I’d rather be plugging the bar for stripers. The roar of the surf couples with hoots of “Fish on!” as, after several boils on a surface plug, a feeding striped bass feels the hard, cold bite of steel. I love the heart-thumping chase-and-take of stripers on popping plugs in the whitewater. Plus, I don’t need a boatload of tackle or a lot of time, since the action occurs right along the beach. In fact, I often head out before work. One morning, I got my fish, but it spit up a live squid that promptly inked me. Fortunately, the attendees at my 9 a.m. meeting were gracious about my purple shirt and chum-slick cologne.