No Bunker, No Bass: The Quiet Collapse of the Atlantic Striper Fishery
By: Kaleb Brown
Photo Credit: Joanna Steidle
The Fish That Started it All
I have spent the last 20+ years chasing fish from coast to coast. Salt and fresh, I love them all. But striped bass has a special place in my heart.
My love for striped bass started at 4 ½ years old.
It was 2004, and I remember the buzz and excitement of Atlantic Menhaden, or bunker, as we call them in New England, being in the area. The stripers would use the grounds we fished to chase these oily baitfish and “blitz” them like a school of Piranha.
I threw my pre-rigged, old school 6” bunker colored paddle tail swimbait as far as I could right off the point of the jetty. I was about halfway back to the bank and BANG! It was on, I had my first striper.
The Cape
For the last 8ish years, we have rented a place on Cape Cod (or ‘The Cape’ if you’re from New England) for a week in early June. From the canal to P-Town, we follow the bunker, chasing giant fish all over the horn. Where the bunker are, so are the striped bass.
The Cape is arguably the mecca of all striper fishing. We fish for schooling or blitzing fish—fish on bait, actively feeding. We wait and watch for the boiling or the birds to get up, which leads us into the frenzy. But in recent years, we’ve noticed a change on the water…
We thought it was just us not paying attention, not finding them, or not putting in enough hours—typical hard-headed fisherman’s excuses.
But a lack of improvement over time has forced us to acknowledge that “something is up…where are all of our bunker? They just don’t seem to be here anymore.” It’s not just us.
After speaking with friends and charter captains, it seems like everyone is wondering the same thing. We’ve all seen fewer schooling striped bass, fewer clouds of bunker, and an overall decline in baitfish interaction.
Photo Credit: Joanna Steidle
Catch Quotas
It all starts damn near the bottom of the food chain with the beloved Atlantic Menhaden. Everything eats bunker, but the overharvest in the Chesapeake Bay is affecting the abundance of this baitfish all the way up the Atlantic coast. Our bunker issues in the Cape start farther south.
Catch quotas for the Atlantic Menhaden are managed by the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission (ASMFC), which sets Menhaden catch quotas for all of the Atlantic states. Virginia receives 75% of the total quota of 186,840 metric tons, leaving only 25% for the remaining Atlantic states. For reference, only 2% of the quota is allocated to Massachusetts.
This imbalance in catch quotas has been growing, and New England anglers are starting to feel the effects.
The quota imbalance has ties to a single Canadian industrial company—Omega Protein. Virginia is home to the company’s headquarters and commercial fishing operation. Here, millions of pounds of menhaden are harvested, processed, and transported away. Only 32% of the menhaden caught in the Atlantic stay local to be used as bait; the other 68% is exported for industrial use by Omega Protein.
This one Canadian fish farming operation is responsible for harvesting nearly 75% of the entire Atlantic menhaden quota, extracting a local resource, and exporting it abroad. Not to mention netting and killing every other species that swims in the bay.
Omega Protein images courtesy of CosmoVision Media
A Chain Reaction
As an angler, it’s pretty easy to understand the equation: the more food you take from the fish, the less fish there will be as a whole. But this goes beyond my inability to find blitzing fish on the Cape anymore. If bunker don’t return in larger quantities, it will affect Massachusetts’ entire fishing industry.
The Cape Cod charter industry runs on striped bass. Captains book trips months in advance, they employ mates, fill hotel rooms, and keep local restaurants busy. Most community tackle shops depend on these few good striper fishing months to carry them through the year. When bunker aren’t there, the bass aren’t there. When the bass aren’t there, the boats don’t go out. It’s a simple chain, and it’s already starting to break.
Up and down the coast, lobstermen and commercial fishermen rely on menhaden as bait. A reduction in bait supply drives higher prices, increasing operational risk for small businesses already running on thin margins. Some commercial fishermen are already turning to alternative bait just to stay afloat, which means this pivots from a fishing problem into a working waterfront problem, and one that is stretching from Virginia to Maine.
Then there’s the longer game. Striped bass are one of the most sought-after recreational fish on the East Coast. The communities, the culture, and the economy are built around them. All of it depends on a healthy forage base. Without bunker, you lose the blitz and eventually the fishery.
Photo Credit: Joanna Steidle
Public Petition
The science points clearly to two actions for healthy menhaden levels: reducing the total allowable catch and reallocating state quotas so that no single state (or corporation) takes 75% of a shared public resource.
The good news is we have a voice and an opportunity to use it.
This fall, the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission’s Menhaden Management Board has two critical votes scheduled for its November meeting. They will vote to set the total allowable catch for the 2027-2028 season. With enough public pressure, they may vote to initiate a reallocation process that would finally give other Atlantic states their fair share of the menhaden quota, a positive outcome for recreational anglers, charter captains, and coastal communities up and down the coast.
If you’re interested in having your voice heard, the TRCP has a petition up right now directed at the Menhaden Management Board. It takes two minutes. Go to their website, sign it, and add your name to the voices calling for a fairer, more sustainable quota system before that November meeting.
The Striper Culture
Over the last two decades, I’ve continued honing my fishing obsession, from competitive bass and walleye fishing to crappie and ice fishing. I love them all. But every summer, I still make my way back to the Cape with some of my closest friends to chase the fish that started it all.
That fish I dragged across the beach as a four-year-old didn’t just put the bug in me. It connected me to something bigger—a fishery, a culture, a coastline full of people who feel the same way I do. I want that for the next generation of four-year-olds on the jetty, but they’ll only get it if we fight for it now.