No single fish swimming Virginia waters has caused the kind of decades-old debate that menhaden have.
Jennifer Westhoff stands in a high meadow, swinging a black leather falcon lure by a long string. Imitating a circling crow, she whirls it in broad, lasso-like loops before slinging it high into the air.
by Eric Wallace
The day will find me biking some 12 miles down the beach to the southern tip of the 3,884-acre False Cape State Park. With public entry restricted to foot travel, pedal power, boat and shuttle, it is one of the state’s hardest to access and most rarely visited parks. I plan to explore and camp deep in its interior.
Unlike most officially designated “Bike Parks,” Fire Mountain is a do-it-yourself affair. There is no chairlift or shuttle service; reaching the top requires two miles of uphill pedaling and, if you’re not in top shape, some occasional pushing.
His brown rubber apron is covered with a healthy coat of slime, scales and blood. His gloves too. The whole place stinks of dead fish. But any notion of that being a bad thing is lost on Jim Lyons.
Hundreds of boats cut through the waters of Hampton Roads on any given day, especially when summer comes around. Cruisers, sailboats and fishing boats aplenty: They all make the thousands of square miles of local waters their playground.