There’s a moment before sunset, especially in a slack tide, when things tend to slow on Long Island Sound. It feels like the world holds its breath. The water goes glassy, and the gulls fall quiet, suggesting that the bite switch has been flipped off, too. Beneath, though, is a different story, especially on a late-June evening such as this.
Just as the tide starts to ease, striped bass lie in wait, ambushing the menhaden that are being swept past. There’s no better habitat for this kind of foraging than the craggy mouth at the eastern terminus of Long Island Sound, where it swaps tides with the Atlantic at an excess of 4 knots. The Race is as apt a name as any, and there may be no better congregation of fish within the Sound’s 110-mile span. Anglers face a challenge here: catching the tide just right. You need a certain type of vessel for the job.
Pursuit’s DC 365 is the ideal vessel for the work. The builder’s do-it-all dual consoles make for great joy riders, cocktail cruisers and weekenders alike, but they also keep the itinerant angler top of mind.
I had boarded the boat earlier in the day, from the dock at Atlantic Outboard, a Pursuit dealer in Westbrook, Connecticut. On the ride out to the Race, our crew had all the fishing cockpit and angling accoutrements we needed, along with plenty of places to lounge. We threaded the narrow Menunketesuck River channel with hardly any more breadth than her 12-foot beam, and the boat moved like she knew where she was going. The triple 350-hp
F-series Yamaha outboards absolutely punched it when we got out past the no-wake zone.
The Pursuit’s cockpit looks wide and clean—uncluttered, but purposeful. There are enough rod holders to be taken seriously. Port and starboard insulated fish boxes wait like promises. There’s a livewell to port and two stowable benches. When they were folded up, I hardly noticed their presence, a testament to this boat’s multipurpose design.
I’ve fished smaller vessels, where every move felt like a negotiation. On the DC 365, everything has its place—and it stays there, even in chop. This Pursuit’s three-piece build means there’s no chattering of fiberglass or decking. Everything sits flush atop the molded piece beneath it, and the boat feels battle-ready.
But the Pursuit is also designed with entertainment in mind. There’s a flow from the cockpit past the galley and up into the bridge, where seating is arranged for conversation, comfort on a long haul, or watching a spread of lines while trolling. “The nice thing about the Pursuits is they’re so versatile,” says Evan Cusson, whose family owns Atlantic Outboard. The DC 365 is Evan’s personal boat. “You know, it could be a young family getting into boating. It could be an 80-year-old guy who’s had a hundred boats. But we get guys who fish. We get guys who cruise, and that’s the unique thing about a dual console like this. You could load this boat up with seven couples and go to Montauk or Block, or even to Sag Harbor for lunch. Or, you could do what we’re doing—go to the Race and hammer some striped bass.”
A lot of people agree with that idea. You can’t walk a dock in Connecticut without seeing several Pursuit devotees, and they’ll all tell you as much. One reason for the fandom is the feature above the DC 365’s bridge: the hardtop, which wraps me in confidence. Add a bit of isinglass to its solid framing, and you have an enclosed, all-season space with heat and air conditioning.
I sit back in the plush lounge seat, slide into position facing aft, and imagine high-speed trolling for schools of bluefin tuna just a couple dozen miles off. We run at 35 knots, burning under a gallon per mile.
There’s a touch of texture on the water, but with the engines trimmed right and the trim tabs not even engaged, the bow is well down, and our wake impressively negligible.
The dash is all logic and clarity: A pair of 16-inch Garmin multifunction displays blink back at me, their charts and sonar alive with data while autopilot and engine vitals dance in the corners. And the boat tracks true as I catch sight of Plum Island already off the bow.
Belowdecks, the V-berth looks accommodating enough to forget the day’s mission entirely. There’s microwave and fridge in the cabin too. The enclosed head, with a separate entrance on the starboard side of the boat, is more than an afterthought. It has the amenities you need for overnighting, including a standup shower, porcelain head, sink, linen closet and vanity.
The northwesterly breeze grooms a slight corduroy pattern into the water’s surface as we arrive at the Race. It is the end of the tide, and we spot a large school of stripers within no time. We line up a drift and kill the engines. The Pursuit heels with the tide but holds her posture. That 12-foot beam is much appreciated in the moment, keeping us stable with the Race Rock Lighthouse a few clicks eastward in the chaotic surge.
Back in the cockpit, Cusson and I feed a spartan but deadly 8-ounce diamond jig to the bottom. Both of our lines, before hitting the rock reef below, briefly go slack. We then have serious dead weight—a telltale sign of a strike when vertical jigging. Cusson’s fish unbuttons itself in short order, and I fight mine up in inches. I don’t have much experience with this type of fishing, so I swiftly pull the hook. “You’d better write better than you fish,” Capt. Chris Landry quips from the helm.
No sooner is Landry done ribbing me than I am tight on another fish. The DC 365 gives me room to work the angles—to shift, lean and counter the surges. Striped bass may not be the most brutish adversaries, but with light tackle and 8 ounces of lead in tow in a ripping tide, a little extra help and comfort at the rail does not go unnoticed.
There are a handful of us in the cockpit, and yet there’s nothing crowded about it. I’ve danced this dance in small cockpits before, hip to rail, foot on cooler, praying for balance. The 365’s high freeboard is as handy in this situation as it would have been in a flat-calm backwater cove with children. Peace of mind comes in many styles. Having padded coaming goes a long way, too.
Ten minutes passes like a heartbeat, and then she breaks the surface—a cow striper, north of 40 inches, thrashing like something prehistoric. Gaffless and grinning, I cradle her to the deck. She breathes heavy, tail pulsing, gill flaps ticking like a metronome. We sit there together in the chaos, me and this fish and the sound of the sea in my ears.
She deserves to swim again. I slide her back over the side, feeling the weight of her vanish into the shale-gray murk. For a second, the ocean seems to go still. That’s because it is, at least as much as it ever is in these parts.
The Race does not relent, but the light feels different now—brighter and cleaner, as if it had passed through something holy.
December 2025
