OK, who was the numbnuts who kept begging for west winds to persevere so ocean temps would drop and bassing would begin in autumnal earnestness? Oh, right, that was me, wasn’t it? Hey, egging on the westerlies seemed like the right move when we had a 65-degree ocean into November and the onshore winds – and accompanying storms – just wouldn’t quit fouling up fishing.
Well, the westerlies are feeling their frosty oats and have energetically assumed a dominance that’ll last until spring.
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