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Date: Bluebird Day
Title: Dec 2005
Date: 14 Dec 2005
Time: 07:14:56 -0500
Cold north winds had been cutting across the Gulf for so many days I felt I was in a steel gray prison. Cold dry moving air that stung your face like you were getting whipped with a wire coat hanger. But last night it died off. This morning was still. The sky was Carolina blue. No clouds. The air was crisp and you felt it on the back of your throat when you breathed. It was a blue bird winters day after a forever cold front. “Could be the day!” said Jade as he loaded up his lunch cooler. “Yea, I don’t care if we catch anything, I’m just glad to be out of the house, I’m close to driving my wife nuts” I replied. I was taking a long handed deck brush and scratching off a thin layer of ice from the seats and coolers. Steve Hart came down the dock with a beer flat with four large coffee’s on it and announced “I’m ready”. The smell of that coffee brought my temperature up two degrees. Little B came behind him with three trolling outfits in each hand. He was more than ready. When I picked him up he was bug eyed hanging on the wall vibrating. We dumped two five gallon buckets of ice in the 120 quart bait cooler and shoved off. It was going to be a simple trolling for grouper trip. Last night, after a final check on the weather, I decided to head due west out of Steinhatchee and do an odd zig zag pattern from spot A to spot Z to the south. As the old song says…”no particular place to go.” Just before we passed the No Wake zone we ‘Yankeed Up’ (no offense to our northern friends but we southern boys watch the weather channel for the latest in cold weather fashion). We layered on tee shirts, hooded jackets, hand-me-down ski garb, face mask, beanie caps and dive gloves. An open boat, in the brisk of winter, forces one to forgo the normal fishing fashion of jean shorts, tee shirts and no shoes. When the boat planned out, the air flow tore tears from our eyes. In unison we put sunglasses on. They blocked the cold air and gave us back our manliness. It’s hard to talk to a guy when there are tears around his eyes. It makes you want to start howling with sad dog. It is amazing how quickly the Gulf can change. Yesterday white elephants were dancing on the horizon and today two foot rollers greeted us. Little B peeked at the GPS, moved to the bow and flopped in a bean bag. Steve asked “how long is the ride?” “Forty five minutes or as long as I can stand it!” I said. He followed suit with Little B and plopped in the bean bags. The bow is a raised casting platform so the bean bags on the deck below it have a wind block of sorts. Jade sat beside me, smoked a chain of cigarettes, we sipped coffee and rode it out. Forty eight feet deep later I said we’re here. Here was a good piece of hard bottom. Here was also were I couldn’t stand the chill any longer. While folks started moving around, I picked out four Mann’s Stretch 30’s hanging from behind the captains bench seat. I laid them on the bait cooler. One was dark purple nicknamed ‘Barney’, big purple and your best friend (at times). One was deep orange with black back nicknamed ‘trick or treat’. One was green with yellow belly and tiger striped nicknamed ‘Lockybe’ after a local gent who is sold on that pattern. The last was multi-colored with pink head nicknamed ‘Meme’ after the big painted lady on the Drew Cary show. Those plugs have produced grouper but the starting spread had logic to it other than past history. All were of different color and two were darker while the other two were of lighter coloration. Give the fish a good menu and let them tell you what they want, then give them all of that. Jade, at six foot five inches, had quickly and easily pulled down four trolling outfits while I selected the plugs. Little B was snapping the lures on the swivels. We weren’t using any wire leader because the chilly water didn’t make me expect any kingfish. It was a simple set up. The 4/0 Penn reels were top loaded with a 150 yards of 50 pound test braided line run through the eyes of a medium heavy Penn Power Stick (the tip of the PPT jiggles when the lures are running correctly and doesn’t when the lure is grassed up or fouled) and a good snap swivel terminates the rig allowing quick lure changes. “Everybody grab a lucky pole.” Jade was on the starboard stern, rod pointed straight back, with Barney. Steve was on the starboard by the console, rod pointed ninety degrees off the gunnel with Meme. Little B was on the port stern, rod pointed straight back, with Lockybe. I was at the helm, one handing the rod ninety degrees off the gunnel with Trick or treat. “Go” I said in tone you would expect out a captain. I silently counted back. “Stop” and Jade and Little B clicked their reel in gear and put the rods in the aft most rod holder. Fifteen seconds later, “Stop”, and Steve and I clicked our reels in gear. Steve stuck his rod in the forward most rod holder. Little B came and got my rod and put it in the same rod holder but on the opposite side. We were underway. The rod tips were jiggling like Jello. I was meandering southerly at 4.5 knots toward known grouper holes traversing over a lot of unknown, to me, bottom. I kept my eye on the bottom machine as we moved slowly to deeper water. An hour into it and nothing had happened. We were in 53 feet of water. “Reel’em up” guys. I did that just to have something to do. We cold blasted to 55 feet were there was a cluster of good hard bottom sites and let out the lures again. I went over a known spot and got a funny feeling. Ten seconds later Meme took a hit. Steve spastically grabbed the rod. The spasm was more a function of cold and boredom than new surprise. The rest of us worked our lures back to the boat before Steve got his fish in. Steve’s fish was a solid eight pounder with a face full of Meme. Once the fish was iced, I rotated the boat back around and we set our lures out. We crossed the spot and ten seconds later Meme went down again. The rest of us worked our lures in as Steve reeled his fish up while informing us about his fishing prowess. Glad we had rubber boots the way he unloaded on and on. The fish was about the same size as the first. Before I could make the suggestion, Little B had raided the plug safe and was snapping on a Meme to his rod. I looked at him and said “Hey Richard Head, can Jade and I have one too?” “There is only one left.” I went and got the last war-torn rusted hook Meme and slid it to Jade across the deck. I picked a fresh all pink, nicknamed ‘Girlie Man’, for myself. Again I rotated the boat around and we re-set the lures. We crossed the spot and ten seconds later Little B’s Meme got slammed. He talked smack while reeling. We worked the plugs toward the boat slinging smack back in a counter attack. I was about ready to lob in a jab when Girlie Man came to a sudden stop. “This is a good one guys” I tried not to groan when saying it. Little B’s and my fish were about seven pounds. We slid across the spot three more times and Jade finally broke the ice with his haggard Meme. His fish was a wee bit bigger than the other four. The five fish chunk of bottom produced a little less than forty pounds of grouper. I eased the boat south but kept the depth the same in doing so. The next place I wanted to try was a forty minute troll over unknown bottom. At least I did know everyone had fish to eat. Approximately, two and a half miles from where we caught the fish, the bottom machine showed big hard bottom. It had no real relief; it was just a rocky place amongst a lot of sand. I marked it on the GPS right away. If it didn’t produce today, someday it would. Ten seconds later the two stern poles flattened out. Jade and Little B went to tug-o-war mode. Steve was laughing at them until his Meme was consumed. “Oh, God” he said in grunteese. My lure came in a blank. Jade’s fish came in first. It was slightly better than ten pounds. Little B’s fish was a cookie cutter of Jades’. Steve rolled up a grouper of better than twelve pounds. The biggest grouper so far. I spun the boat around and we wiggled the plastics back across the rocks. Jade and I doubled up. A set of eight pound grouper. Somehow Jade noticed we weren’t going back across the spot again. “We’re not cutting through that again?” “Fives good, let’s find a new grouper kingdom” I responded. I’m not necessarily nuts but part of the fishing gig is the thrill of the hunt. Besides the more hidey holes I find, the more bullets I got in my grouper gun. It wasn’t like we were going to go hungry. Hunting and pecking around, we picked up six more fish before heading back to Steinhatchee. It was a good day. We enjoyed each others company, caught some good fish and I punched in three new numbers in the GPS (and wrote them down in the notebook). At the cleaning table, night fell and so did the temperature. The last fish couldn’t come fast enough. The water out of the tap actually felt warm. The hot shower brought back feeling. Thanks for reading. If time and weather permit, take a winters break on a blue bird day. Capt B Fishing is hope experienced….Catching is hope affirmed. PAUL QUINNET (1994)