The first signs of the spring rockfish run come to Sandy Point and Matapeake parks. Surf rods, some of them 12 to 14 feet long, will be strung out, poised in rod holders along the pier and beaches. Bundled up in insulated winter coats and camouflaged hunting attire and settled in on aluminum lawn chairs, these anglers have found the cure for cabin fever.

     You may not be able to wet a line in February, but you can immerse yourself in Maryland fishing shows.      Flyfishers won’t want to miss the 19th annual Lefty Kreh Tie Fest, put on by longtime conservation and fishing enthusiast Tony Friedrich. He has been gathering the who’s who among East Coast fly-fishing and fly-tying to share their knowledge, skills and love of the long-rod sport.

    Got a mid-winter hankerin’ to tangle with a five-plus-pound walleye? How about a citation-sized yellow perch, crappie or bluegill? If that doesn’t tempt you, how about some big smallmouth and largemouth bass, trout or a fat winter pickerel?

     Yes, I know temperatures have plunged into single digits lately. It’s best to consider these events as just the last freeze before the thaw.        The days are getting longer, and already a number of finned species are beginning to respond. February is only a week away, and that’s when yellow perch begin staging to ascend the tributaries to spawn. That’s a cause to rejoice.

      Many of Maryland’s hidden gems, its wild wetland birds and animals, are not-so-obvious treasures that few of us fully notice. Unless you’ve the fiery curiosity of youth coupled with the unusual desire to brave hungry mosquitoes, gnats and biting flies, you’ll usually be unaware of the many species of hawks, herons, owls, kingfishers, waterfowl and even the eagles that reside and flourish among the Chesapeake’s wetlands.

      As I walked down a row of cornstalks a half mile long and firmly grasping the seven-pound shotgun in my arms, my breath in the 10-degree air was coming a little harder with each step. I slowed my pace to keep abreast of my two partners, and we continued to push out that last narrow growth of corn, all that remained of a crop that was in the final stage of harvest. We strongly suspected a bunch of big ringneck pheasants were moving just in front of us.

      Someone in our blind hissed, “Four coming in, right in front. ” We had been straining our eyes for almost an hour, peering out over a broad river for a sign of waterfowl, and now these had appeared as if from nowhere. My hand eased toward my long black Benelli leaning in its perch along the front of our hide.

      Christmas shopping for a dedicated angler is tough.        As editor Sandra Martin wrote a couple weeks back, “Sporting Life columnist Dennis Doyle regularly warns against giving tackle to anglers. Why? Because unless you’re as expert as they are, you’re vulnerable to making a choice they’ll scorn.”

      From the front window, I saw the trees about my house were finally still. The sun was shining at last, the forecast was for 60 degrees and one more day on the water suddenly looked possible. After all, rockfish season was still open.

      It was with grim amusement that I read the recent headline, “Bay oyster population cut in half from 1999.” A keystone natural resource crustacean that was once both numerous and largely responsible for a Bay water clarity approaching 30 feet is continuing its torturous decline. Could it finally be time for a radical shift in our resource management policy?