Sunday, August 12, 2001

Storm surge

David Sikes/Caller-Times

Looks like the slump’s over. We released the biggest fish, then kept half limits for the three of us following weeks of sub-par fishing success.

A Barry-induced tide rolled beneath the better part of the full moon as booted heels slid into Mesquite Bay. Waist deep and in stride, three anglers began slinging lures toward what would soon be the brilliant edge of dawn.
   Within minutes, attentions were divided between three twitching surface plugs and the rippled reflections of sunrise and moonset on the bay.
   Jay Watkins was the first to speak, which surprised no one.
   "How often do you see that?" he asked rhetorically about the simultaneous solunar spectacle. "This is the perfect time to be out here. It's just right."
   Watkins was counting on a number of favorable conditions, not the least of which were higher tides brought by Hurricane Barry, which had made landfall on the Florida Panhandle earlier that day, to stem a weeks-long fishing slump in the Coastal Bend.
   Katy angler Rusty Walla and I trusted the Rockport guide's instincts, and we believed we would be rewarded. There is no discounting the confidence factor in fishing.
   To offset the dismal summer fishing pattern of late, we planned to search for high percentage water, allowing nature's rhythm and reason to guide us. We knew bay temperatures were high, 86 degrees at our first stop, prompting many fish to feed in the cool of darkness.
   Night fishing would have been a good idea. Maybe next time.
   We also knew normal summer patterns had been altered by the influx of 12 to 18 inches of new water, most likely rejuvenating remote flats and shorelines with predator/prey activity. But Watkins suspected the anomalous high tide would not push fish too far from their summer routine.

David Sikes/Caller-Times

Rusty Walla caught his biggest fish on this black/chartreuse She Dog. The big yellow-mouth speck was redemption for him after several missed fish that day.

   So we looked for mid-depth shorelines within easy retreat of channels. The signals of feeding fish could be subtle, but must be present for us to take heed. This day there would be no stopping based solely on past successes.
   We searched for a sign.
   After 30 minutes of catching a handful of smallish trout, Watkins acted on his inner voice.
   "This isn't working. Let's get out of here," he said. "We need to look around until we find a reason to stop."
   With Watkins, numerous options are a given.
   The morning was bright enough now to view the signs. Watkins' Pathfinder made quick duty of crossing Mesquite Bay the hard way. We started to notice surface slicks in the distance.
   Watkins throttled down just east of the Intracoastal Waterway, near the shoreline of Roddy Island in west Mesquite Bay. He anchored about 100 yards off a white-sand beach.
   Surface slicks are one of fishing's surest bets. Find them and you know there are fish below. What species, how big or how many is hard to tell.
   Some say the larger circles of floating fish oil signal schools of smaller fish gorging and purging. But large slicks do not always signal small fish. Sometimes, schools of larger fish lurk below and sometimes a small one that has expanded over time creates a large slick.
   One theory to which I subscribe holds that small burp slicks or platter slicks almost always represent big trout, especially when they're fresh. If ever you witness one pop up, stop and fish it.
   "Smell that?" Walla asked about the faint melon-scent of a fresh trout slick.
   "Yep," we responded.
   "They're in here, folks," Watkins said, grinning wide and cutting the engine. "And they're feeding. We must be living right."
   Even if shiny surface circles can't tell us the type and number of fish below, more can be read into them than many anglers know. This is particularly true along shorelines.
   Notice the distance from shore a series of slicks appear. Connect the dots and you'll know that for whatever reason, fish are holding along this line. The line might signal where seagrass starts or stops. Maybe shell or a subtle dropoff is near, offering baitfish a refuge. It could even signal a variance in water temperature.
   Most any live bait probably would have been effective in these waters.
   We continued to throw topwater lures. Mine was a Top Dog Jr. (black/chartreuse). Walla used a gold/black Super Spook Jr. and Watkins had a new MirrOlure product called a She Dog.
   I'd seen a prototype of this new bait once before it was perfected. It differs from a traditional Top Dog in two ways. It's made from a plastic that's harder and thinner gauge and its two ball bearings rattle inside separate chambers, fore and aft.
   It rides the surface somewhat like a Top Dog, but with a racket that differs in pitch and decibel level, thus the name. Look for it on shelves in September. Can you imagine what its nickname will become?
   We lined up perpendicular to the shore, with Watkins up shallow, me in line with the slicks and Walla covering the deepwater. Watkins was thigh-deep. I was up to my belly. And only Walla's armpits and shoulders were dry.
   Baitfish activity was heaviest tight to the shore, but still noticeable even beyond where Walla was wading. We ignored urges to fish the near-shore water because we knew by the slicks that trout were not feeding there.
   Not sure why. Maybe the shallows were too warm.
   A half-mile of slick-peppered shoreline lay before us. And we were alone.
   The next six hours were pure pleasure, beginning with what was for us the season's first flight of bluewinged teal.
   In the beginning, most blowups were not of the stout and stalwart kind, which splat the surface and noisily spit water in every direction. That would have been too much to ask for on this lake-like surface.
   Strikes were of the vanishing lure variety, where lures are sucked under silently as if by some surreptitious serpent. Almost before you realize the lure is engulfed, your line is taut and you're struggling to recover.
   The bite got more aggressive as the morning wore on.
   By mid-morning, we had tried everything from Catch 2000s and Corkys to a variety of topwater lures and soft plastics. Everything worked, some better than others. Almost equally effective were topwater lures and Bass Assassins, dark ones. I even caught two black drum on Bass Assassins. Our success rate would have been higher if Walla and I had been on top of our game.
   After several missed hooksets on soft plastics, Walla and I began watching Watkins' technique more closely. Our retrieves were similar. That wasn't the problem. We each could attract strikes with ease and frequency. It was our reaction to strikes that made the difference.
   When a trout hit Watkins' lure, we could see the jolt of his rod tip. But instead of applying a reflexive yank, he'd drop his rod and reel until he felt resistance before heaving a mighty hookset.
   If he felt no resistance, Watkins' mind's eye imagined the trout had dropped his lure. But this doesn't mean the game is over, especially with bigger fish.
   Watkins would slow down his retrieve at this point, keeping his rod pointed toward his prey. More times than not the fish would pick up the lure again and regret it.
   This takes restraint on your part and a lack of it in the fish.
   Now go practice. Maybe the slump's over. At least mine is.
  
  
  
  

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