A Dying Ecosystem

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Samuel Hayes Barrett


I rose before the sun. At about 4:30 AM I paddled out to my boat to go fishing, a July tradition of mine that started 20 years ago in highschool. At first it was my dad and I, chasing Striped bass all over Boston Harbour, we would run the boat from Minute’s light off the coast of Cohasset all the way up to egg rock up by Marblehead searching for the biggest, strongest fish in the harbor. Honestly, we started it to have something to do after the pandemic and the lockdown. Soon though, we both had commercial fishing licenses and the fifty-dollar price-tag on an average fish, made for a nice supplement to my odd summer jobs. As far as I can remember, we caught our biggest fish that first year, a rare 60 pound Striped Bass.

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