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Date: Fall Fishing is Fast, Furious and FUN!
Date: 16 Oct 2006
Time: 11:49:14 -0400
The Joy of Fishing: Revisited Last month I wrote about the slump in the grouper fishery and some alternatives to make a better day offshore fishing. Well, now I’m happy to report, the grouper fishing has vastly improved. I’ve had the best grouper fishing of 2006 occur since the beginning of October. It is difficult to express how happy it makes me. Over the past couple of weeks we are bringing back a dozen or so keeper grouper per trip. Both red and gag grouper are being taken on live pinfish and cut bait. Pinfish has been the most consistent bait. We are also bringing in some king fish and cobia. Huge pink mouth grunts (Florida snapper) are being added in to make a good looking box of fish. If you hadn’t had a plate of fresh fried pink mouth grunt lately, do yourself a favor and take an hour out of your offshore day to catch a mess of them over any hard bottom area. They are delicious. Fishing can be hot one day and cold the next but when fishing is sub par for a long period it can be depressing; especially, if you happen to fish for a living. For a while even pink mouth grunts weren’t overly cooperative. I was feeling like Forrest Gump pre-hurricane. I was working harder than ever to bring in what fish I had to the dock. We did the alternatives I wrote about. Sometimes the techniques worked out as planned. Most of the time I’d find myself telling folks what had happened in the past when I did the same trick and that same spot. People were smiling at the end of the day but I felt their disappointment behind the smile. I was far from happy with the outcome myself. Thankfully, most of the people had fished with me during better times. A couple of times I overheard “if he would have taken us to water at this depth and fished with that bait, we’d caught fish.” They didn’t realize I had been there and done that earlier and turned out to be a waste time. My lack luster catches weren’t due to lack of effort or wanting to save money on gas or not trying here, there and everywhere with this bait and the other. It was what it was. I was having trouble like everybody else. But it hurt because I care. I never want to disappoint anybody. I want to exceed expectations and persuade folks into trying something new to show there is more fun in the world of fishing than simply dumping meat to the bottom and waiting for a jerk to occur at one end of the line then the other. But things hadn’t been happening the way I wanted in quite some time and fishing was becoming more of something I had to do not, what I desired to do. I needed a break. I was at a low. Charles Lowe called me. “Me, my brother Curtis and son Evan are coming down for your next available day during the week!” “Charles, I’ve got to be honest, the fishing ain’t that good.” “I don’t care if we don’t catch a fish, we’re coming down.” “The grouper bite hasn’t been…” “I’d be just as happy catching grunts or anything, don’t worry about the grouper, let’s just go have some fun.” “I think I can do that” I mustered, wondering if I could shake off the funk and actually have fun. Charles loves the outdoors. Fishing and hunting are merely excuses to be outdoors. I believe the man could stand on the curb of a flooded parking lot after a storm and cast a Pop R to parallel yellow stripers and walk away thinking after the next storm those yellow stripers might just bite. He isn’t that crazy but after approximately fifty years of fishing he has come to appreciate every aspect of fishing not just the catching part. His brother, Curtis, is likewise a fishing enthusiast who would attempt to pull a red fish out of an oyster bar choked creek using sewing thread for fishing line just to see the strike and have that brief moment with the fish. Evan, the teenage son, doesn’t stand a chance of normal development. He’ll be a product of his environment; maybe an American Steve Irwin of the fishing world. The three came down with a truck bed full of fishing sticks of various sizes and a couple of tackle boxes of dreams to come. We set out just wanting enough fish for dinner that night. I planned a ‘Pat McGriff’ grouper trip in forty five feet of water with squid but lots of live bait on the side and full tank of gas (always). I had caught a few nice fish in the area the week before. The grouper gig didn’t pan out. After the third no hit wonder hole, Charles switched to a grunt outfit and proceeded to entice the rest of us to put together a couple of five buckets of those delightfully delicious prides-of-Steinhatchee and beyond. Dinner was taken care of and it was fun doing it. On light tackle, a big grunt puts up a quality fight. After we met the grunt dinner quota, I said “I know this sounds crazy but… I’ve seen Bonita and Spanish mackerel crashing the bait pods on the ride home over the past couple of weeks. How about doing some light tackle?” They were all for it. They asked what to rig up with. I told them small flashy jigs or silver spoons with a one foot section of #1 wire as a leader against the mackerel teeth. They rigged enroute and were ready on arrival. The first pods of glass minnows we fished were getting tore through by a small horde of Spanish mackerel. The mackerel were selectively feeding. In other words, if it wasn’t a glass minnow they didn’t want it. We spent an hour bouncing from one pod to the next fruitlessly. Then the Bonita came in. You can tell the difference. Fish were not just zipping in and out of the minnows occasionally taking flight. The water frothed like beating egg whites for a long time. Fish bounced off one another in chase. A blind man could find the schools by hearing the splashing fish and the screeching of gulls. Anything tossed into the froth of fish didn’t make it out. We were using ten pound test, except for Curtis the four pound test pilot. When we’d get a Bonita on, which was seconds after the lure hit the water, the drag would scream. Line would burn off the reels at a rate and duration you’d swear something would give way or melt down. It took at least fifteen minutes to bring the six to ten pound fish to the boat. For Curtis, it sometimes took twenty minutes or more. Multiple hooks were the norm sometimes requiring us to do the docy-doe dance to keep the lines straight. It was an exhausting pandemonium. Our forearms throbbed after several hook-ups, yet at the next chance, we would do it all over again. I was going to turn us around back to the fish after Curtis landed his forever-fought Bonita. “Hey ya’ll look at that!” I said before starting the motors. There was a wall of feeding Bonita, at least a quarter mile long, coming at us sounding like a train. “Let’s go get us some of that” said Curtis. And we did. Charles, some how, caught a huge blue runner amongst the Bonita. I took it and free lined it off the leeward side using a 4/0 grouper out fit as a what the heck bait. I put the clicker on. In less than three minutes the clicker buzzed. I grabbed the double over pole just as a six foot shark came completely out of the water marlin style. The line was cut instantly. “Did you see that?” I asked Charles. Judging by Charles face and him trimming up a whole lady fish bait, he was well aware of what just happened and intended to catch it. Evan and Curtis were both battling Bonita and loving every moment. I joined in the fun. It is amazing how far and how fast the fish would run with our baits. We would fight them back in only for it to happen again, again and again until it became ridiculous. When I finally got my fish in I took a break. I was having fun fishing…real fun. I liked catching some fish and I enjoyed watching Curtis artfully deal with a rambunctious fish on the sewing thread he called fishing line. I also enjoyed watching young Evan get caught up in the fever. Charles impressed me knowing he had caught all kinds and sizes of fish in his life time, yet could fully enjoy himself fishing for, as he put it, “anything”. The only pressure I had was in my left forearm given to me from a fish most people cared little or nothing about. Charles was holding his grouper pole intently. “What’s going on?” I asked. “I’ve been getting a bite” he replied. “I better check my bait” he said. We could see the tattered lady fish coming up through the water. As it neared the surface an eight foot hammer head shark came after it. It boiled away a foot or little more from the boat. It was so close I stepped back. “Oh my…” I was blurting. “What was it, what was it?” Curtis questioned while fighting Bonita number umpteen. Charles and I were explaining as Charles let the bait back down and I was hurriedly twisting a wire leader out of #9 wire and cutting a Bonita in half. I literally tossed the bait in the water by hand. I was hoping… Charles said “he’s after it” referring to his bait. In a second he struck. The thick grouper pole arched under the strain and line peeled off a firm drag. “Evan! Put on a fighting belt and come here son” Charles demanded. I reeled in my gear, took the bait off and stowed it away neat. Evan is thin compared to the rest of us, shall we say plus sized gentlemen. The transfer of the pole came with a jerking and pulling action. “Keep him in the boat!” Charles was right there besides his son. I cleared the clutter from the front of the boat. Curtis was wrapped up in the final minutes of his Bonita number umpteen and one. The shark may pull Evan all the way around the boat in the mean time. When Curtis got his fish in I turned the motors on to keep the fight off the stern quarters. Evan would pump and grind to gain a few yards of line only to have more line pull off to his chagrin. Curtis took over the coaching for his nephew. His advise was on track and helpful to Evan who was under duress. It was after seven in the evening. The sun was falling out of the sky. The backdrop was beautiful but darkness was soon be upon us. I called into any radio in Steinhatchee. “Mule Kicker” responded. I told him the situation and asked if he could call my wife to let her know we were fine but would more than likely be in after dark. He was happy to make the call for me. I was happy he was there. Evan was holding up well after the first fifteen minutes but he was under a constant heavy load. Another ten minutes passed. The shark cruised just under the surface from starboard to port. It was as if he was checking out what he was fighting. The shark dove taking line at will. The rod shuttered up and down violently in the next minute. Evan stumbled backwards. The taunt line had parted. Without a steel leader the fight lasted longer than we all expected. Evan had fought his largest shark and fought it ever very well. It was a twenty minute ride to the first channel marker. We re-lived the fight play by play. We were in the river during the last glimmer of light. We finished cleaning fish around nine o’clock. It was decided the fish fry was best suited for the next evening. I came in the house “how was your day” my wife, Gina, asked. “I found what I didn’t know I was looking for, the joy of fishing” I said. Thanks for taking your time to read this. Take care of yourself and your tackle. Capt B The contentment which fills the mind of the angler at the close of his day’s sport is one of the chiefest charms of his life. WILLIAM COWPER PRIME (1873)