First you see the birds— gulls, terns, cormorants, and ospreys wheeling overhead, then swooping down into a wide expanse of water dimpled as though by large raindrops. Silvery flashes and splashes erupt from thousands of small herringlike fish called menhaden. More birds arrive, and the air rings with shrill cries. The birds alert nearby anglers that a massive school of menhaden is under attack by bluefish. The razor-toothed blues tear at the menhaden like piranhas in a killing frenzy, gorging themselves, some killing even when they are too full to eat, some vomiting so they can kill and eat again. Beneath the blues, weakfish begin to circle, snaring the detritus of the carnage. Farther below, giant striped bass gobble chunks that get by the weakfish. From time to time a bass muscles its way up through the blues to take in whole menhaden. On the seafloor, scavenging crabs feast on leftovers. The school of menhaden survives and swims on, its losses dwarfed in plenitude. But a greater danger than bluefish lurks nearby. The birds have attracted a spotter-plane pilot who works for Omega Protein, a $100 million fishing corporation devoted entirely to catching menhaden. As the pilot approaches, he sees the school as a neatly defined silver-purple mass the size of a football field and perhaps 100 feet deep. He radios to a nearby 170-foot-long factory ship, whose crew maneuvers close enough to launch two 40-foot-long boats. The pilot directs the boats' crews as they deploy a purse seine, a gigantic net. Before long, the two boats have trapped the entire school. As the fish strike the net, they thrash frantically, making a wall of white froth that marks the net's circumference. The factory ship pulls alongside, pumps the fish into its refrigerated hold, and heads off to unload them at an Omega plant in Virginia. Not one of these fish is destined for a supermarket, canning factory, or restaurant. Menhaden are oily and foul and packed with tiny bones. No one eats them. Yet they are the most important fish caught along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts, exceeding the tonnage of all other species combined. These kibble of the sea fetch only about 10 cents a pound at the dock, but they can be ground up, dried, and formed into another kind of kibble for land animals, a high-protein feed for chickens, pigs, and cattle. Pop some barbecued wings into your mouth, and at least part of what you're eating was once menhaden. Humans eat menhaden in other forms too. Menhaden are a key dietary component for a wide variety of fish, including bass, mackerel, cod, bonito, swordfish, bluefish, and tuna. The 19th-century ichthyologist G. Brown Goode exaggerated only slightly when declaring that people who dine on Atlantic saltwater fish are eating "nothing but menhaden." And that is one problem with the intensive fishing of menhaden, which has escalated in recent decades. This vital biolink in a food chain that extends from tiny plankton to the dinner tables of many Americans appears to be threatened. The population of menhaden has been so depleted in estuaries and bays up and down the Eastern Seaboard that even marine biologists who look kindly on commercial fishing are alarmed. "Menhaden are an incredibly important link for the entire Atlantic coast," says Jim Uphoff, the stock assessment coordinator for the Fisheries Service of the Maryland Department of Natural Resources. "And you have a crashing menhaden population with the potential to cause a major ecosystem problem." Menhaden have an even more important role that extends beyond the food chain: They are filter feeders that consume phytoplankton, thus controlling the growth of algae in coastal waters. As the population of menhaden declines, algal blooms have proliferated, transforming some inshore waters into dead zones.