“There were only two guys in here before you, so you should be able to get a good spot.”

It was 4:45 a.m. on April 18, 2024, fifteen minutes after Frankie Z opened Grumpy’s Tackle for business. He rung up my two dozen fresh clams, elastic thread, and clam knife, then wished me luck as I hurried out the door, hoping to lock down some prime bayside real estate for a long day’s soak.

By mid-April, the spring striper run had been progressing nicely, with a good showing of bass in New Jersey’s back bays. Bloodworms had been producing well, or at least well enough for fishermen to shell out $24 (or more) per dozen. On April 12, a fisherman tending a rod baited with one of those $2 apiece annelids had a big takedown while fishing a back-bay mud flat. While he might have briefly entertained thoughts of striper-fishing glory, what instead emerged from the stained waters was a bewhiskered, high-shouldered behemoth, booming out its presence for all to hear.

Surf-caught black drum happen in New Jersey every season. Between Cape May and Sandy Hook, at least a few lucky, bait-dunking surfcasters catch them out of the suds. Most of these surf-caught drum are random one-offs, with follow-up catches a rarity. That April 12 drum could have been no different, but reports of its capture inspired more anglers to try their luck fishing bait on the bayside beaches. Around this time, Grumpy’s Tackle received a fresh shipment of in-shell surf clams.

In the Delaware Bay, where captains like Bob Cope are fully booked with drum trips from May to mid-June, live, in-shell surf clams are at a premium. Black drum evolved to feed by scent in murky waters, using their barbels to “taste” the mud and nearby waters for prey; therefore, they are discerning about which hooked baits they’ll eat. In many circumstances, the mighty striped bass—a prime example of an opportunist—is more easily tempted by expired, stinking clams than black drum would be.

Over the following days, dozens of anglers armed with fresh clams hit the bayside beaches of Ocean County, and many of them caught drum—some catching as many as five in a trip. Boat fishermen and kayakers followed suit, anchoring up beyond the casting range of shore fishermen, where they too hooked drumfish. No one could recall this many drum being caught in the region at any time in recent memory.

Visions of sliding a big black drum onto the shore played through my mind as I squelched through the bayside mud. Up ahead, I saw two anglers huddled together and realized that one was tight to a fish. Following it along the beach, they walked by, and I asked, full of hope, “Drum?”

“Striper,” replied the angler, sounding somewhat deflated by the revelation.

It was, in fact, a beautiful striped bass, one that had overgrown the slot limit by a few inches. Striped bass almost always occupy the top of the angling hierarchy here in the Northeast, but with a rare opportunity presenting itself, stripers were suddenly playing second fiddle to black drum.

After releasing the bass, the angler walked past me again as I spun up a fish-finder rig with 40-pound fluorocarbon, a 7/0 circle hook, and a braided-line-friendly sinker slide. He had hoped to catch a drum before he had to leave for work, and he very nearly had his wish.

I was still readying my tackle for my first cast when the same angler’s rod went down hard under the weight of a heavier fish. The headshakes looked thunderous, though the fish didn’t run all that far. As he again followed it down the shore, it surfaced about 20 yards out, bludgeoning the water with a broad tail. And then the line broke.

By that time, the horizon was lightening, and the angler had to leave. Other fishermen were arriving as he departed, staking claims and setting their rods. The atmosphere was friendly, as bait fishing often is—besides watching the rod tips and freshening the clams, there’s plenty of time left for conversation.

As the number of fishermen grew to six, we began talking about the drum, why they were there, what this might mean for the blue crab population, and how long they might stay. Throughout the morning, we were periodically interrupted by stripers taking our fresh clams. I caught two, my first two stripers of the season, and felt a little guilty for thinking of them as “bycatch.”

As the sun rose higher, the stripers stopped biting, which left the remaining anglers (down to three by 10 a.m.) with nothing to do but shoot the breeze. I met Gary Gant, a lifetime fishermen whose friend had caught that first drum on a bloodworm. He’d been back several times and had gotten one of his own the previous Friday, a 40-plus-pounder. His girlfriend then one-upped him by landing a fish estimated to weigh more than 60 pounds. He was hoping to catch one more before this unprecedented run petered out.

Around noon, the fisherman occupying what seemed like the pole position, left, explaining that he’d been there since the previous afternoon (when he caught three drum) and needed some food and a rest. I considered pulling up stakes and taking his spot, but I ruminated on it for too long because another fishermen showed up and settled right in the last angler’s bootprints. Within fifteen minutes, he was tight to a drum.

The fish, a 20-pounder, fought stubbornly, hanging on the surface and refusing to yield ground as its scales, the color of tarnished silver, glinted in the midday sun. The angler landed the fish and released it, accepting the congratulations, and unspoken envy, of the other fishermen. An hour or so passed until I spotted Scott Thomas, a manager from Grumpy’s Tackle, down the shore a bit. I freshened my bait, re-cast, and left the rod fishing while I went to say hello.

It was a brief conversation. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw the other anglers gathering around my rod, looking at the tip. I began a brisk walk back until Gary Gant picked up the rod. Then I started running.

By the time I arrived, panting and out of breath, Gary had put the rod in the holder, saying that whatever had taken the bait had apparently dropped it. I wanted to change the bait, but fearing I’d pull it away from the fish, I let it sit for a few minutes until I noticed the line had fallen slack.

I reeled in several yards, with no resistance, until the line came tight and a force at the other end came to life. I didn’t have to wonder very long about what I’d hooked, as the drum came right to the surface, its underslung mouth giving it away.

It was small, as drum go, a 15- or 20-pounder, but it was caught from shore on an outing dedicated to targeting them. A few minutes after I released my fish, Gary hooked one of his own, a fish more than twice the size of mine, which he also released.

In mid-May, the action transitioned from the bayside to the surf, with the numbers of drum caught continuing to impress. On May 19, Scott Thomas and friends caught 14 drum, with the fishing fast enough that Scott had to run back to Grumpy’s to get more clams. On May 20, anglers including Nick Honachefsky beached drum to 60 pounds. After vanishing from the bay for a few weeks, the fish had charged back in on the ocean side, bigger and in seemingly greater numbers.

While we spend each offseason planning for the bites and good fishing we expect to happen, it’s those unexpected occurrences that give each season in the surf its own unique flavor that helps it stand out in our memories. For me, the flavor at the start of my 2024 surf-fishing season was a blend of fresh clams, Wawa coffee, and a dash of drum slime.

UPDATE: 4/28/25

The drum are back in 2025, with anglers reporting another strong run in Bargenat Bay.