David Sikes

Sunday, January 7, 2001

Something’s fishy in Port A

David Sikes/Caller-Times

The crew and competitors on the Island Queen had little to show for a morning of Arctic fishing during the Sixth Annual $100,000 Goathead Tournament in Port Aransas. But no one complained.

PORT ARANSAS - Fireworks, black-eyed peas and three-day old fish.
   Eliminate any of these and it just wouldn't be New Year's Day in Port Aransas.
   I should have realized this when I called Woody's Sports Center, headquarters of the annual $100,000 Goathead Tournament (based on 20,000 entries), before daybreak Monday. The wind chill put temperatures barely into double digits, causing me to wonder if good sense would override tradition this year.
   What was I thinking? Never underestimate the power of tradition in Port Aransas.
   "Of course the tournament is still on," an enthusiastic and incredulous Woody's employee said.
   I really wasn't surprised by this response. And, strangely, I wasn't disappointed either. I admire tradition and those who uphold it. But still, I hung up the phone, set my alarm for two hours later and fell back to sleep with visions of icicles on anglers more concerned with catching a sheepshead than with health and comfort.
   In fair weather, the Goathead Tournament has drawn between 30 and 40 entries on New Year's Day. But this year's contest would attract mostly those anglers seeking perfect attendance bragging rights.
   Stay away? Not me.
  
   A tournament is born

David Sikes/Caller-Times

Mr. Mayor, resident wharf cat at Woody’s Sports Center, tested the entries. This biggest-of-show sheepshead was brought in by Glenn and Sue Ray, who 'caught' the monster burrhead at the Y Fish Market in Aransas Pass - three days prior to the tournament.

   This tongue-in-cheek competition, touted as the first tournament of the year - or of the millennium, as the case may be - began as a challenge between friends Carl Shanklin, John Page and Dewayne Loggins during a 1996 New Year's celebration that is all but forgotten.
   Originally, the tipsy trio of offshore anglers intended to throw money into a hat and award the total to the man who caught the biggest fish. It was unspoken, but everyone knew this was an offshore proposition.
   The next morning, bad weather and better sense slapped them in the face, the latter of which hasn't occurred since among the trio. So by default, the lowly sheepshead, which rarely ventures farther than near-shore pilings and rocks, became the tournament's target instead.
   A tradition of parody was born that day when a flotilla of offshore boats in the 40- to 50-foot range motored several hundred yards across the ship channel only to anchor at the Fina Docks or the North Jetty, within sight of Woody's Harbor. Venturing to the North Jetty in a 45-foot Bertram is the maritime equivalent of cranking up the Winnebago to visit the corner park.
  
   Preserving the charm
   This over-the-top theme became part of the tournament's charm. Contest rules, or a lack of them, convey the playful irreverence of its participants and set a tone for the coming year. Did I mention that at least as many Bloody Marys were consumed as fish caught that first year?
   It should go without saying that the first rule in this adults-only game is to have fun. Contestants who are observed taking themselves or the contest too seriously risk being banned from the tournament for life. There's not much chance of this happening, based on shenanigans I've witnessed during the past three contests.
   However, the threat of enforcement is always heavy regarding a rule against complaining. A cross word to the wrong person could disqualify unborn generations of a contestant.
   This decree is tested often. Though I've overheard competitors complaining about fellow complainers without consequences to either.
  
   Tourney day
   Maybe that's because enforcement of the rules is arbitrary and often depends on the mood of King Burrhead, Carl Shanklin, the most outspoken and irreverent of goat herders.
   When I arrived at Woody's a little after 10 a.m., all was quiet. Sugar Bear the dock dog was curled up on the floor and Mr. Mayor, the Woody's wharf cat, was searching for a handout or a scratching post.
   Turnout was light, as expected, for the sixth annual Goathead Tournament. But the usual suspects, including the Shanklins, the Gilmores and the Horns, were entered and out fishing in their respective boats.
   Just then, the telephone rang. It was David Bell, the only angler foolish or brave enough to fish in the North Jetty's 20-mph winds that morning. He had had enough though, and requested a return ferry.
   Jetty Boat Capt. Johnie Mathews buttoned up and started after him.
   When Bell - wind-burned and frigid - threw open the side door at Woody's, I expected him to caress a cup of coffee and sulk away in defeat. But he had caught fish. Not many, but a couple of legal sheepshead were in his sack. One was respectable, weighing in at 3.2 pounds.
   The phone rang again.
  
   Rattling the competition

David Sikes/Caller-Times

The overall winner of this year’s contest was David Bell, who proved his mettle by catching this 3.2 pounder on the North Jetty in a 16-degree wind chill.

   Behind the counter at Woody's, Sharon Keehlisen began lying, which is another charming and pervasive feature of the tournament.
   "David Bell just weighed in a seven pounder, so you guys might as well come in out of the cold," she said, deadpan with matter-of-fact tone. She's good.
   I sensed panic at the other end of the line. It was Shanklin.
   "No, he hasn't been complaining," Keehlisen responded to Shanklin's obvious attempt to disqualify the competition.
   "You got anything that can beat him?" she asked. Then she paused for a bit. "I didn't think so. You might as well come on in then."
   It's as if Shanklin had planned for this, though. Instead of the biggest sheepshead taking all, there was a contest within a contest this year. Contestants who would be fishing from boats had collected $100 per crew and pooled it together. This pot would be awarded to the boat crew with the biggest burrhead, which is another name for sheepshead because of its spiny dorsal fin.
   While in past years, the number of entries might have garnered a pretty purse for the angler with the biggest fish, this year the payoff would be skewed because of the poor turnout. That means the tournament champion could collect substantially less money than the winner of the boat pool.
  
   The art of one-upmanship
   Enough about winning, though. That's not what this is about.
   As best I can figure, the annual Goathead Tournament is more about one-upping the competition through clever cheating. Most cheaters confess before the winner is named. But controversy remains about a certain previous winning fish, which appeared to have been frozen for some time, then thawed in time for the competition.
   Who knows?
   Who cares?
   Glenn and Sue Ray, who brought in the biggest goathead, attempted a similar ploy this year. Give them a prize for effort. After several days of scouring fish markets in several counties, they found a fish that tipped the scales at about eight pounds.
   Mr. Mayor the cat approved of the three-day old fish. But the judges didn't.
   Of course, there was the usual creative use of lead weights. One rather lumpy six-pound fish shed nearly four pounds after going under the weighmaster's knife.
   But the prize for most imaginative cheating goes to the crew of the Rip Tide, with Shanklin at the helm. Expert bait-rigger Jaime Constancio put his skills to work by replacing the guts of a goathead with plastic baggies of bribery fodder, fake drugs, play money, cheap jewels and the promise of a lifetime supply of Olympia beer.
   The judges were torn, but ultimately were not swayed.
   David Bell won the overall competition, but the crew of the Rip Tide garnered the biggest payoff because attempted cheating is not grounds for disqualification.
   Funny, no complaints were filed.
  
   Goathead Tournament Rules
   Some rules and regulations for this year's annual $100,000 Goathead Tournament, held on New Year's Day in Port Aransas: