The fever's here.

One can quite literally see its affect on land and ocean, along the beach front and under bridges, on jetties and rock piles be it bay or sea, and on skiffs and dinghies and dories and cruisers and crafts of all shapes and sizes.

Its fervor is heard everywhere.

The gas station attendant invariably questions, “you catchin’ yet?” this time of year. “The weakies are running,” reports the mailman. And the woman standing in line at the local hardware store? That woman who’s a member of the Board of Education as well as the city’s Planning Board, and the one who manages the church food closet? “Caught a keeper striper yesterday!” she boasts.

Yes, fishing fever is here. It’s more like a fishing frenzy in Cape May, a town with eleven commandments — thou shall fish rounding out the bunch. A place where being “seaworthy” is next to Godliness. An island uniquely placed where the Delaware Bay shakes hands with the Atlantic Ocean.

Fishing begins earlier in the year in Cape May than in most other seaside towns along the New Jersey coast. The warmer bay waters lure mackerel and herring mid-March, followed quickly by weakfish and the most revered of all local fish — the striped bass, known simply as “striper” in these parts. To land a “keeper” striper, one measuring 28 inches or longer, is certainly a trophy to brag about.

Living by the sea — and for some, from the sea — generates extraordinary circumstances and responsibilities. It becomes a way of life with its own language, both verbal and physical.

Notice the barefoot man riding an old bike, milk carton strapped to the back and fishing pole in hand. Anywhere else, one would consider him secondary, hardly worth the glance. But in Cape May, he’s the vice president of one of the largest insurance agencies in the state.

Annually, spring fishing begins on land and sea. Party boat captains — those who earn their living running charters — fish for the mackerel and herring for use as bait during the summer months when fishing for the larger catch. During this mackerel “trip” as it is called, the fish are caught hand over fist, most poles averaging six hooks apiece.

“Captain Fred” Ascoli runs the Miss Chris Fishing Fleet out of Cape May.

With eyes ever watchful and words matter-of- fact, his face does not belie the fact he’s a man who’s spent most of his life at sea – respectful and reverent of its ways, reaping its benefits. Living off the sea is a difficult existence, financially inconsistent at best and deadly at worst. A life governed solely by the weather where one checks wind conditions and tide tables as regularly as a landlubber glances at a watch.

But Captain Fred says he wouldn’t have it any other way. The sea is everything, he says and plans to fish as long as he’s able.

“I’ve loved to fish since I was a kid,” he told CapeMay.com. “And I’ve always liked taking care of other people fishing. My dad would take me out and I’d help net and cut the bait. As soon as I turned twenty-one, I got my captain’s license.”

Twenty years later, Captain Fred says his knowledge of ocean’s bottom is “priceless.” “Forty miles out, I know every wreck, hole, rock and slew,” he says. “I fish eleven months of the year in every kind of weather imaginable.”

From February through December, the Miss Chris ventures to the “rips” — the natural area at the mouth the bay where the “upwelling” of water entices marine life of all sizes to feed – and further.

“Between the weather, the varieties of fish and the ocean itself, no two days are ever the same,” Captain Fred says. “And that’s the challenge and thrill of it for me. I enjoy seeking out the fish and watching my charters catch them. For many it’s their first fish. Their excitement is mine, and that’s what it’s all about.”

So it seems it’s the challenge of finding and catching – whether keeping or releasing – that leads people to dedicate hours to the hobby and lifetimes to the profession.  On the water, or off, the same thrill is there.