic feeding frenzies that were once a hallmark of Montauk’s shores. “There’s no small fish left. They’re gone.” More and more, he said, the only fish left are big ones, because the population isn’t replenishing itself.

Jason Markowitz, an IT professional who lives outside New York City and is the former president of the Montauk Surfcasters Association, is among the anglers who still swim out to Montauk’s offshore rocks, proven fishing grounds where strong waves can push you around and predators swim at your feet. He said the chilly swim is worth it “if the fish are there.” Increasingly, he said, they aren’t. “You’ve got a lot of folks that are finding fish but it really is a case of ‘last of the buffalo,’” Markowitz said.

John Skinner, 65, has been fishing for stripers on Long Island since he was a boy of 10 or younger, and he has become one of the most respected authorities on striped bass fishing. Asked about the current state of the striped bass industry and the population decline, he offered two words: “It sucks.” Skinner, who runs a popular YouTube channel about striper fishing and has authored a book on the subject, now hits his prime spots on Long Island’s North Fork and sometimes leaves empty-handed. He is inclined to let scientists come up with reasons for the decline, but he said he can’t help noticing a lack of small fish such as menhaden for the stripers to feed on, and a lack of other large predatory fish beyond just stripers. Surrounded by decades-old fishing lures in his office, he recalled his days on the family boat in the early 1970s. “What do you do with a little kid to keep him out of your hair,” Skinner said. “Give him a rod and some worms.”

John Mahan has fished Montauk since 1987, and this is the first year he hasn’t caught a striper. “What it was like, back in the later ’80s and ’90s, was spectacular,” said Mahan, who fishes from the rocks in a black hoodie and waders beneath a drooping white mustache. With 40 years of fishing behind him, he fears the way to save the stripers might be to leave them alone entirely for a while — hard, because striper fishing is in his blood, but sometimes it feels like the only way.

Montauk sits at “The End” of Long Island, and its waters are historically renowned for producing some of the best striper fishing in the world. Part of the draw has always been the danger and the dynamic environment: sand beaches, boulder-strewn points and swift currents that pull bait into coves where fishermen can intercept big predators chasing their forage. “The lighthouse kind of draws you in,” Mahan said on an October trip. “Beautiful conditions. There should be fish here right now.”

For a long time, Montauk’s unofficial motto was “a small drinking village with a big fishing problem.” “Not anymore,” Wetzel said, lamenting a change in culture. Once a blue-collar fishing town, the community has become increasingly hard to distinguish from the ultrawealthy enclaves of the Hamptons — a slow transformation that took place over decades and accelerated in the 2000s. But fishermen who have journeyed there for generations say it still maintains an identity all its own. Wetzel said he still loves Montauk, and fishing. “It’s in me. If it’s not in you, a lot of guys come and go. It’s not in you. Plus, I mean, look at this. Look at this — that’s why,” he said, motioning to the surf and the ocean beyond it.