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Date: Happy New Year
Title: April 2006
Date: 21 Mar 2006
Time: 11:43:55 -0500
Happy New Year The calendar starts a new year on January first. It is cold, windy, the fishing is at a low ebb and I don’t see much of a reason to celebrate. I’ve decided to start my New Year on April first. April is fooling around time. The temperature is warming, the winds have spun lazy from the south and the waters bubble with new life. Spring is a better time to celebrate. You know that fresh salt smell you get along the coast that makes you take a spontaneous deep breath? That’s what hit me in the face once I cleared the river mouth. I sucked in a double lung full of the good stuff. I let it go slow; I didn’t want to give it back at all. The low morning sun beams were glancing off the slick water reflecting back from the green and red channel markers lighting them up like neon signs that read “Playground Open”. It was all good. I had a party of five on board that wanted to have fun fishing. Mr. Davis, the seventy-two-year-young grandpa, Jim and Ina, the thirty something parents and Nate and Jennifer, the twelve year old son and ten year old daughter were a loving tight knit family and our guest for the day. During a phone call two days prior, they expressed they wanted to take some fish home, but were more interested in having a fun day on the water. There are many things in this world I can’t do, but I can do fun. And if memory serves, Little B, our mate, has a doctorate in ‘funology’ with a minor in children’s laughter. We were all headed in the right direction and the boat was going southwest. To keep things light hearted, I had brought six medium spinning rod/reel combo’s spooled with ten pound test. The spindly sticks appeared to be the offspring of the larger spinning gear used for amberjack and cobia fishing. They were a complete mismatch when lined up with the beefy bottom rods and trolling outfits. However, when used at the right place and time those little poles can be magic wands. Five point six nautical miles off the number one channel marker, I noticed a flock of birds attacking the water. Far in the distance at the eleven o’clock position (relative to the bow), you could just see the tiny figures of the birds dropping on the water and fluttering back up. I turned the boat their way. I asked Little B to get four trout rods out and put two on each side. The rods had a ten inch section of #1 wire attached to the main line using an Albright knot. A silver or gold quarter ounce tinsel Key Largo jig was hay wired twisted to the end of the wire. Two tenths of a mile before the bird show, I put the boat in neutral. We were close enough to the action to see what was causing the commotion. While the folks went to the front to watch, Little B and I went to the stern. The boat was still sliding forward as we simul-cast two jigs directly out the back, flipped the bailers over and set them in the stern rod holders. Then we cast the second set of jigs perpendicular off the gunnel; Little B cast off the starboard side and I off the port. We both feathered off an extra ten yards of line and set the rods in the forward rod holders. We had all the rods out before anyone turned around and noticed we were ‘involved in the act of fishing’. “What’s going on captain?” Jim asked. I turned the port motor off and clicked the starboard motor in idle to keep the boat moving ahead around two knots. I explained the spring migration of bait fish and that Spanish mackerel followed the ‘chuck wagon’. “The birds are here for a free…” I was interrupted when one of the rods was snatched down and the drag whined. It was then I realized Little B nor I had had no time to explain what to do in the event of a fish. So he and I ran back to the cock pit, threw our hands in the air and did a panicked chicken dance while chanting in an unknown tongue. “Come on, let’s group panic!” Little B laughed. And they did! Seven people bouncing around the boat with their hands in the air chanting. We had to stop to catch our breath from laughing and chanting. Stupid is contagious and it can be fun. The fish broke off by the way. It didn’t matter because Ina and Jennifer hooked up with Spanish while reeling in to re-set the rods. Little B and I quickly turned into personal fishing coaches trying to explain the function of a reel drag to a couple of excited women who were convinced that a reel and a wench were one in the same thing. A couple of fifteen inch Spanish mackerel flopped on the deck to the glee of the ladies who made special effort to the let the boys know who was winning. After things settled down I said to Ina “you know when Jim does something you don’t like and you give him a few words to let him know it?” “Because if you didn’t say anything, the pressure would build up to the point you’d want to kill him, right” I said in jest. “Well, imagine when that reel is whining it just talking, so it won’t build up enough pressure to break the line.” “When the reel is talking just listen; when it stops, reel in line.” “If you don’t stop and listen, this is what happens.” Little B showed the ladies the twisted up line from the two poles that brought the fish in. I went and got the two extra rods while Little B cut out the bad line and re-rigged the poles. Bait pods had encircled the boat. The tiny fish fins spackled the surface with the sound of a light rain. It looked and sounded peaceful but what lurked beneath was far from friendly. Unpredictably a bait pod would break the surface in a wave pattern. Showers of small fish rained upon one another followed by a scatter of free jumping Spanish mackerel, then screeching birds would dive the scene to add mayhem. I explained the trolling pattern. The two stern poles were run a little short while the forward poles where set back an extra ten to fifteen yards. “Mr. Davis, you’re going to set one down the middle. I’ll tell you when to flip over the bailer. Then put the rod in the middle rod holder on the rocket launcher here behind the captains’ bench, OK? We went through fishing school ‘how to cast a spinning rod’ in a hurried five minutes. Everybody was handed a fishing pole and told the direction to cast. I clicked the boat in motion toward a patch of bait pods and said “Go”. I was impressed. Everybody preformed like pros. I skirted to the side of the first bait pod and nothing happened. But we could see swarms of baits fish passing under the boat. The second bait pod was where the two forward jigs were ambushed. “If you don’t have a fish on, jiggle you’re bait while reeling it back to the boat” Little B announced. In seconds all five lines had fish on. The fish tried to weave a rope out of the five lines while the crew was trying to unweave just as fast by dipping over and under one another. Everyone but Nate managed to boat their fish. I noticed right away when that fish took Nates’ jig his world narrowed down a thin line to a hook point where you could have poured gas on him and set him ablaze without him noticing. When the fish came unglued it was as if his roller coaster ride had come to an abrupt stop half way down the big drop. “Nate, there will be more fish, OK?” “I know” he mumbled. We trolled around for about an hour, picking up fish here and there in quick fashion. I could tell the novelty was wearing off when the excitement of reeling in a fish started to become more mechanical. Time to switch gears and do something different to keep the fun is dysfunctional. I waited till another Spanish mackerel stopped the troll before making the suggestion of casting for the fish. The quarter ounce jigs really wasn’t enough weight for the kids to make a controlled or long cast into the schools of bait fish. So for their rods we cut the line leaving a twelve inch section of monofilament above the wire leader. We tied that to the bottom part a weighted cork (Cajun Thunder) then tied the main line to the top. By the time it took to re-tie the jigs, a school of bait was under attack right by the boat. This was opportunity splashing. “Hey, watch this” I said as I flung the cork jig combo into the feeding fish. I don’t think I had time to jerk on the cork before it was being towed sideways. I set the hook and handed the pole to Nate. Didn’t have to mention it to anyone, everyone cast into the school and starting working the jigs back to the boat. The fish were so cooperative they were throwing themselves at anything darting in the water. Fun was happening. At times a fish would cut off the jig and the spare pole was sent into action while the other was re-rigged. At times a jig would get grinded down to where a new one was necessary. At times we needed to chase down another school of fish to resume play. It didn’t matter, we were having fun with fish. “Guys, we have approximately thirty Spanish mackerel in the fish box. They’re best eaten fresh not frozen. How about releasing the rest? I suggested” “Do we really have that many? Jim asked. I raised the cooler lid and he said that was plenty. We started catch and release fishing. It was just as much fun without more clean up later. After an hour of casting, lunch was needed just for a break and get some energy back. We ate and rode the boat out to the grouper grounds for some new action. A scattering of grunts on light tackle and grouper on the beef-sticks rounded out a wonderful day. We had a ball playing with the Spanish mackerel for better than three hours. During that time, I watched many boats drive by the action for offshore adventures. I’m so glad we didn’t because I have a feeling we were the only boat to brake out in a panicked chicken dance. Thanks for taking the time to read. Take care of yourself and the tackle. Capt B “Fishing makes us less hostages to the horrors of making a living. JIM HARRISON (1978)