From Trout to Tides: How Keene State Sparked My Saltwater Fly-Fishing Obsession
I began my formal college journey at Keene State, but the road there wasn’t a straight one. After my (honorable) discharge from the Marines in 1988, I tried my hand at a few different career paths—law enforcement first, then working as an EMT in the bustling Metro Boston area. My wife and I were living in Nashua at the time, and I was balancing the chaos of commuting to Boston, working long hours, and taking night classes as I pursued a career in healthcare. Nursing seemed like a solid direction, but life had other plans.
My wife, a rising star in sales, saw potential in a different path for me. She took a bold step, accepting a new job out in Keene, and convinced me to go back to college full-time. So, we packed up our lives and moved west, giving me the chance to focus entirely on my studies. I switched gears, turning my focus to business at Keene State. A couple of years later, we moved back to Nashua, and I ultimately finished my degree at UNH. But those years in Keene left their mark—not just in the classroom but in the outdoors.
The move westward gave me the chance to explore the rivers, lakes, and streams of New Hampshire’s Monadnock Region. Ironically, it was also the start of my saltwater fly-fishing journey, though I never expected that connection. One day, I rolled onto the Keene State campus in my old Dodge Dakota. On the front was a license plate frame that read, “Wild Trout, Catch & Release.” It didn’t take long for someone to notice.
As I climbed out of the truck, an older man, another non-traditional student, called out to me. He was sitting on the steps of one of the campus buildings, and he asked, “Ever fished for stripers with a fly rod?”
“No,” I admitted, “I don’t know anything about that.”
He grinned and took me under his wing. Over the next few weeks, he shared stories, tips, and techniques. When I mentioned that my wife’s family spent a week every year in Falmouth on Cape Cod, his eyes lit up. He told me exactly where to fish, what gear to use, and how to approach the saltwater game. To top it off, he handed me a small handful of chartreuse Clouser Minnows, promising they’d be my ticket to success.
That summer, I decided to put his advice to the test. It was mid-June, and we were down on the Cape. The outgoing tide was supposed to start around 6 PM, so I made my way to the shore around 7. My 7-8 weight rod felt light in my hand, and the evening was picture-perfect. The sun hung low in the western sky, casting a golden glow over everything. The air was warm, high 70s, maybe low 80s, with a gentle offshore breeze that carried the salty scent of the ocean.
I walked to the outflow of a nearby saltwater pond, where the tide rushed through a boulder-lined channel into the open sea. The water was alive, churning with the strength of the outgoing tide. I tied on one of the chartreuse Clousers my friend had given me, cast into the swift current, and began a slow, deliberate retrieve, mixing in the occasional twitch for good measure.
It didn’t take long. BAM! The line went tight, and I felt the raw power of the fish on the other end. I was hooked—not just to the fish, but to the entire experience. The salt air, the rhythmic crash of the waves, the electric jolt of a striper striking the fly—it was intoxicating.
For the next hour, I stood at that tidal outflow, catching one schoolie striper after another, each around 15 inches and as strong as the iconic Marine Bulldog! They were feasting on the minnows swept out of the pond by the current, and I was right there in the middle of it, casting, stripping, and landing fish after fish. By the end of it, I was drenched in sweat, my arms pleasantly sore, and my thumb raw and scraped from gripping each striper’s jaw, their rough teeth leaving their mark. I hadn’t even noticed until I was on my way home, but the sting felt like a badge of honor—a tangible reminder of an unforgettable night—and my heart brimmed with a newfound passion for saltwater fly fishing. The ocean had reeled me in, body and soul.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, I packed up my gear and headed back to the house. My wife smiled when I walked through the door, my face still glowing from the thrill of the evening. We fired up the grill, the aroma of sizzling burgers filling the air. I cracked open a cold IPA, the perfect end to a perfect day. Sitting there on the porch, the Cape breeze brushing my skin, I relived the joy of each cast and each strike. That day wasn’t just the start of my saltwater fly-fishing journey—it was a reminder of life’s simple pleasures: the water, the fish, and the peace that comes at the end of a long, fulfilling day.
