Summer Storms

Terrifyingly beautiful and violently calm. 

The old boat launch was empty. Abandoned, practically. Mildewed picnic tables and a sanded-over concrete boat ramp showed obvious signs of neglect. Not unwarranted neglect, mind you. Yellow caution tape haphazardly strewn between two posts served as a warning to keep visitors off of the dock beyond. With large sections missing, posts leaning, and splintered slats half peeled away, the wooden structure had obviously seen better days.

But the coffee black waters of the Saint Johns felt good, and the short swim to the only intact section of dock proved relaxing after a hot summer day in the sun. With and no ladder for help, it took some effort to climb onto the broken dock from below. Effort well rewarded, however, as the view of the massive river opened up to the north. The company of a close friend alongside was more than welcomed, and a relatively cool, slightly sweating beer still tasted good on a muggy evening.

One of the many nice things about having close friends is the ability to just enjoy each other's company. Sure there's plenty to be said, but there's a time and place. Often simply sitting in relative silence is just as enjoyable as deep conversation. And so the evening was spent less in conversation, and more in staring out across the calm waters while slowly sipping lukewarm beer.

It wasn't really the water that was being stared at, however. It wasn't a pretty sunset, or passing boats. Nor was it even an attempt to soak up the final few hours of sunshine. The sunshine was long gone.

In the distance to the North slowly moved a massive storm. Your typical Floridian summer afternoon storm, but are they ever really typical? Though they're practically a daily guarantee, each remains different than the next. Every day, around mid morning, you can watch as a tiny puff ball of a cloud begins to build as it lazily moves across the sky. By lunchtime the puff ball has become an actual rain shower, and by the afternoon, a full fledged thunderstorm.

This storm was no different. In fact, it hadn't been long since it had moved over this abandoned boat launch. Gone was the sweltering sunshine. Gone was the gentle lapping of waves against the shore from a hot summer breeze. Gone was the quiet clanking of the nearby sailboats' rigging as they slowly rocked in the water. And gone was the deafening buzz of cicadas in the trees.

Instead the waters ahead lay mirror flat as the still, humid air slowly settled in now that the breeze was gone. From the dark woods on shore came a gentle white noise from thousands of raindrops as they fell from the Spanish moss draped Live Oaks, signaling that the storm had passed through. And in the distance came the occasional flash of lightning, reflected off the river, followed by a low, trembling report. The storm rumbled steadily away to the north like a giant, dark purple/blue wall, with occasional lightning flashes from within outlining its growing, irregular shape. To the West, the sun was blotted out by the anvil-like shear which cast a shadow on the old boat launch. And to the South, other afternoon storms shined brightly as their white and orange shapes quietly approached in the evening daylight.

And so the evening was spent sitting on that broken dock, watching a storm slowly roll away. Ironically, the entire reason this dock sat half destroyed and abandoned was because of a storm. And it's strange to think something so powerful and violent can set a scene so peaceful and calm as the one this particular evening.

What is it about a storm?

Much like staring into a fire, there's no accurate way to explain what it's like to watch a thunderstorm. No words can describe the slight flutter of nervous excitement as the all-too-familiar buzz of the emergency broadcast system blares through the radio mid-song, or flashes across the bottom of the TV screen. Nor can they describe the startled flinch that's received when a lighting strike comes a little too close. Or that feeling when a strong, cold gust of wind pierces through the humid air of a summer afternoon, signaling the approaching weather.

Storms are something terrible to be in, yet a joy to watch from a distance. There's no controlling them, and perhaps its their raw power and fury that makes them awe inspiring.

One thing's for sure; there are few things in this world as humbling yet exciting as a summer storm.

They're terrifying, beautiful, violent, and calm. All at the same time.

From Swamp Thing To Beach Bum

"I simply can't take it anymore"

That was my quick and dirty answer to everyone when they asked why I was moving out of South Florida and leaving my job as guide in the Everglades. It had, in fact, broken me. 

I knew prior to moving south from Gainesville to Boca Raton that if I was to ever grow tired of anything, it'd be the people. And that's exactly what happened. I actually loved what I did in South Florida. Even though people who are close to me heard me bitch quite a bit about my job, I actually thoroughly enjoyed it. From the time I picked my guests up, until the time I dropped them off, it rarely felt like work. The rest of the time, however? I really REALLY didn't enjoy. 

Sure there were some bright spots.

I met some cool people. Got to experience some fun things that aren't offered anywhere else. But for the vast majority of my time in South Florida, I simply didn't like it. West Palm Beach to Homestead is essentially one massive city. The biggest city that I've personally ever been in and after a while it took its toll. Commutes to and from work ranged under 10 miles but took hours. The cost of living was outrageous. And the people? I won't blow smoke up your ass...

The people are shit.

 Like I said, I met some cool people, but for the most part, the people are terrible. And not even one demographic over another. Just the people in general. 

I've read several "studies" and reports about urban living. How it can lead to aggressiveness, poor mental health, etc. Though I won't argue with anything they have to say, I really think it just boils down to this: Too many people, too close together. 

The way I see it, you're allowed to be a terrible person and essentially get away with it there. Say, for example, you're at a bar. You drunkenly decide to completely show your ass. Fight the bouncer, throw drinks on someone, whatever. End of it all, you get kicked out. 

So what?

There's so many people that there's almost ZERO chance that you'll ever run into any of the ones you just pissed off ever again. Try that in small town USA and you'll suddenly find yourself with no friends and a bad name for yourself quite quickly. There's no accountability, and I think that just leads to worse people in general. 

Another thing was that I found it extremely challenging to find people who shared the same interests as me. Aside from beer drinking, the only other hobbies I have revolve around the outdoors. Fishing, kayaking, spearfishing, hunting, etc. But when it came to many of the people I met, the most "outdoorsy" they ever got was laying out on the beach. Many had never even seen an Alligator, despite living in South Florida their entire lives. So what in the world do I have in common with them?

There was one evening after work that I stopped by the bar in Deerfield Beach and sat down to unwind before heading home. It wasn't long before two girls my age sat down right next to me. I introduced myself, told them what I did, and chatted with them for a while before finally one of them, Chelsea, stopped me mid sentence...

"Oh my God...so I have to ask...Would it be weird if I got your number to give to my boyfriend?"

"...umm...what?"

"He's a huge outdoorsman and he's been down here for years and hasn't met anyone who's into what he likes"

Fast forward a week and Chelsea's boyfriend, Shaun and I are spearfishing off of the Pompano Beach pier together and are still friends to this day. 

Yeah I made a few friends, but bottom line, I simply wasn't enjoying living there. At one point I actually managed to get so stressed I successfully gave myself Shingles (listen to Terry Bradshaw, it sucks).

Yeah dude. Live around the ancients long enough and you catch that kinda shit. 

 I needed to make a change. ASAP. 

As luck would have it, I have friends scattered all over the state of Florida. I knew that I didn't want to move back to Gainesville. Yes the town is great, but I'm not in school anymore nor am I 21. Unlike most people from Pensacola, I'm still avoiding moving BACK, so that was a pass too. My sister lives in Jacksonville, and that region was a place I'd yet to spend much time in, so why not? I began looking for places and it just so happened that one of my best friends Kiersten was looking for a roommate in a beach house in Saint Augustine. For cheap. 

Put me in coach. 

So I quit my job, led a couple of friends through the Wilderness Waterway one last time (at least I keep telling myself one last time), packed everything up in the truck, and drove myself up to Saint Augustine Beach. 

A 3 story beach house that overlooked the ocean sounded infinitely better than pretty much anything I'd encountered in South Florida, so I was ecstatic. In order for the house to be so cheap, however, it meant living with 4 other people. 

I originally had my reservations, but it didn't take much time for me to fall in love with the beach life and not mind living with 4 others at all. I shared a bathroom and kitchen with a guy named Richard, and we happened to take over the 3rd floor of the house which meant every morning we awoke to a sunrise directly over the ocean. It also took almost no time for all of us to become very close friends. Myself, Richard, Kiersten, and the other two roommates, Casey and Brad, became almost inseparable during our time at this beach house. Days were spent lounging (as I had no job yet), evenings were spent walking the coquina littered beach with beers, and nights were spent partying as often as possible. Eventually (and drunkenly) we decided to name the house/group Casa De Pantelones based off of a painting on the wall that said "Ain't No Party Like A No Pants Party" (yes our name was wrong, I told you we were drunk). 

The whole "moving across the state with no job" thing worried me at times, but thanks to years of seasonal work, I've learned to not be one to fret too much about employment. I'd eventually find -something-. Even if it meant scrubbing toilets with that 5 year college degree. Money is money, after all. 

What I wasn't expecting, however, was to be browsing craigslist one morning and discover an opening for a Kayak/Naturalist Guide right there on Saint Augustine beach. Not to sound full of myself, but I was a shoe in for the position, and it was quickly my full time job. A fact that my mother, upon hearing of said position, and always worrying about my future, simply responded with a sigh and, 

"You always manage to land on your feet...don't you?'

And so I spiraled into a life that I can only describe as being a massive beach bum. I didn't surf, but I kayaked every day. I showed people manatees and dolphins, talked about ecological change, and actually kinda used that degree that I got. I wrapped up work around 2pm at the latest, and I went back to Casa De Pantelones to party on the beach with my friends. Every. Single. Day. Days that I didn't work, I jogged on the beach in the morning, went kayak fishing, and celebrated that I had a day "off". There was a few week period that I didn't even bother wearing shoes. Barefoot, sweat stained, mildly hungover, and sunburned was how I existed. And to be perfectly honest...

I loved it. Who wouldn't?

It's during this time that I began to write my book. I was the proud new owner of more time than I knew what to do with, so why not be somewhat productive? Also, for those those of you who follow my snapchat, this was also the time when I unexpectedly made a best friend in the form of a cat named Jimmy. 

As a lifelong rule, I've disliked cats. Jim, however, was an exception. Maybe it was his three legs, his orange charm, or my incessant need to draw on his missing arm using phone filters. Regardless, he remains one of my favorite animals to this day, and if you miss him, there's always this instagram profile that I may or may not have shamelessly made for him: 

https://www.instagram.com/jimmyonearms/

Then came the day that our asshole, massive piece of shit, lint licking, mom-please don't-read-these-cusswords landlord decided to cancel our lease 8 months early to instead rent to some of his friends and take our entire security deposit. Casa De Pantelones was no more. 

An easy solution would be to find another house, right? In theory, yes. But in practicality (and against equal opportunity housing laws) no one was willing to rent to 5 different adults who were unrelated and not married. The rental market in Saint Augustine is garbage. If it isn't snowbirds who'd rather rent vacation homes than monthly residences, it's bottom feeders like Phil Martocci (see previous "landlord") who renege on lease agreements. So in the long run, we couldn't find a place all together and had to split, just a few months after I'd settled into a new town. 

I soon moved into a different house on the beach with Brad and Richard, while Kiersten and Casey found an apartment together a few miles away. Sadly, life on the beach was nothing more than a shadow of what it used to be. Was it still fun? Absolutely. Was I still a beach bum? Pretty much. I did pick up a second job as a salesman pushing Citrus, Pecans, Fireworks, and Wine (like I said, money is money). But my initial life and introduction to Saint Augustine was long gone. Looking back, it was one of the most memorable, enjoyable, and fleeting few months I've ever experienced. I quickly found myself in a gated old folks community on the wrong side of A1A. We were the youngest in the neighborhood by around 40 years and between nosy seniors and the homeowners association, my time there was VASTLY different than my time in the previous home (those stories are for another post). 

My time in Saint Augustine was infinitely better than the time spent in South Florida, but much like my life in Casa De Pantelones, I would soon find it too, to be fleeting. After all, one can only be a beach bum for so long. 

Cedar Key Kayak Fishing

It had been a while. A long while, in fact, since I'd taken the kayak out in the saltwater. My Everglades adventure was the last time the big yellow yak had seen action and as I loaded up the trailer and dragged the boat out of my apartment, signs from the Glades were still very much present. The kayak still had mud all over it. Inside, my spare paddle banged around. And the snapped cable to my rudder was still broken, held together only by the piece of dock line I'd found washed up on the beach.

I honestly haven't had much time for...well...anything really. Especially not fishing or repairing gear. I just recently quit my second job because I was so busy. Now that I'm down to just one, my weekends are free. But rather than spend them fishing, the past few weeks I've found myself spending time with friends who were about to graduate and leave this college town.

But I finally got a free weekend with good weather (a miracle...I know), and I took advantage of it. So early one Saturday morning, my friend Ian and I loaded up the kayak trailer, and drove over to Cedar Key to look for Reds.

We arrived just a few minutes after sunrise and quickly began loading up the kayaks. I realized that it'd been nearly two years since I last fished this area near the Shell Mound and the last time I was here, my dad and I tore into the tailing Redfish. I could tell we were both excited with how quickly the yaks were loaded and the paddling started. But I was quickly reminded of an extremely important act of nature that practically drives Cedar Key: The tides.

Considering how strapped I've been for free time, I decided to just go. Just go to Cedar Key and not worry about what tide it is. There's no other opportunity for me to go. So go I did, and I did so during a time that the tides were polar opposite of what I wanted. Outgoing tide all morning, low tide at 10:15.

Needless to say, the water was skinny, and getting skinnier by the minute. To add to my frustration, the wind decided to kick up to about 15-20mph out of the east. Paddling was by no means easy, but we managed to make our way around the oysters and cuts and work out toward the gulf.

I'm still not exactly sure why I decided to switch up lures, but I did, and I tried something I've never done before. A few days prior, I bought a $1 spinner bait at Walmart. I think I may have done it just to help begin filling up my new tackle box, but I remembered that I read something once about using spinners for Reds. So...why not give it a try?

Three casts later I hooked what I thought was an oyster bar...at least until line started screaming off my drag. I set the hook and immediately began getting drug around. I shouted over to Ian that I had an -actual- fish on. Not just something small. Round and round we went; the fish peeling off drag and pulling the kayak in wide circles against the wind. Repeatedly the fish circled the boat and thanks to the high wind, the kayak stayed pointed one direction as I was being pulled the opposite. This made me play the fun game of fighting the fish backwards and switching the rod back and forth over my head. By this time Ian had made the paddle over from where he'd been and was getting the camera ready.

It was then that I saw it. The massive Redfish rose up from the muddy waters and thrashed on the surface. It was a big fish. 30+ inches and it still had quite a bit of fight left in it. It rolled on the surface for a moment longer, then peeled out more drag. Soon it was back on the surface, and it made a quick turn, running straight toward the boat. I quickly reeled to keep the line tension up, but to my dismay, I literally WATCHED the lure fall out of the fish's mouth.

Not break, or bend, or rip out. It just sorta fell out. I was shocked to be honest. It's rare for me to lose a fish after fighting it for so long. Usually when I lose one, it happens in the first few seconds of the fight. Not several minutes in.

I'm not one to really ever let losing a fish get to me, but this one hurt. It'd been a while since I'd been in the saltwater, and it was an awesome fish. What really bugged me was just how surprised I was that I lost it. I certainly know that's why they call it fishing and not catching, but I beat myself up for the rest of the day over that fish, and that's something I never do.

Unfortunately the tide continued to race out, and fishing soon became almost impossible in the extremely shallow water. Ian and I stood on a mud flat and waited out the tide switch. When it finally started coming back in, we got about another hour of fishing in before we gave up. It was nearly noon, and neither of us had eaten anything all day. Plus, aside from that one nice Red, we'd had zero luck.

I honestly can't wait to go back. Now that I've settled into my work schedule, I should be fishing every weekend that I can. Next time I'll be sure to time the tides a little better and actually hit it on a high tide. And with any luck, I can get round two with mister Redfish. I've got a score to settle.

A Kayak Fishing Adventure

I haven't been doing much fishing or hunting recently. And because of that, I haven't had much to write about. But I haven't, however, been sitting around idly. I've actually been planning quite the kayak fishing adventure, and it less than three weeks, I'll set off on my journey to start the new year.

I will be paddling the Everglades Wilderness Waterway in it's entirety and fishing it the whole way. Based off of the path I have planned, the entire thing should take me 8 days to paddle in my kayak and about 110 miles to complete. I will also be paddling this alone.

I've mapped out my path and each stop as shown above. Some camp sites are ground sites while others are chickees. If you don't know what a chickee is, it's pretty much just a raised platform above the water with a roof and no walls. These are placed out in the 10,000 islands because there's little to no solid ground in the endless mangrove maze.

The planning process is still underway. I've been making/going through checklists and trying to get all my ducks in a row. Where I'll launch, where I'll finish, who will pick me up, etc. These are all things I've been trying to sort out in addition to just gear. But I will have a chance while on this trip to do quite a bit of gear testing. I've got a stove, and several other pieces of equipment that I plan on putting through the wringer over the 8 day paddle.

I'm a little nervous and very excited about taking this trip. I've never done anything quite like this before, so not only will it be an experience of a lifetime, but also a huge learning experience. With any luck, I'll learn quite a bit about fishing in the backcountry, and maybe even land some fish in the process.

But overall, I'm really looking forward to this trip. I may post my plan, in detail, prior to leaving as well as my checklists for gear and what not. After I return, I'm sure I'll have some things to change up about my planning process and might come out of it with a good "how-to". Stay tuned!

When the fish aren't biting...

Break out the snatch hooks.

On a recent trip to St. Marks, I arrived early and began tossing topwater lures in hopes of hooking up to some Trout or Reds. I'm not sure what was going on that day, but I couldn't get a strike to save my life. Topwater, subsurface, DOA's. Nothing would work.

So as I paddled around in search of fish, I looked out to notice a massive school of Mullet. The water was practically teeming with them. And since I was practically starving to death while out there in the kayak, I decided I wanted to bring some fish home.

I know I've gone on and on about snatching mullet in previous posts. But it's something I really enjoy. Unless you've ever hooked up with one personally, I can't describe how hard they fight. It really is a good time, and I just love the feel of drag peeling off the reel.

I wound up keeping six total. That was in under 30 minutes. I counted, and had 4 casts within that time period where I didn't hit a fish with the snatch hook. I also hooked and lost about 10, and had 4 others in the kayak that flopped back out into the water. The school never sounded, and just stayed in the same general area the entire time.

I usually don't keep many fish. Part of it is because I like catch and release. The other reason is that I'm just plain lazy and don't want to clean fish. But I was craving a fish fry, and to me, few things beat a bunch of fresh mullet. Since I didn't bring a cooler with me, I kind of laid on the fish the whole paddle back to keep them out of the sun. It seemed to work decently, but I'm pretty sure I smelled like mullet for the next week.

So the next time you're out fishing and the fish just aren't biting, seriously give the snatch hook a try. Any fish on the end of your line beats no fish.

The Glades are Calling

I've put it off for long enough. It's been over a year since I took a trip down to the Everglades, and now the urge to get back down there is practically keeping me up at night.

I plan to chase cichlids again. I don't know why, but catching them on a 3 wt is just as much fun to me as catching Snook and Tarpon. Maybe something's wrong with me.

But let's not be ridiculous. I'm a saltwater guy at heart, and no trip to the Glades would be complete without a few Snook.

At this point though, I'm exhausted. Exhausted from doing countless hours of long distance research through the computer. Searching for recent fishing reports, watching Youtube videos, and scanning Google Earth for hours on end has worn me out. Back in 2009, the cichlids in South Florida took a huge hit from a freeze. From what I could tell based off of my 2010-2012 trips, they've been essentially eradicated from Alligator Alley, and their numbers were hurt pretty bad everywhere else. They aren't gone. Let's get that straight. They'll never be gone. But they're harder to find right now as they make a comeback.

These fish are almost impossible to do any accurate research on. Few people know what they are, much less catch them. And even fewer specifically target them. If I lived down there, it wouldn't be such a mystery to me. I could just do my homework, find where they are, and go on my happy way. But even from here in Central Florida, it's a 6 hour drive to where I fish, and I'm not fond of spending most of my time down there getting skunked.

As of right now, I do know a few canals that hold good numbers of cichlids. I've been able to catch them even since the 2009 freeze. But it's beyond frustrating at the lack on information that's out there on how their recovery is doing.

So I'm done researching from behind my computer chair. There's seriously nothing more I can read (I slugged through several scientific papers on invasive's impact on native fish populations -just- to see where they were). It's time I just get down there and fish.

I'm certainly not going to catch any if I don't wet a line.

Kayak Fishing Jacksonville: Muddy edition

A few weeks back I managed to escape work and drive over to Jacksonville to stay with my sister. While her and her husband had work, I had nothing to do but fish. So I dragged the kayak with me and got up early the next morning to fish.

I'm impressed every time I go to Jacksonville by its sheer size. The city is massive and very spread out. Even though I was technically in the same "city", the drive to where I wanted to launch the kayak was an hour and half away. Prior to leaving, I did a bit of Google earth scouting and picked out some promising looking spots from my launch. The area I went to was Kingfish Park. Having never been there, I was pleased to discover a well maintained park, boat launch, and even a designated kayak/canoe launch.

I wanted to get out at first light, so I arrived in the dark and began loading the kayak. Very quickly, I noticed that the no-see-ums were out in full force. But after swatting at myself several times, I realized that they weren't no-see-ums. Rather, they were the world's smallest mosquitoes and they were busily attempting to drain my body of all fluid. Having brought no bug spray, I opened myself up to an absolutely miserable time trying to get the kayak ready. I'm kind of glad that I was the only one in the parking lot. Had others been there, they would have seen a 20-something year old man dancing wildly around a bright yellow kayak and cursing to no one in particular.

One thing that I fail to do on a regular basis is plan. Anything. I usually do things spur of the moment, so I tend to forget things. On this particular trip, I forgot my crocs. Even though they slip off constantly in mud, they're a much better option than what I brought with me on this trip: My flip flops. In addition, I failed to check the tides for that morning.

Now the tide screw up wasn't really something I could have changed. I honestly almost never forget to check the tides. And I didn't so much forget to check, as I didn't care. I was there in Jacksonville, I wanted to fish first thing in the morning, and I didn't really care -what- the tides were going to be.

But what I forgot about were Jacksonville's terrible mud-flats of death that result from low tides. I experienced these once before, and was pretty sure I found the gates to hell in the form of a soul sucking, bottomless mud flat that forced me to wait for the tide to come back in. You know it's shallow when your kayak gets stuck.

So as I dragged my kayak down to the water's edge at Kingfish Park, I looked out in horror to see a sloping mud bank that went 30 yards out and under a dock before touching water. As I walked, I immediately regretted having worn the flip flops. Ever step threatened to suck them off my feet, never to be seen again. And I would have simply removed them, but the mud is filled with broken oyster shells, and the last thing I wanted was to cut my foot wide open.

After a momentary "So this is how it ends?" freak out , as I was stuck in the mud standing next to a mosquito swarmed kayak, I managed to free myself, belly crawl onto the kayak, and kick my way through the mud into open water.

Having finally extricated myself from a muddy grave, I looked down to see the damage. You know that scene in predator where Dutch figures out the mud hides him?

Yeah, that scene? I looked something like that except I was wearing fishing clothes and I'm slightly less "roidy" than ol' Arny. Anyways, as my usual good fortune would have it, this whole thing had an audience. As, I began washing my arms and legs off in the water, I looked to see a Jon boat with two old men that had clearly witnessed my failure of a kayak launch. When my kayak (now stuck in the current of a rapidly falling tide) floated past them, I did my best to give them a respectable fisherman's nod, but it's kinda hard to look respectable immediately after floundering around in the mud like a mammoth in a tar pit.

Anyways, so with a falling tide, I began to paddle back into an area that I'd seen on google earth and figured it'd hold fish. But upon arriving, I noticed that the only time it could possible hold fish would be high tide. This is because the little creek mouth I planned to fish was now nothing more than a muddy ditch 3 feet above me.

I fished nearby anyways, and as luck would have it, I actually caught a small trout on topwater with my first cast. The rest of the morning was -slow-. Very slow. It wasn't until the tide turned that I even began having hits again. After a few dinky little trout on my DOA, I decided to pick up and switch areas. I paddled across what was at this point a raging river with the incoming tide, but eventually found calmer water and started fishing again.

I watched as an osprey flew down, nailed a mullet, and started to fly away. But as it flew, I saw a fish spook below it. In less than a foot of water, a 30+ inch Redfish was rapidly swimming directly at my kayak. I did my best to cast at him, but having already been spooked by the bird, he was having none of my DOA.

I started to focus on some exposed oyster bars and it quickly paid off. After missing a few chances at small tailing Reds, I managed to finally put the lure where it needed to go, and hook up. I tried out my GoPro mount for the first time, and was able to snap this picture from the video. I'll have to remember next time to wash off the lens before filming as it's obviously still dirty from my muddy launch. I should probably not point it directly into the sun either.

But luckily I brought another camera.

The fishing started to slow back down once the tide began to reach full high. I'd been out there all morning anyways, and it was past lunch time. So I called it a day, paddled back, and was pleased to see that the water now went all the way up to a sandy beach, and removing the kayak involved no mud.

I definitely plan to go back there soon and fish again. Since I'm stuck in Gainesville at the moment, I'm situated pretty much right between Jacksonville and Cedar Key. So really I can just take my pick with the kayak. It shouldn't be long before I have the fish in Jacksonville dialed in. I've just gotta make sure to check the tides, and avoid a muddy grave. 

Kayak Fishing St. Marks

I love the salt.

Something about saltwater fishing just gets me excited WAY more than freshwater fishing does. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy bass fishing. I mean, any fishing is better than none. But fishing in the salt is where I enjoy myself the most.

With my Jeep and kayak trailer lights -finally- working properly, I headed out of the plantation last week and drove the hour long trip to the coast. My destination was St. Marks national wildlife refuge. Thanks to a little bit of poor time management on my part, my trip took closer to an hour and a half after getting gas and actually making it out of the plantation and onto a paved road.

I'd done some scouting via google earth, and picked out some decent looking spots that I wished to try in the kayak. So I'd finally made it to the launch, I paddled out, and pretty much went exploring. To my surprise, there wasn't hardly anyone on the water. In fact, I saw only one boat all day. And with the exception of the tide, you couldn't ask for a better day on the water.

On the second cast of the day, and my topwater lure got destroyed mere feet from the kayak. With the fish so close to the boat, I easily identified it as a trout. But not just any trout. This was definitely one of, if not the biggest trout I'd ever hooked. It did the weird "Speckled Trout Death Roll" on the surface for a moment before finally finding itself, turning around, and peeling out line. Unfortunately, it turned right for my stern, crossed an oyster bar, and cut me off. After retying, I fished the same area for a few minutes unsuccessfully before giving up and moving on.

One thing I can safely say about St. Marks is that when the tide moves, it MOVES. I quickly found myself in water too shallow to paddle in. Thankfully, the bottom is hard sand and limestone instead of mud, and I was able to walk the kayak back into deeper water without any trouble.

There wasn't a breath of wind this particular day. And from time to time, I just had to stop and stare out over the Gulf. It was impossible to find the horizon, and I'd have to glance back to shore in order to keep myself from feeling sick.

After some paddling, I moved up into a large creek. I switched to a DOA shrimp and cast repeatedly to schools of mullet that I prayed were actually reds. But with the exception of a 5 second, drag screaming strike before my knot broke, I didn't have any other hits. I'm assuming it had been a Red with the way it hit. To add, I was in less than a foot of water when the fish struck.

Soon after this, the bite just turned off completely. I sight cast to a few cruising reds that I saw, but they weren't having anything to do with me. The sun was up too high, the tide was almost at a standstill, and it was so calm, that any movement was spotting out instantly by spooky fish. I decided that I'd do a little more paddling, and went exploring further down the coast.

I found some very fishy looking spots. VERY fishy. But with the tide and the time, there wasn't much going on. It was also almost 11 and I'd been on the water for close to 5 hours. So with a few "one last casts", I called it a day, and began paddling back.

What I hadn't realized, was that in my excitement of finally getting back into saltwater, I'd paddled a pretty long way. It was taking FOREVER, to get back. The tide had now switched and began coming back in while I was paddling back, so I took a break and paddled up a small creek that made a loop. To my surprise, I actually hooked a couple of dinky little trout and lost them boatside. And after navigating the entire creek, I called it a day (for real) and went back to the launch.

During my last 1/4 miles of paddling, something rather strange happened. For the first time since I broke it, my collar bone started killing me. Every other stroke felt like someone stabbing me in the shoulder. I broke the thing 9 years ago during a soccer game, and I've literally never had a problem with it until that day. I was overly grateful to make it back to the Jeep, load up the kayak, and let my arms rest.

A few days later, out of curiosity, I did some research to determine how far I actually paddled. I was guessing 5-6 miles. Most of my trips don't go over 4 miles, so I figured the little extra paddling may have stressed the old break. To my horror, I mapped out my path and saw that I'd paddled 8.7 miles that morning. I don't even like to drive that far, much less paddle a plastic boat. But it really never felt like I'd gone that far. There's obviously something about saltwater that puts me in a different place. And that's why I love it.

I've got big plans to go back to St. Marks soon. Stay tuned! Maybe I'll luck out and actually land one of those elusive fish creatures I've heard about next time.

GreenFish Photo Prompt: The Release

GreenFish is a company that emphasizes fishing ethics in order to have a sustainable fishery. One cannot discuss a sustainable fishery without mentioning catch and release methods, and thus, here is a photo-prompt regarding this practice.

“This is my photo submission for the GreenFish and Outdoor Blogger Network Photo Contest“

The release...

 It has been done a thousand times before. The cast, action, hooking, fighting, landing, picture taking, and finally, the release, have been repeated over and over throughout my fishing career. It’s often done due to specific size limits, seasons, species, and even from laziness (cleaning fish -is- work). So why does the picture above really pound home the idea behind catch and release?  And why is catch and release so important?

This picture is of me releasing the biggest Snook I’ve caught to date. It was landed during the summer of 2010 which was approximately six months after a major Snook kill. The kill was caused by record low temperatures in southern Florida and although many undesirable non-native species perished, thousands of Snook died as well. The impact of the freezing temperatures was so severe that the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) was forced to change the existing Snook season. With such a large percentage of the population gone, it was vitally important to ensure the survivability of the species’ primary breeders.

I knew this prior to going fishing in the Everglades that summer day. I didn’t have a permit to keep Snook and the season was closed anyway. But even if I had a permit…even if the season wasn’t closed…even if the Snook population -hadn’t- taken a huge hit…I still think I would have released this fish.

For me, it’s often not about the dinner table. Believe it or not, catch and release plays an enormous role in a sustainable fishery. Don’t get me wrong of course. I won’t hesitate to harvest fish for dinner fare. But I firmly believe in a sort of give-and-take relationship with a fishery. Allowing the bigger breeding fish to live will help ensure that there is a consistent, large scale recruitment into the population each year. If it weren’t for this, I, nor anyone else, would not be able to enjoy the freedom to fill the cooler from time to time.

This fish was special. It showed that the population was still persisting and it felt tremendous to allow a fish like this to return unharmed. Releasing it really made me feel like I was giving back to the species, and in turn, future generations. It’s our job to practice ethical and sustainable fishing. One cannot always rely solely on rules and regulations. It is these practices that must be passed on to future generations if we expect to have sustainable fisheries for everyone to enjoy in the future.

As usual, no one was around to snap a picture of me -with- this beautiful fish. I did my best to awkwardly snap pictures in my lap, and tried to return the fish quickly to the water to not only fight another day, but help contribute to the hurting population.

100th Post and 2 New Species

So here it is. My 100th post. Looking back and when I started this thing, I questioned whether or not I'd even get past 10 posts. But here I am, and I have my friends and regular readers to thank for helping me get this far. If it wasn't for ya'll, I would have never gotten here. So THANK YOU!

Now...to my fishing trips.

While home for Thanksgiving, I got five chances to go fish. And like usual, none of them were what I had planned to do. Originally, I had planned to sit on the beach, relax, and try to catch some bull reds. Sadly...This never happened. I didn't even look at the beach during my 10 day stay. Instead, I got some much needed time in the kayak.

My first trip was on Sunday afternoon and my Dad, Mr. Locher, and I took the kayaks to an area that usually produces quite a few trout. As usual, the fishing was great, and I had over 20 fish in the boat in a little over an hour. What was strange this time, however, was that I couldn't get a fish to hit on conventional tackle. Every trout I landed was on the fly...A white clouser to be exact.

Not only did I manage to catch more Speckled Trout on a fly than ever before, but I also caught my biggest on the fly...Just shy of 20 inches.

A few days later and I found myself with my Dad kayak fishing the headwaters of Escambia bay. The brackish water has hundreds of little bayous and creeks that look terribly fishy. I've never spent much time around this area, but I really wanted to get out and explore. We soon found a creek and began working our way up it in search of Redfish or Trout.

After just a few casts, I had a strike, and the biggest surprise of my trip.

A Chain Pickerel!

Now I'm not really a freshwater fisherman. I knew these things existed. But I'd never seen one in real life, much less ever caught one. But here it was, hanging out in a 10 foot wide creek. That fish alone made my trip, but there was more to be caught.

Not long after this I caught a little Largemouth (that shook the hook at the side of the boat). I then turned around and caught a Redfish and a Trout.

All of these fish were caught in the same general area and I'm always surprised when I can catch true freshwater fish and saltwater fish in the same area. The wind had decided to whip itself into a gale by this point, so we called it a day.

My last kayak trip came Friday after thanksgiving. I went with my Dad and brother-in-law close to the same area we'd hit on Sunday. Unfortunately the bit wasn't quite what it had been 6 days earlier. I decided to take this as a sign to go look for new honey-holes and ventured off into a different area in hopes of finding more fish.

I wasn't too disappointed because shortly after moving, I found the fish. They weren't anything huge...the biggest was just around 17 inches, and the smallest was barely the length of my hand. But it was nice to find a new hole. It certainly helps expand my knowledge of the area. You can't really learn too many new things if you do the same thing over and over...right?

This area is where I had yet another surprise. This time, it was on the fly.

A Ribbonfish. Again, I'd never caught one before and was really interested in the way they moved and fought. They pull backwards and use that eel shaped body to their advantage. I caught two of these things, and had to carefully remove my mangled fly from their nasty set of choppers.

And that was it for my kayak fishing over the break. My other trips consisted of venturing off in a power-boat, but that report will have to wait for later in the week. Stay tuned...There's a third new species to cross off my list coming up!

Everglades Exotic Fish Tournament

So I meant to post about this back in July, but got...side tracked.

I realize posting about it in November is a bit late, but bear with me. I found it interesting.

Back in July, the Everglades Cooperative Invasive Species Management Area hosted a non-native fish roundup. Simply put, a tournament to catch exotic fish in South Florida. The results, along with pictures can be found here: http://www.evergladescisma.org/roundup/results.cfm

I found this whole thing interesting because of recent events here in Florida. Two winters back, Florida had near record breaking cold snaps and freezes. There were widespread snook kills and a massive die off of exotic fish, in particular, the Oscar.

The ecologist in me was happy about the exotics dying off, but the fisherman in me worried. Even for their small size, Oscars are one of my favorite fish to catch. There's just something about tossing a fly near a fallen log, and having a fish a little larger than a bluegill, engulf it and fight 10 times as hard. So was having a large population of these exotic fish die off a good thing?

It's hard to tell really. I've read papers about both Oscar's and Mayan Cichlid's effects on native species such as Largemouth Bass. From what I've read, having the exotics around hasn't really caused much damage. Yes there is a large amount of predation on small bass by the exotics, but at the same time, big bass have an almost unlimited supply of tasty cichlids.

To add, there's actually an exotic species that may suffer from a die off of Oscars. That species is the Butterfly Peacock Bass. Native to the Amazon in South America, the Butterfly Peacock Bass was purposefully introduced into the Florida Everglades by the state to help control Oscar and Mayan Cichlid populations. Since then, the Peacock Bass have become a major sport fish. So there's the possibility that having a large amounts of Oscars dye off could be detrimental to the Peacock Bass.

I've seen a change in the amount of exotics first hand. My first encounter with these fish was in May of 2008. My dad and I stopped along the Tamiami Trail and noticed that there were -hundreds- of fish teeming around the rocks and bushes in the near by canal. At the time, we weren't sure what they were, but we knew they weren't native. Using worms and gold hooks, we proceeded to have a hay-day.

My next trip occurred in early August of 2008. -Something- changed in between that time. Perhaps the heat forced some of the fish into deeper water...Who knows. But they weren't as thick as they had been in May. That's not to say, however, that they weren't there. We still found them, and filled the cooler.

In May of 2009 I found myself down in the Glade's again and just like the previous year, the fish were thick. I caught close to 10 Oscars off of one sunken log at one point and this time we laid into the Peacocks as well.

Winter of 2009 was when the freezes hit.

I made it back down to the Glade's in June of 2010. Immediately, I went to see if the exotics were still there. It took quite a bit of poking around, but I finally found them. They weren't -nearly- as thick as they had been the year before. They were definitely few and far between. I made another trip later in the summer since I was working within 3 hours of the Glades. Once again I found the fish, but they were still lacking a bit.

Realizing that the fish were still alive, I desperately wanted to get back down there. And from everything I'd read, the BEST time to fish for them was around December or January. I made a trip down there again this past February to get in on some of the -awesome- fishing...We went just in time for a cold front.

The cichlids were all but gone. The cold had driven them into holes and deep spots, and we only saw 2 or 3 Peacock Bass the whole trip.

It, of course, was in the 70's the following week, and I'm sure the fish were teeming once again.

I haven't been back down there since. So reading about the exotic fish tournament was interesting. The total weight of fish they pulled in was almost 226 lbs. That may not sound like a lot, but remember, Oscars and Mayans usually weigh about 1-2 lbs. They pulled in -alot- of fish. However, I searched and couldn't find if they'd had previous tournaments. It would be interesting to see if there was a change in the amount of fish pulled in before and after the kills.

I'm really not too worried about the exotic populations after the freezes though. From keeping Oscars in an aquarium, I know that under the right conditions, they can grow up to an inch per month. They usually max out at about 12-13 inches, so you do the math.

I've no doubt that the exotic fish species are there to stay. It would take more than just some cold snaps to get rid of them. I certainly look forward to the next time I can make a trip down there. Until then, I'll just tie up flies for cichlids, and look through old pictures in anticipation.