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David Sikes David Sikes, Caller-Times outdoors writer specializes in hunting and fishing. David's columns are published Thursdays and Sundays. David also compiles a fishing report on Saturdays. He can be reached at sikesd@caller.com. Sunday, September 23, 2001 Scenes from the deepAn offshore outing produced plenty of jack, snapper and kingfish, but failed to bring back the targeted tuna
I'm talking about that special period after boogie board rentals drop and before RV parks begin to fill with winter Texans. While quiet streets and shorter waits at restaurants might partially explain local mirth, the real reason for celebration in Port Aransas is less apparent to the casual observer.
Watch closely, though, on early September morns and you might glimpse a handful of locals - some wearing dingy "Fear no fish" T-shirts - stealing onto a party boat and bragging about the number of tuna they caught last year or will catch next time. You'll know it's likely the group I'm thinking about if you count more ice chests than fishing rods. But don't be fooled by this apparent affinity for refreshments. Those ice chests might be for fillets. These folks are serious about their annual offshore pilgrimage. Don't be fooled by their grumbling about residual aches from the last expedition.
My jetty-fishing friend, Nate Rose, organized this year's offshore outing, even though prospects for catching chicken of the sea appeared bleak throughout the planning stages. This has been an unusual year for fishing patterns and tuna that usually arrive in early September were behind schedule. However, the latest information from outfitters is that some of the longer charter and party boat trips are returning with a few tuna of both kinds. I agreed to tag along with the Rose Party, not caring one way or the other
Both prayers were answered. I found my Scopolamine patch and just before launch time, Captain John Brennan announced that we'd be headed southeast into diminishing three- to five-foot seas, looking for tuna feeding near gulf trawlers. The remainder of our time would be spent searching for shark, kingfish and red snapper and, hopefully, catching a few of the same.
Brennan's tone was a mixture of confidence and humility, no doubt a practiced attitude that covers all bases without giving false hope. Once underway, chatter aboard the Pelican, a 71-foot Breaux Bros. boat out of Deep Sea Headquarters, faded, as did several passengers into slumber, including me. I don't care much for long boat rides because my eagerness to fish won't allow me to sit patiently. There's really not much to see upon an endless blue horizon. But sleep makes the trip pass quickly.
I awoke to the bellow and clatter of the Pelican's powerful props thrusting against moderate swells. We were backing down on the stern of a shrimp trawler, with nets raised and crews culling. The Pelican's worthy first mate, Keith Banks, braced against the pitching bow and prepared to greet the shrimpers. He had an orange laundry basket in his hands and a six pack of Budweiser at his feet. The stage was set for a time-tested maritime tradition, the exchange of beer for bait, or chum in this case. The scene is a common one to offshore anglers, acted out by
The bond between shrimpers and anglers defies their sometimes-contentious relationship. On the water, where the horizon is otherwise empty and flat, political differences between the only two vessels in sight seem insignificant. Or maybe cold beer and a lack of convenience stores serve to temporarily soften attitudes. Anyway, the system generally works well with little negotiation as it has for years.
We lightened our chum load almost immediately in waters around the trawler, where tuna often lurk. But the effort produced no visible sign of them. So with a barrel full of bycatch, we went in search of more willing gulf game. When Brennan throttled down again there was no way for us to know precisely why. Even when he barked the order to lower baited lines, we were unsure of the species below. But when the first reel began singing somebody guessed right. Sharks. One on nearly every rig. And so for the next 30 minutes or so, Atlantic sharpnose sharks thrashed and gnashed on the surface and then on the Pelican's deck, while Banks scrambled competently to keep up. "Pick 'em up," was the bell to end round one. And we were off again. The next couple of stops were the most fun of all. Kingfish provided the pull that bent even our stubbiest rods, as members of the group settled into their roles. Doc Gilmore found a shady seat where he could be comfortable, while catching his share of fish. Others did the same. But Doc's wife, Sharon, not known as a patient woman, couldn't sit still. She did double duty between the bait-cutting table, the stern and the bow, wrestling one fish after another. The variety of fish boated was wide, from bar jacks, horse-eyed jacks and amberjacks to stuff we had trouble identifying. Never knowing what you'll catch is part of the draw of offshore fishing. Rose, intent on using his own tackle, staked out a corner of the stern and commenced to landing his limit in record time. Legally, each licensed angler can keep up to two kingfish that measure at least 24 inches (fork length) in federal waters. That we did. The rest of the crew grabbed active rods until their arms tired and spirits drained. And once again, Banks handled the gaff expertly without losing a fish. The highest point of drama came when Brennan spotted an 80- to 90-pound wahoo just below the surface, off the stern. I can't reveal Brennan's secret bait, but I can tell you that it wasn't the bait but misfortune that lost the prized fish. When the frenzy was over, a satiated crew seemed to welcome the prospect of moving on to less resistant quarry. Snapper would be our next target, unless Brennan spotted another shrimp boat beside which to chum for tuna. He did, but neither blackfin nor yellowfin would come out to play. Snapper, on the other hand, greeted us at the door with open mouths. Fishing was never so simple. The most difficult part of snagging snapper at 200 feet is turning the reel crank a hundred times to discover empty hooks. That was barely a concern this trip. Double hookups were not rare. Unfortunately, throwbacks were. After air bladders were punctured and deflated, fish that measured less than 16 inches were released. Conventional wisdom tells us that many of these fish will not survive, mostly because of predation. Almost invariably, a toothy opportunist will gobble up released snapper before they recover. Federal wildlife officials have not fully recognized this waste of the resource. At least not to the degree that it has altered policy. I'm talking about the rejection by the National Marine Fisheries Service to change red snapper rules to allow anglers to keep the first four or five fish caught, no matter their length. Instead, current federal rules allow anglers to keep four fish that measure at least 16 inches. We did this, but probably killed half as many fish in the process. The up side? No tuna were killed during the making of this story. Talk about fishing in the Coastal Bend
Outdoors writer David Sikes' column appears Thursdays and Sundays. He can be reached at 886-3616 or by e-mail at sikesd@caller.com 
© 2000 Corpus Christi Caller Times, a Scripps Howard newspaper. All rights reserved. |
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