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Sunday, 16 February 2014
Saturday, 25 January 2014
Play in Apalachicola Bay
"Play is the highest form of research"
-Albert Einstein
November 1986, Apalachicola, Florida Panhandle
If you have never been to the Apalachicola region of Florida you should go. The area is called the Forgotten Coast and it kind of is, at least when I was last there in the late 1980's. There was no theme park and the Apalachicola harbour area was all about Oyster men and Shrimp boats. It was, and probably still is, an authentic place with a historic core and some classic southern architecture. The nearby coastal beaches on St George island are a beautiful powdery white and generally you can find solitude there.
I was on St George standing waist deep in the Gulf of Mexico in November and getting cold. I kept having to leave the water and sit on the sun heated sand in order to warm up. The Gulf surface was calm with just the occasional swell. Schools of small Bluefish were travelling westward along the coast and they were responding to my casts.
While wading I kept hearing a "plop" sound behind me. I looked back but saw nothing. Then I heard it again, and again. Eventually I stopped fishing and turned around. There was a small six inch stick floating behind me in my wake. It just bobbed there. Then all of a sudden a minnow jumped over it and I heard the "plop" noise. It was the source of the sound I had been hearing.
After thirty seconds or so it jumped over the stick again. Then there was a pause, then another leap. This went on and on. The minnow was like a kid jumping a fence or creek. And I swear the minnow looked like it was enjoying itself! It made me smile.
I came to the conclusion, right or wrong, that it was jumping the stick because it discovered it could...it was playing. People play; dogs and cats play; I've seen birds play; and fish play!
This experience happened a fairly long time ago but I think I pegged the date accurately as on the trip I remember playing a Bruce Hornsby tape that had a hit song called, "Valley Road" and "The Way it Is". I believe his album went to the top of the charts. Check it out. And check out Apalachicola or as the locals call it, "Apalach".
-Albert Einstein
 |
| Apalachicola |
If you have never been to the Apalachicola region of Florida you should go. The area is called the Forgotten Coast and it kind of is, at least when I was last there in the late 1980's. There was no theme park and the Apalachicola harbour area was all about Oyster men and Shrimp boats. It was, and probably still is, an authentic place with a historic core and some classic southern architecture. The nearby coastal beaches on St George island are a beautiful powdery white and generally you can find solitude there.
I was on St George standing waist deep in the Gulf of Mexico in November and getting cold. I kept having to leave the water and sit on the sun heated sand in order to warm up. The Gulf surface was calm with just the occasional swell. Schools of small Bluefish were travelling westward along the coast and they were responding to my casts.
While wading I kept hearing a "plop" sound behind me. I looked back but saw nothing. Then I heard it again, and again. Eventually I stopped fishing and turned around. There was a small six inch stick floating behind me in my wake. It just bobbed there. Then all of a sudden a minnow jumped over it and I heard the "plop" noise. It was the source of the sound I had been hearing.
After thirty seconds or so it jumped over the stick again. Then there was a pause, then another leap. This went on and on. The minnow was like a kid jumping a fence or creek. And I swear the minnow looked like it was enjoying itself! It made me smile.
I came to the conclusion, right or wrong, that it was jumping the stick because it discovered it could...it was playing. People play; dogs and cats play; I've seen birds play; and fish play!
This experience happened a fairly long time ago but I think I pegged the date accurately as on the trip I remember playing a Bruce Hornsby tape that had a hit song called, "Valley Road" and "The Way it Is". I believe his album went to the top of the charts. Check it out. And check out Apalachicola or as the locals call it, "Apalach".
Monday, 6 January 2014
Alvin, the Fishing Pier and the Pelican
Alvin was a regular on the pier. He was retired and his skin was baked and creased by the tropical sun. His ball cap came from a different century. His hands suggested life time labourer. His cloths were clean, functional, well warn and sun bleached. They contrasted the pastel coloured, crisp trendy cloths of nearby tourist. His angling equipment consisted of several spinning rods all heavily rigged, baited and cast into the placid bay side water. He had a bruised tackle box, stained white plastic bait bucket, a cooler bungee corded to a chrome, flight attendant like, two wheel pull cart. Everything seemed well used and slightly corroded from the sea salt air. He drank from a thermos that looked like it had fallen off of a high rise. It contained a cool-aid like cherry coloured liquid which was fortified. He, however, never seemed tipsy. He always ate soda crackers and the Sea Gulls circled him. And he was friendly. Every time I think of his name I think of a Chipmunk. You have to be a certain age to understand this association.
After a day of fly fishing the Gulf beaches for Snook, I'd grab a bite to eat and head for the Anna Maria Island pier. I'd stay until it got dark, sometimes later, which in June was midnight or more. There were three piers on the island. I fished the Bridge Street one just off of Cortez Avenue on the bay side. This is where Alvin, a Florida native, hung out. He had his spot on the pier. All regulars do. They'll flip from one side of the pier to the other depending on the pull of the tide but they usually are in the same area. Time spent on a pier teaches you that it has its own cast of characters, culture, and behavioural code, just like any other place where people congregate on a regular basis. In those days pier anglers smoked a lot: cigarettes; cigars, the big Havana type and the small Colt sized ones. Most had a six pack with them. They usually brought junk food like chips or nachos. Some brought take-out supper in big Styrofoam containers: fries, coleslaw, hamburgers, club sandwiches or Sloppy Joe looking stuff smothering a big bun.
The regulars had there speciality fishing rigs and multiple poles. Most fished live bait with a bobber. They were meat fisherman, there for their next meal or to fill the freezer at home. They usually gathered at the pier in the evening and many fished until the sun came up. They were the night shift. They took advantage of the pier lights that illuminated the water and attracted fish. Sometimes very big fish. Snook that looked like sharks. If you stared into the lit water long enough you'd eventually see a dark log with fins pass through and then vanish into the blackness. Spotting was one thing, catching them was another.
Alvin liked to talk. He eventually asked me where I was from and I reciprocated. He said he spent most of his life in Plant City, Florida. I knew it was located in the interior part of the State but that's about it. He asked me if I knew what it was "famous for"? I did not. I knew about the Daytona 500; I knew about the Orange Bowl; I knew about Disney World; I knew there were Alligators in the Everglades and a few remaining Seminole Indians; I knew about Key Lime pie; and I even knew about the Tarpon Springs Sponge Docks...however, I didn't know what Plant City was famous for. He seemed offended and proceeded to tell (lecture) me that his hometown was the biggest producer of Strawberries in the world. He went on and on about it suggesting that I should have know this even though I lived over 1500 miles away, in a different country, and that most of the Strawberries I ate in the Summer were from my home province, Quebec, and the ones I ate in the Winter time came from somewhere in Mexico. I tried to placate him by asking him several questions about Strawberries and Florida agriculture, and reinforced the obvious importance of his hometown. This seemed to settle him down and with time he forgave me for my ignorance. He'd say hello when I arrived at the pier in the evening and smiled when I set up and casted my spinning outfit next to him. He`d ask me how my day went fly fishing the nearby beaches for Snook. Some how I had past the test.
Alvin told me about the history of the area. He said that when he was a child there were no buildings on Anna Maria island. It was just sand and mangroves. In 1991, when I was there, it was developed: low rise condos, beach houses, restaurants, an ice cream shop, tennis courts, outdoor pools, even a small shopping plaza and a grocery store. At the south end of the island was a park/nature preserve. Someone or group of citizens had the foresight to save some green space.
The Bridge street pier was all wood. It stood on many pilings and looked like a giant centipede with its many legs stretching out into the bay. It seemed like a living thing. It made sounds with the changing tide, wind and waves. Over the years pier strollers had created well warn sections on the planks. You could see names carved in the sitting benches and posts, and there were notches on the side rails where anglers rested there fishing poles. The pier had lived; it had history.
The pier had several wooden fish cleaning (fillet) tables. They were well used, carved-up, and often blood stained, and in the sunlight you could spot the glistening of scales. Left-over fish tails and heads disappeared quickly. The birds picked-off all the excess. There were Sea Gulls, Pelicans and the odd Cormorant. They out numbered the anglers twenty to one. And they were pesky and persistent, like third world vendors. When fishing live surface bait off of a floating bobber you had to be watchful as they'd swoop down and try and steal it. Sadly many would get hooked and anglers would cut their line. A number of pelicans has multiple pieces of thick mono filament line dangling from their bills. They looked like a sloppy kid who had been eating Spaghetti.
On more than one occasion I had to pull my live surface bait away from a bird. One evening when I was distracted a Pelican ate my bait and became hooked. Mayhem resulted. Alvin directed me to try and reel the bird in close and then cut my line. I followed his orders, made progress and to my amazement the Pelican landed on the pier deck. I remember being upset and not wanting to leave my hook in it. What followed is kind of a blur as I was functioning on pure adrenaline. With my brain flooded with this chemical I was on automatic pilot. I was simply behaving and reacting and can't recall thinking. I do remember grabbing a big beach towel out of my nap sack and tossing it over the floundering Pelican. I remember Alvin saying something from behind me while I pinned the Pelican down with my body, like a wrestler does to his opponent. I remember the Pelican resisting and the unbelievable power of its wings as it tried to lift me and free itself. I remember Alvin and someone else helping me hold the bird while I grabbed its bill, searched for and eventually dislodged the hook. I remember people gathering around and many voices saying things, but can't recollect what was being said. I remember my face being close to the Pelican's face and looking right into its eye; the eye of a wild thing.
Once released the Pelican got up on the pier rail and then flew off. It seemed alright. I remember feeling relieved and Alvin taking a sip from his ancient thermos, looking at me and saying, "I can`t believe we just did that"! After that I casted lead and fished frozen squid on the bay bottom.
I fished the pier for several evenings and missed it on the nights when I didn't get there. It was a great way to end the day. There was always a slight breeze on the water which made things cooler and the smell of the ocean always seemed stronger in the evening. And there was the ever present sound of the sea and life in the bay. And the skies were colourful and magical as the sun dipped into the ocean, far to the west. The pier was simply a wonderful place to be. The pier is where I came face to face with a Pelican. And the pier is where I met Alvin from Plant City...Strawberry Capital of the World.
`
Sunday, 1 December 2013
Sight Fishing for Snook
"Mistakes are the portals of discovery".
-James Joyce
I didn't know what to expect. I had prepared for the interviews, not the angling. I was on a budget and brought camping gear. I flew to Sarasota, a beautiful town, got a car rental and drove south to a campground called Oscar Scherer Park. I soon found out camping in Florida in early summer is quite different than Quebec. The park was a ghost town, as all the Snowbirds had returned north. When I tried to erect my pup tent I couldn't drive the pegs into the ground as it was like concrete, probably after six months of heavy RV use. I had to set up without pegs and tied one of the tent graphite poles to a tree so it wouldn't blow away in a tropical afternoon storm. When I returned to my tent in the evening it was usually either upside down or somewhere else. Sleeping in the tent was also hotter than a Montreal bagel oven. The next day I bought a cheap Dollar store hammer, pounded on the tent pegs but they simply ended up looking like Curly fries. After a couple of days I decided to search for softer ground at another campground further south on Pine Island near Ft Myers. Pine Island also sounded idyllic and cooler than the scorching mainland.
Pine Island felt like going back in time; old Florida. Much of it was still agricultural. The colourful little artsy town of Matlacha on the drive there and Bokeelia at the north end the island were especially beautiful. The campground was perfect. The soil was soft. The place had a big outdoor pool. I planned to jump in before bedtime to cool down. My first afternoon there a gang of bikers on Harley's pulled in and set up camp. They kind of looked like Mel Gibson's adversaries in the Road Warrior. I thought the place was going to be real rowdy but to my surprise it wasn't. I guess the lesson learnt is: don't make assumptions. The bikers were alright. I took a swim after supper surrounded by tattoos and then headed for my tent when the sun was setting. I soon was engulfed by no-see-ums. I am pretty bug tolerant having grow up in Canada: mosquitoes, black flies, deer flies...I can handle it. The no-see-ums, however, got the better of me. I had no insect repellent. In a short time, my skin was on fire. My tent screen was no defence. They passed right through it. I had no choice but to drive to the mainland for repellent, which helped. I sprayed myself from head to toe, closed the tent flaps and slow broiled myself, basting with Off every hour or so until the oven bell rang (alarm clock) at 6am.
I woke up puffy faced. The decision was real easy. I slam dunked my tent into the trunk, drove north and got an inexpensive motel on the Tamiami Trial, an old commercial strip which runs through Sarasota. That night I finally got a decent sleep. Next morning I grabbed a Grand Slam breakfast at a nearby Denny's and then drove to a beautiful white beach on Longboat Key, a barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. Life was good again.
I fished the same area for several days and got into a routine. I was just south of a cut between Anna Maria Island and Longboat. Just the thought of the place still makes me feel warm on a cold Winter day. I would wade out in the gentle morning surf until waist deep. Then I just stood there watching the water for life. I soon started seeing schools of lady fish. They were trout size, cooperative and a lot of fun to catch. Once hooked they went airborne. It seemed if you got a fly in front of them they charged it competing with one another in their pursuit. Keeping them on the hook was a challenge. One day I saw a much larger fish. It was a torpedo shaped speedster: a Spanish Mackerel. A great prize on light tackle.
In the morning if the small beach access lot was full I found parking on the east side of the island in a little residential community consisting of maybe twenty or thirty homes. The first time I parked there I spotted a large creature in my peripheral vision walking behind a house. Then I saw another one in my rear view mirror pass behind my car. They were large wild Peacocks, some six feet in height. They hung out on the secondary roads, in vacant lots, on manicured lawns, and even stood on porches and decks. They were everywhere, seemed fearless and use to people....kind of like the Geese that reside in the urban waterfronts and neighbourhood parks in Canada.
One windy day while wading back to land after an afternoon of fishing, I spotted a large long dark object swimming parallel and real tight to the beach. In the next hour or so, I saw a couple others on the same path. They were Snook, two to three feet long. They probably had been travelling behind me, right along the beach all afternoon. I had spent the whole day throwing a fly out to the deep blue when I should have turned around and casted to the shallows. The Snook travelled in the first trough just feet beyond the sand. I tossed a fly at one, no response.
The next day I purchased an eight foot cast net with a bucket and spent the morning teaching myself how to throw it. In case you don't know, a cast net is a circular net with small weights distributed around the circumference. If you haven't thrown one they are great fun, almost as much fun as fishing. I collected the net in my hands even using my teeth. I developed a throwing motion that was kind of similar to a Olympic Discus competitor. Anyway, I quickly got the hang of it and put it to use catching and studying the bait fish in the beach trough where the Snook were travelling. Most of the bait were minnow like. Some were roundish, silver dollar in size or slightly bigger. The other predominant type were about two to three inches long and slender. All were a silvery-grayish-white. There were also some small crabs and sand fleas in the trough. A white Clouser would have been a good fly choice. However, I was a novice in terms of saltwater fly fishing and simply tied some crude white concoctions with a bit of flash. The next series I tied I added just a bit of weight. The next day I spotted a few Snook circulating in the shallows in the early morning. Then in the afternoon when the Gulf had a chop to it, a repeat of the previous day occurred where Snook travelled very tight to the beach in ultra skinny water. I was on to something.
On one section of the beach a little south of where I had been fishing I spotted a series of square concrete posts sticking up out of the sand some three, four or six feet high. They were possibly remnants of a destroyed pier. I'd hoist myself up on them in the afternoons in order to fight glare and locate beach cruising Snook from a great distance. When I'd see a Snook heading my way I'd jump off the post and get set up to present my offering. I casted from the beach and as days passed hooked several fish this way. I discovered you have to be stealthy (sneaky) with Snook in the clear, shallow water. I'd cast well in front of a travelling fish, let my fly sink, wait for the Snook to get close and then tug the fly away from it. When hooked they usually jumped. Most broke off. I soon found out that that Snook have razor sharp gill plates that can easily sever light mono filament line (leader), which is what I was fishing. I needed a very heavy mono shock tippet to deal with this. As time went on I got into a fishing rhythm. I could predict when they'd show up and I got sneakier and a little bit better at fooling them. No pictures... I didn't carry a camera on my fishing adventures in 1991.
The next week I drove south and fished another barrier Island called Manasota Key. I also discovered Snook travelling there...same behavior. After several hours of fishing I realised I really missed my concrete post where I'd perch and watch for afternoon fish. I drove to a hardware store and considered buying a step ladder for the beach, however after measuring one realised it wouldn't fit into my car rental unless I also bought a roof rack, which I wasn't prepared to do.
With the Internet today you can do an exhaustive research on just about anything. I wasn't on the Net in 1991 and therefore everything I learnt standing day after day in the Gulf of Mexico was all just discovery...it was all new. I really had no expectations as I knew nothing. I knew there were Snook in Florida but I didn't know where they were or anything about their behaviour. And I often think that is a good thing for if I knew what flies to bring I wouldn't have gotten frustrated with refusals and bought and learnt how to throw a cast net. I wouldn't have discover the hard way that Snook have sharp gill plates and I wouldn't have lost so many fish which is also a good thing because it made landing the occasional one that much more of an achievement. If I had hired a guide, it would probably have gotten me into fish faster, maybe, but then what. If you get into fish too fast, and catch too many, then where do you go from there. I generally pack-up and drive home. If I struggle to catch, make mistakes, have to problem solve and think about it a lot, then I keep returning. When I think of these things, I'm always reminded of the saying, "No place worth going is easy to get to". It's so true.
One morning I discovered a nice Deli/Diner in Sarasota that served up a great blue plate special. Goodbye to breakfast at Denny's. I'd get there early and became a morning regular. The place smelled amazing and the food was even better. Usually I'd sit in a booth next to four retired guys who got together for breakfast every day. In Florida there is always four retired guys sitting around somewhere. These fellows were always kibitzing and laughing. They talked about the good old days when they were in business somewhere in the north east...New York, New Jersey...New Somewhere. Eavesdropping was great entertainment. One morning one of them looked at me and said, "You're getting too much sun". I told him I'd been fishing for two solid weeks out on Longboat Key. He asked me what I was fishing for? I replied, "Snook". He looked back at me and said, "What the Hell is a Snook!". His buddies howled.
I found Snook to be very powerful (like all saltwater species), acrobatic and challenging to catch. They reminded me of Smallmouth Bass in respect to how they fight. Like Bass they also gravitate to structure. What was so wonderful about this angling experience is that I was chasing them on a beautiful white beach and it was all sight fishing in clear shallow water. There was no expensive boat, no guide, no this, no that...It was pure simplicity: on foot, an 8wt and one fly.
Well I eventually got to my job interviews. I was offered a job in Jacksonville, thought about it for a week, but didn't take it. I often wonder what might have been if I moved to the Sunshine State. I might have become a grizzled old seaside Snook veteran: sweat stained ball cap, a gold front tooth clutching the mesh on my eight foot cast net, thread bare beach shorts, calloused feet, a weather beaten step ladder in tow and a back pack full of killer Snook flies. One life time is not enough.
If you want to beach fly fish for Snook I'd go in the late Spring or Summertime. That's when they seem to travel the barrier islands. Since my trip in 1991 I've discovered two good books on Snook: One by Frank Sargeant and another by Norm Zeigler, Snook on a Fly.
I never got back to fish for Snook again. I did return to Florida for a couple of vacations but that was family time and to escape Winter, and Snook don't seem to cruise the beaches then. They are elsewhere. The last several years I've been chasing Roosterfish on foot, in Baja, which has many similarities to what I experienced beach fishing in Florida. One day when it all comes together and the stars align, I'll find a cheap flight when the NBA playoffs are occurring, land in Sarasota, park where the Peacocks are and once again walk the beautiful beaches of the Gulf coast in search of Snook.
-James Joyce
 |
| dec 2013, crowsnest pass, -20c, the trout are sleeping |
I spent the summer sight fishing for trout in very shallow water. It reminded me of a wonderful angling experience I had a long time ago, in the early 1990's. I lived in Montreal then and arranged two job interviews in Florida. One was in the Sarasota area, west coast Florida. The other was in Jacksonville, on the east coast. I was there for about three weeks in early June as I decided to take a holiday at the same time. I remember the time of year as the NBA final was occurring and Michael Jordan was King of the Court. I fished for two weeks prior to my interviews. I brought a fly rod and spinning gear. Few people were fly fishing the beaches then. I'm sure things have changed.
I didn't know what to expect. I had prepared for the interviews, not the angling. I was on a budget and brought camping gear. I flew to Sarasota, a beautiful town, got a car rental and drove south to a campground called Oscar Scherer Park. I soon found out camping in Florida in early summer is quite different than Quebec. The park was a ghost town, as all the Snowbirds had returned north. When I tried to erect my pup tent I couldn't drive the pegs into the ground as it was like concrete, probably after six months of heavy RV use. I had to set up without pegs and tied one of the tent graphite poles to a tree so it wouldn't blow away in a tropical afternoon storm. When I returned to my tent in the evening it was usually either upside down or somewhere else. Sleeping in the tent was also hotter than a Montreal bagel oven. The next day I bought a cheap Dollar store hammer, pounded on the tent pegs but they simply ended up looking like Curly fries. After a couple of days I decided to search for softer ground at another campground further south on Pine Island near Ft Myers. Pine Island also sounded idyllic and cooler than the scorching mainland.
Pine Island felt like going back in time; old Florida. Much of it was still agricultural. The colourful little artsy town of Matlacha on the drive there and Bokeelia at the north end the island were especially beautiful. The campground was perfect. The soil was soft. The place had a big outdoor pool. I planned to jump in before bedtime to cool down. My first afternoon there a gang of bikers on Harley's pulled in and set up camp. They kind of looked like Mel Gibson's adversaries in the Road Warrior. I thought the place was going to be real rowdy but to my surprise it wasn't. I guess the lesson learnt is: don't make assumptions. The bikers were alright. I took a swim after supper surrounded by tattoos and then headed for my tent when the sun was setting. I soon was engulfed by no-see-ums. I am pretty bug tolerant having grow up in Canada: mosquitoes, black flies, deer flies...I can handle it. The no-see-ums, however, got the better of me. I had no insect repellent. In a short time, my skin was on fire. My tent screen was no defence. They passed right through it. I had no choice but to drive to the mainland for repellent, which helped. I sprayed myself from head to toe, closed the tent flaps and slow broiled myself, basting with Off every hour or so until the oven bell rang (alarm clock) at 6am.
I woke up puffy faced. The decision was real easy. I slam dunked my tent into the trunk, drove north and got an inexpensive motel on the Tamiami Trial, an old commercial strip which runs through Sarasota. That night I finally got a decent sleep. Next morning I grabbed a Grand Slam breakfast at a nearby Denny's and then drove to a beautiful white beach on Longboat Key, a barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. Life was good again.
I fished the same area for several days and got into a routine. I was just south of a cut between Anna Maria Island and Longboat. Just the thought of the place still makes me feel warm on a cold Winter day. I would wade out in the gentle morning surf until waist deep. Then I just stood there watching the water for life. I soon started seeing schools of lady fish. They were trout size, cooperative and a lot of fun to catch. Once hooked they went airborne. It seemed if you got a fly in front of them they charged it competing with one another in their pursuit. Keeping them on the hook was a challenge. One day I saw a much larger fish. It was a torpedo shaped speedster: a Spanish Mackerel. A great prize on light tackle.
In the morning if the small beach access lot was full I found parking on the east side of the island in a little residential community consisting of maybe twenty or thirty homes. The first time I parked there I spotted a large creature in my peripheral vision walking behind a house. Then I saw another one in my rear view mirror pass behind my car. They were large wild Peacocks, some six feet in height. They hung out on the secondary roads, in vacant lots, on manicured lawns, and even stood on porches and decks. They were everywhere, seemed fearless and use to people....kind of like the Geese that reside in the urban waterfronts and neighbourhood parks in Canada.
One windy day while wading back to land after an afternoon of fishing, I spotted a large long dark object swimming parallel and real tight to the beach. In the next hour or so, I saw a couple others on the same path. They were Snook, two to three feet long. They probably had been travelling behind me, right along the beach all afternoon. I had spent the whole day throwing a fly out to the deep blue when I should have turned around and casted to the shallows. The Snook travelled in the first trough just feet beyond the sand. I tossed a fly at one, no response.
The next day I purchased an eight foot cast net with a bucket and spent the morning teaching myself how to throw it. In case you don't know, a cast net is a circular net with small weights distributed around the circumference. If you haven't thrown one they are great fun, almost as much fun as fishing. I collected the net in my hands even using my teeth. I developed a throwing motion that was kind of similar to a Olympic Discus competitor. Anyway, I quickly got the hang of it and put it to use catching and studying the bait fish in the beach trough where the Snook were travelling. Most of the bait were minnow like. Some were roundish, silver dollar in size or slightly bigger. The other predominant type were about two to three inches long and slender. All were a silvery-grayish-white. There were also some small crabs and sand fleas in the trough. A white Clouser would have been a good fly choice. However, I was a novice in terms of saltwater fly fishing and simply tied some crude white concoctions with a bit of flash. The next series I tied I added just a bit of weight. The next day I spotted a few Snook circulating in the shallows in the early morning. Then in the afternoon when the Gulf had a chop to it, a repeat of the previous day occurred where Snook travelled very tight to the beach in ultra skinny water. I was on to something.
On one section of the beach a little south of where I had been fishing I spotted a series of square concrete posts sticking up out of the sand some three, four or six feet high. They were possibly remnants of a destroyed pier. I'd hoist myself up on them in the afternoons in order to fight glare and locate beach cruising Snook from a great distance. When I'd see a Snook heading my way I'd jump off the post and get set up to present my offering. I casted from the beach and as days passed hooked several fish this way. I discovered you have to be stealthy (sneaky) with Snook in the clear, shallow water. I'd cast well in front of a travelling fish, let my fly sink, wait for the Snook to get close and then tug the fly away from it. When hooked they usually jumped. Most broke off. I soon found out that that Snook have razor sharp gill plates that can easily sever light mono filament line (leader), which is what I was fishing. I needed a very heavy mono shock tippet to deal with this. As time went on I got into a fishing rhythm. I could predict when they'd show up and I got sneakier and a little bit better at fooling them. No pictures... I didn't carry a camera on my fishing adventures in 1991.
The next week I drove south and fished another barrier Island called Manasota Key. I also discovered Snook travelling there...same behavior. After several hours of fishing I realised I really missed my concrete post where I'd perch and watch for afternoon fish. I drove to a hardware store and considered buying a step ladder for the beach, however after measuring one realised it wouldn't fit into my car rental unless I also bought a roof rack, which I wasn't prepared to do.
With the Internet today you can do an exhaustive research on just about anything. I wasn't on the Net in 1991 and therefore everything I learnt standing day after day in the Gulf of Mexico was all just discovery...it was all new. I really had no expectations as I knew nothing. I knew there were Snook in Florida but I didn't know where they were or anything about their behaviour. And I often think that is a good thing for if I knew what flies to bring I wouldn't have gotten frustrated with refusals and bought and learnt how to throw a cast net. I wouldn't have discover the hard way that Snook have sharp gill plates and I wouldn't have lost so many fish which is also a good thing because it made landing the occasional one that much more of an achievement. If I had hired a guide, it would probably have gotten me into fish faster, maybe, but then what. If you get into fish too fast, and catch too many, then where do you go from there. I generally pack-up and drive home. If I struggle to catch, make mistakes, have to problem solve and think about it a lot, then I keep returning. When I think of these things, I'm always reminded of the saying, "No place worth going is easy to get to". It's so true.
One morning I discovered a nice Deli/Diner in Sarasota that served up a great blue plate special. Goodbye to breakfast at Denny's. I'd get there early and became a morning regular. The place smelled amazing and the food was even better. Usually I'd sit in a booth next to four retired guys who got together for breakfast every day. In Florida there is always four retired guys sitting around somewhere. These fellows were always kibitzing and laughing. They talked about the good old days when they were in business somewhere in the north east...New York, New Jersey...New Somewhere. Eavesdropping was great entertainment. One morning one of them looked at me and said, "You're getting too much sun". I told him I'd been fishing for two solid weeks out on Longboat Key. He asked me what I was fishing for? I replied, "Snook". He looked back at me and said, "What the Hell is a Snook!". His buddies howled.
I found Snook to be very powerful (like all saltwater species), acrobatic and challenging to catch. They reminded me of Smallmouth Bass in respect to how they fight. Like Bass they also gravitate to structure. What was so wonderful about this angling experience is that I was chasing them on a beautiful white beach and it was all sight fishing in clear shallow water. There was no expensive boat, no guide, no this, no that...It was pure simplicity: on foot, an 8wt and one fly.
Well I eventually got to my job interviews. I was offered a job in Jacksonville, thought about it for a week, but didn't take it. I often wonder what might have been if I moved to the Sunshine State. I might have become a grizzled old seaside Snook veteran: sweat stained ball cap, a gold front tooth clutching the mesh on my eight foot cast net, thread bare beach shorts, calloused feet, a weather beaten step ladder in tow and a back pack full of killer Snook flies. One life time is not enough.
If you want to beach fly fish for Snook I'd go in the late Spring or Summertime. That's when they seem to travel the barrier islands. Since my trip in 1991 I've discovered two good books on Snook: One by Frank Sargeant and another by Norm Zeigler, Snook on a Fly.
I never got back to fish for Snook again. I did return to Florida for a couple of vacations but that was family time and to escape Winter, and Snook don't seem to cruise the beaches then. They are elsewhere. The last several years I've been chasing Roosterfish on foot, in Baja, which has many similarities to what I experienced beach fishing in Florida. One day when it all comes together and the stars align, I'll find a cheap flight when the NBA playoffs are occurring, land in Sarasota, park where the Peacocks are and once again walk the beautiful beaches of the Gulf coast in search of Snook.
Sunday, 10 November 2013
This Is What I'm Into
It was brutally windy on Saturday; ditto on Sunday. It made finding surface feeding trout challenging. Then overnight into Monday morning it snowed. When I woke up the picnic table at the campground I was staying at was fully covered. I used my car snow brush to clean it off, fired up a propane burner and made a giant cup of hot tea. I had a half day of fishing left and then the five hour drive home, hopefully arriving before dusk to avoid deer on pavement. It was finally calm and the day looked so promising. I wish I had more time. I always wish I had more time.
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| leopard looking trout |
There were some big RV's in the campground. Some were occupied by anglers with drift boats, most however, were hunters. At the campground entrance was a tent. When its occupant got up he walked over in my direction and said something from a distance which I couldn't hear. As he got closer I heard him ask me if I had been finding any rising trout. He said the last couple of days had been slow for him and he had to resort to throwing streamers. He had caught a lot of fish this way but said it was not why he drove all the way from the West Coast.
.JPG) |
| shallow side channel with spawning browns |
We talked about the river which we are both big fans of. He had been on it for a couple of weeks and clearly had fished it a lot in past seasons. I told him that in spite of it being the first weekend of November and cold, I had picked up some of my best trout by spotting them slowly circulating in shallow areas, and then casting a beetle near them...some takes, more rejections...but some nice ones. I also had some success with olives when a weak afternoon hatch developed. He shared information on how the river had been fishing down near the town of Cascade and explained how to access the water from the east side, something I had never done.
I found out he was from the Spokane, Washington area. I said, "Shouldn't you be chasing steelhead at this time of year"? He said, "I'm not into that" then looked out behind him toward the Missouri river and said, " This is what I'm into." I understood.
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| Missouri river near cascade |
Thursday, 24 October 2013
Sight Fishing, Bent Bamboo and Bows
" I believe cats to be spirits come to earth. A cat, I am sure, could walk on a cloud without coming through".
- Jules Verne
I was hiking downstream returning to where I parked. It had been a good day on the water. Two anglers were across the river. The younger one had a good bend in his rod. The older fellow wasn't packing. Maybe he was a guide or he put his rod down to help his friend land the fish. I watched him fight the sizable trout and commented from a distance that it looked like he was fishing with Bamboo. A big smile grew. The other fellow said proudly they had spotted the fish rising two feet from the bank and hooked it on a size 18 dry fly. Stuff like that happens on this river. I stood there and took it all in while he landed it. We talked and agreed it was an accomplishment: a big fish on a small dry...and on Bamboo!
I won't have a chance to get back to fish the Prairie rivers before the season ends. I'm going to miss the promise of the day on the drive from the mountains out onto the Plains in the early morning light. I'm going to miss hiking the undulating coulees and their late day shadows. I'm going to miss the big broad winged birds riding the afternoon thermals and their shadows on the river. I'm going to miss the Pyrenees sheep herder. I'm going to miss staring into the water for hours on end in search of trout as it is so mesmerising and crystal ball like. And of course I'll miss tricking the occasional big beautiful trout in shallow water. The Buffalo, the ancient High Plains Grizzlies, and the powerful Nomadic Hunters are out there somewhere roaming the Coulees. Next year while walking along a river, I'll find them.
- Jules Verne
I was hiking downstream returning to where I parked. It had been a good day on the water. Two anglers were across the river. The younger one had a good bend in his rod. The older fellow wasn't packing. Maybe he was a guide or he put his rod down to help his friend land the fish. I watched him fight the sizable trout and commented from a distance that it looked like he was fishing with Bamboo. A big smile grew. The other fellow said proudly they had spotted the fish rising two feet from the bank and hooked it on a size 18 dry fly. Stuff like that happens on this river. I stood there and took it all in while he landed it. We talked and agreed it was an accomplishment: a big fish on a small dry...and on Bamboo!
As I continued my walk clouds rolled in. I had my success earlier in almost full sun when trout spotting was best. Now things were very challenging. I used the dark reflection of the high cliffs to my advantage to see through the grey surface. These were the same cliffs that blinded me earlier when the sun was out. Now they were my friend. I stopped at a section of the river that held a good fish as I had spooked one there several weeks earlier. My angling memory is good. I stood still for ten minutes watching the water. The trout's movement gave it away otherwise with the poor visibility, I would have never seen it. Movement always catches our eye. I casted. A large trout ate my dry fly.
I won't have a chance to get back to fish the Prairie rivers before the season ends. I'm going to miss the promise of the day on the drive from the mountains out onto the Plains in the early morning light. I'm going to miss hiking the undulating coulees and their late day shadows. I'm going to miss the big broad winged birds riding the afternoon thermals and their shadows on the river. I'm going to miss the Pyrenees sheep herder. I'm going to miss staring into the water for hours on end in search of trout as it is so mesmerising and crystal ball like. And of course I'll miss tricking the occasional big beautiful trout in shallow water. The Buffalo, the ancient High Plains Grizzlies, and the powerful Nomadic Hunters are out there somewhere roaming the Coulees. Next year while walking along a river, I'll find them.
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| mayfly: mahogany |
Thursday, 17 October 2013
The Mighty Mo
"All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was".
- Toni Morrison
Coffee in a take out cup simply tastes better on cold Autumn mornings. With the recent frost, leaves are dropping. Pumpkins are on porches as Halloween is just around the corner. My dog's outdoor water bowl has a layer of ice on it. My wading boots are semi frozen. After tugging them on I walk like Herman Munster. Hay bales are stacked high in the nearby fields. Waterfowl are passing overhead. The big Winter sleep is coming but not quite yet. Don't put away that fly rod. From all over people are converging on the Missouri river affectionately called the "Mighty Mo". It is Baetis time and they are throwing the small greenish-grey coloured flies at rising trout, or slinging streamers in search of big browns. As it is cooling down, things are really just heating up.
-Craig, Montana October 11, 2013
- Toni Morrison
Coffee in a take out cup simply tastes better on cold Autumn mornings. With the recent frost, leaves are dropping. Pumpkins are on porches as Halloween is just around the corner. My dog's outdoor water bowl has a layer of ice on it. My wading boots are semi frozen. After tugging them on I walk like Herman Munster. Hay bales are stacked high in the nearby fields. Waterfowl are passing overhead. The big Winter sleep is coming but not quite yet. Don't put away that fly rod. From all over people are converging on the Missouri river affectionately called the "Mighty Mo". It is Baetis time and they are throwing the small greenish-grey coloured flies at rising trout, or slinging streamers in search of big browns. As it is cooling down, things are really just heating up.
-Craig, Montana October 11, 2013
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| the rise |
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| morning frost on fly covered boat cooler |
I just spent a week on the Missouri river....and it was heating up. I can't think of a better place for a dry fly angler to plant himself in mid Autumn, whether it be for a day, a week or a month. The larger Baetis (Olives) didn't really pop when I was there, so I fished Pseudos (tiny olives), size 22 and 24's. I've been back home for a couple of days now and my eyes are still aching. There were plenty of the small guys hatching from 2 to 4 pm. And the fish were up. Most were subsurface feeding but some poked their heads through the meniscus and munched on top. I sight fished and focused on the slow flat water sections of the river. It was challenging angling...picky trout in knee deep water. I did best with cripple and emerger patterns: flies lying flush or dangling through the surface. The impressions you tie and choose can make or break your day. Many fish (probably most) let my offerings pass overhead untouched...but I did connect. Trout in a quick feeding rhythm (gorging) meant a much better chance. A couple of afternoons I fished on my knees to feeding trout only a rod length or two away. Here I was on the broad "Mighty Mo" fishing it like I was casting to trout in a bathtub. Micro-flies in a microcosm. I grew up fishing small streams. Maybe, like water, I'm simply trying to get back to where I once was.
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| walk to river |
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| clear water and weeds |
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| flat water side channel |
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| weed mats: fish often prowl the edges |
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| the occasional brown trout, nice surprise |
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