|
Venice - Snook Alley - March 28th, 2009 |
RECORDED: 
80 °
FISHING: Excellent
MARCH 28, 2009 What a wacky week! Spanish mackerel have been elusive (to say the least). Ladyfish have been abundant (to say the least). Pompano and slot-sized trout have gratefully (to say the least) begun showing up! It basically revolves around the weather patterns, which have been unstable throughout the entire country this winter (to say the least). Just when we started to have water temps over 70 degrees, the nights got cold and the water temps plunged to the low 60s. Because of all THAT the Spanish vanished because the baitfish ran back out into the Gulf of Mexico. Heck, we STILL haven’t seen the first Little Tunny! King Mackerel allegedly are prowling around somewhere eight or nine miles offshore. Couldn’t prove it by me! We’ve been “Gamers,” though. Bill Rogers and JW (Bill) Riccardi took a drive out into the Gulf with me last Tuesday and we never saw a single mackerel. Ditto for Rande Yeager on Wednesday. Thursday I didn’t even BOTHER! I had 10-year-old (by two days!) Quinn Cunningham to get into fish (details to follow!). So Bill and JW are flailing away with their fly rods while scores of fishy images are flitting across the screen on my Garmin 172C. Will any of them EAT? Nay! We “walk around” the Gulf for a while, prospecting for those cobia that Bob Pascal hooked last Saturday, but NADA. You know what that stands for don’t you? “Not A Damned Anything!” We briefly considered poking around Shakett Creek for baby tarpon, but finally settled on Little Sarasota Bay. Where, after an agonizingly looooong period of inactivity, the fish decided to join in the fun. At least, WE thought it was fun. The Bill Boys boated fish after fish after fish—at long last. Now we’re gonna take that trip Up The Creek tomorrow morning to see what those 20-to-50-pound poons are all about! Wish us luck. The next morning found Rande and The Capt. Poking around the Gulf amid screens filled with fish that wouldn’t eat a fly to save my life. So, we pulled up stakes and headed northeast into the Intracoastal Waterway. Rande’s an experienced walleye guy from Minneapolis, and pokes around with a fly rod in the Rockies. So it was a real hoot when he landed his first-ever saltwater fish on a fly. When he landed a trout, that brought an even bigger smile. However, his third fish was a foot-long lizardfish. Which have a whole mouthful of sharp little teeth. “Want a picture of it,” I asked. Rande sorta took a half-step backwards. His eyes were fixed on all those teeth. Like a kid answering if he wanted a second helping of spinach and Brussel sprouts he shook his head and tremulously whispered “noooooooo.” I thought I was gonna bust a gut! I laughed so hard and long that my stomach hurt. The expression on his face, and the way he answered, was priceless. If ONLY I’d had a video camera rolling! Wait till I put him on a hundred-pound tarpon in May! I DEFINITELY will film THAT one. When Vern Cunningham called several weeks ago to book his trip, he told me he’d have 10-year-old Quinn and Uncle Don Kirsch with him. The plan was simple: A): Don’t let Quinn get seasick. B): Catch a BUNCH of fish. C): Catch them QUICKLY! Which, I am grateful to say, is exactly what happened. Since this was a spin-fishing trip, I outfitted the guys with the glass minnow jigs I tie, and rigged Quinn with a GULP! shrimp. And I’ll begotohell if on the very first cast when I was demonstrating to Quinn how to work the bait a ladyfish didn’t jump right on! “Here,” I said, handing him the rod. “Land this fish.” Which he did, amid much glee and Pentax Moments. It pretty much went on like that the rest of the day. “FISH ON!” was a frequently heard cry. Quinn had celebrated his 10th birthday two days prior. “If you wanna see 11, do everything I tell you,” I said. Quinn looked at Dad. Then at Uncle Don. Then at me. “That’s reassuring,” he quipped. But he listened well and caught a bunch of fish. Finally, just after Don boated a nice pompano, Quinn started lobbying for “home” and the motel swimming pool. “The pool will be there all day,” Vern said. “Let’s catch some more fish!” “Two more,” Quinn replied. “Each,” Vern countered. “Total,” Quinn said. When Vern landed an 18-inch trout we got the requisite photos, hauled in the sea anchor and headed to the ramp. “You know,” I said, “when school lets out in June those migrating tarpon that cover up the beaches out here really are a sight to behold.” Vern sorta wiggled his eyebrows and smiled. “Something to think about,” he said. So should you! Tight Loops,Capt. Tony
photos
|
|
Venice - Snook Alley - March 28th, 2009 |
RECORDED:
80 °
FISHING: Excellent
MARCH 28, 2009 What a wacky week! Spanish mackerel have been elusive (to say the least). Ladyfish have been abundant (to say the least). Pompano and slot-sized trout have gratefully (to say the least) begun showing up! It basically revolves around the weather patterns, which have been unstable throughout the entire country this winter (to say the least). Just when we started to have water temps over 70 degrees, the nights got cold and the water temps plunged to the low 60s. Because of all THAT the Spanish vanished because the baitfish ran back out into the Gulf of Mexico. Heck, we STILL haven’t seen the first Little Tunny! King Mackerel allegedly are prowling around somewhere eight or nine miles offshore. Couldn’t prove it by me! We’ve been “Gamers,” though. Bill Rogers and JW (Bill) Riccardi took a drive out into the Gulf with me last Tuesday and we never saw a single mackerel. Ditto for Rande Yeager on Wednesday. Thursday I didn’t even BOTHER! I had 10-year-old (by two days!) Quinn Cunningham to get into fish (details to follow!). So Bill and JW are flailing away with their fly rods while scores of fishy images are flitting across the screen on my Garmin 172C. Will any of them EAT? Nay! We “walk around” the Gulf for a while, prospecting for those cobia that Bob Pascal hooked last Saturday, but NADA. You know what that stands for don’t you? “Not A Damned Anything!” We briefly considered poking around Shakett Creek for baby tarpon, but finally settled on Little Sarasota Bay. Where, after an agonizingly looooong period of inactivity, the fish decided to join in the fun. At least, WE thought it was fun. The Bill Boys boated fish after fish after fish—at long last. Now we’re gonna take that trip Up The Creek tomorrow morning to see what those 20-to-50-pound poons are all about! Wish us luck. The next morning found Rande and The Capt. Poking around the Gulf amid screens filled with fish that wouldn’t eat a fly to save my life. So, we pulled up stakes and headed northeast into the Intracoastal Waterway. Rande’s an experienced walleye guy from Minneapolis, and pokes around with a fly rod in the Rockies. So it was a real hoot when he landed his first-ever saltwater fish on a fly. When he landed a trout, that brought an even bigger smile. However, his third fish was a foot-long lizardfish. Which have a whole mouthful of sharp little teeth. “Want a picture of it,” I asked. Rande sorta took a half-step backwards. His eyes were fixed on all those teeth. Like a kid answering if he wanted a second helping of spinach and Brussel sprouts he shook his head and tremulously whispered “noooooooo.” I thought I was gonna bust a gut! I laughed so hard and long that my stomach hurt. The expression on his face, and the way he answered, was priceless. If ONLY I’d had a video camera rolling! Wait till I put him on a hundred-pound tarpon in May! I DEFINITELY will film THAT one. When Vern Cunningham called several weeks ago to book his trip, he told me he’d have 10-year-old Quinn and Uncle Don Kirsch with him. The plan was simple: A): Don’t let Quinn get seasick. B): Catch a BUNCH of fish. C): Catch them QUICKLY! Which, I am grateful to say, is exactly what happened. Since this was a spin-fishing trip, I outfitted the guys with the glass minnow jigs I tie, and rigged Quinn with a GULP! shrimp. And I’ll begotohell if on the very first cast when I was demonstrating to Quinn how to work the bait a ladyfish didn’t jump right on! “Here,” I said, handing him the rod. “Land this fish.” Which he did, amid much glee and Pentax Moments. It pretty much went on like that the rest of the day. “FISH ON!” was a frequently heard cry. Quinn had celebrated his 10th birthday two days prior. “If you wanna see 11, do everything I tell you,” I said. Quinn looked at Dad. Then at Uncle Don. Then at me. “That’s reassuring,” he quipped. But he listened well and caught a bunch of fish. Finally, just after Don boated a nice pompano, Quinn started lobbying for “home” and the motel swimming pool. “The pool will be there all day,” Vern said. “Let’s catch some more fish!” “Two more,” Quinn replied. “Each,” Vern countered. “Total,” Quinn said. When Vern landed an 18-inch trout we got the requisite photos, hauled in the sea anchor and headed to the ramp. “You know,” I said, “when school lets out in June those migrating tarpon that cover up the beaches out here really are a sight to behold.” Vern sorta wiggled his eyebrows and smiled. “Something to think about,” he said. So should you! Tight Loops,Capt. Tony
photos
|
|
Venice - Snook Alley - March 22nd, 2009 |
RECORDED:
78 °
FISHING: Excellent
MARCH 22, 2009
WOW! Things have been absolutely CRAZY around here this month with one guide trip after another after another. Which is a very good thing. Believe me, the butcher, baker and banker all thank you very much! The highlight, of course, was taking 94-year-old Sam Povinelli fishing again. We were originally booked for the 17th, but Sunday afternoon Sam’s son, Ron, called to tell me Sam was in the hospital. “I had to take him in at three this morning because he couldn’t breathe,” Ron said. “They had to drain fluid off his lungs. “He’s been driving me crazy. All he can talk about is going fishing and how he’s not going to miss the trip. I don’t know if they’re gonna let him out tomorrow. Can you do Thursday?” Well, anything for Sam. I mean, after all… So, I shuffled some folks around and at 8am we were chugging toward the Venice Jetty in search of “food”—which I absolutely MUST somehow produce for Sam or never hear the end of it. Well, it was one of those Spanish mackerel days. Sam and Ron caught fish within moments of the Yammie 115 shutting down. Lots of fish. “Well, the pressure’s off now,” Ron mumbled. “Now you can relax and enjoy the rest of the day.” At which point Sam immediately asked “when are we gonna catch some trout? I like to eat trout.” I looked at Ron and he rolled his eyes. “I spoke too soon,” he mumbled again. The third time Sam mentioned catching a trout, Ron and I nodded to each other and headed back inside. “I’ve been hearing that pompano have been hanging around the point of rocks at the end of the jetty,” I said. “Wanna stop for a few minutes?” Ron nodded and I was getting us positioned for our second drift when Sam’s reel started singing. Alas, it was a very sad song. I didn’t realize Sam hadn’t reeled in. Yep. You guessed it. Line wrapped around the prop. I used the trolling motor to get us into the shallows around Petersen’s Island, then Ron and I went to work getting the line free. We never did catch any pompano. But brother, did Sam and Ron catch ladyfish and trout galore! That’s the good news. Yeah, the bad news is that not one of them was at least 15 inches long. Not the ones that were boated that is. Ron had two on—in fact one was slamming the side of my Hewes like a jackhammer—that would have more than qualified for Sam’s hot skillet. Unfortunately, both came unpinned. Which surprised me, since Ron’s an excellent angler. He took it in good stride and simply shugged in resignation. Sam, on the other hand… Finally, Ron suggested heading for home. “Seven hours of fishing is probably more than Dad needed,” Ron admitted, “but he’s been yapping about this trip for two months! “Reel in, Dad. It’s time to go. We’ve gotta clean these fish for tonight’s dinner.” “No,” Sam said. “We gonna go to McDonald’s on the way home. We’ll have the fish tomorrow.” “Why not tonight?” Ron asked. “Tomorrow’s Friday!” Ron shook his head. “I should have known.” The next day, John Bachey and his brother-in-law, Phil Weiser, met me for a run outside. Once again, the Spanish mackerel were prevalent and co-operative—just like the previous Friday when John Freeland disproved the “13th Jinx.” And when I tell you they caught fish, I mean THEY CAUGHT FISH! “It’s a fish on every cast,” John Bachey marveled at one point. “I’ve never had an experience like this in my life.” His best fish of the day was a Spanish in the 5-pound class, but he and Phil whooped like schoolboys because of the nonstop action. John Freeland, meanwhile, fished with me on the 13th and absolutely hammered the Spanish. Less than a week later, he split a trip with Bill Rogers, of Duluth, and the spotted buggers were in very short supply. We did locate a nice pod of baby tarpon in the 30-to-50-pound class, which was exciting. It would have been MORE exciting if one of them had eaten a fly, but at least there was a state of constant anticipation. “Anticipation” also sums up yesterday’s outing with Bob Pascal and his lady friend Terry Janeczko. The graph on my Garmin 172C was absolutely PAINTED with fish images. Would they eat? No! Well, one small Spanish did eat the glass minnow jig Terry was using, but the pods just weren’t turned on. Time and time again we’d start to run and Terry would tap my arm and point at the graph covered with little green fish in varying sizes. Bob, a former All-America halfback at Duke, certainly was “turned on” by something very large and powerful that inhaled his jig and methodically swam away from the boat. No fuss, no muss. No leaping acrobatics. Just a steady ziiiiiing of the reel. When it looked as if we were dangerously close to being spooled, I tightened the drag. Ziiiiiing. I tightened a bit more. Ziiiiiiiing. I tightened a bit more. Then, to paraphrase the title of Cornelius Ryan’s book, I went “A Turn Too Far.” PING! Which I regretfully must admit falls into the category of “Guide Failure.” Shoulda just fired up the big motor and given chase to what was either a shark or a cobia. Next time, Bob. Next time. ENGLISH SETTER UPDATE I am constantly amazed at the difference in Ghost when her half-tablet of Previcox kick in. We can see her eyes perk up and her whole attitude change. Anyone who has an older dog (she’ll be 12 in May) with arthritis or hip problems (she blew out her left anterior cruciate ligament in ’05), needs to ask the vet about this stuff. Ghost was on Rimadyl, but this new stuff is far superior. It lets her roughhouse with Heart—the 21-month-old—and keeps her in excellent condition. Heart is coming along. As all “intact” male pups will do, he’s a constant blur of motion. Grouse season should be very interesting come October! In the meantime, Little Tunny (false albacore) should show up soon, along with King mackerel. That means tarpon won’t be far behind as the water temperature warms. And THAT means it’s time to check your schedule for May, June and July. I still have some good dates left, but my calendar is filling up pretty quickly. A Beach Retreat and the Venice Holiday House both have special rates for my anglers. Go to the Links dropdown for all the info on both hotels. Tight Loops,Capt. Tony
photos
|
|
Venice - Snook Alley - March 22nd, 2009 |
RECORDED:
78 °
FISHING: Excellent
WOW! Things have been absolutely CRAZY around here this month with one guide trip after another after another. Which is a very good thing. Believe me, the butcher, baker and banker all thank you very much! The highlight, of course, was taking 94-year-old Sam Povinelli fishing again. We were originally booked for the 17th, but Sunday afternoon Sam’s son, Ron, called to tell me Sam was in the hospital. “I had to take him in at three this morning because he couldn’t breathe,” Ron said. “They had to drain fluid off his lungs. “He’s been driving me crazy. All he can talk about is going fishing and how he’s not going to miss the trip. I don’t know if they’re gonna let him out tomorrow. Can you do Thursday?” Well, anything for Sam. I mean, after all… So, I shuffled some folks around and at 8am we were chugging toward the Venice Jetty in search of “food”—which I absolutely MUST somehow produce for Sam or never hear the end of it. Well, it was one of those Spanish mackerel days. Sam and Ron caught fish within moments of the Yammie 115 shutting down. Lots of fish. “Well, the pressure’s off now,” Ron mumbled. “Now you can relax and enjoy the rest of the day.” At which point Sam immediately asked “when are we gonna catch some trout? I like to eat trout.” I looked at Ron and he rolled his eyes. “I spoke too soon,” he mumbled again. The third time Sam mentioned catching a trout, Ron and I nodded to each other and headed back inside. “I’ve been hearing that pompano have been hanging around the point of rocks at the end of the jetty,” I said. “Wanna stop for a few minutes?” Ron nodded and I was getting us positioned for our second drift when Sam’s reel started singing. Alas, it was a very sad song. I didn’t realize Sam hadn’t reeled in. Yep. You guessed it. Line wrapped around the prop. I used the trolling motor to get us into the shallows around Petersen’s Island, then Ron and I went to work getting the line free. We never did catch any pompano. But brother, did Sam and Ron catch ladyfish and trout galore! That’s the good news. Yeah, the bad news is that not one of them was at least 15 inches long. Not the ones that were boated that is. Ron had two on—in fact one was slamming the side of my Hewes like a jackhammer—that would have more than qualified for Sam’s hot skillet. Unfortunately, both came unpinned. Which surprised me, since Ron’s an excellent angler. He took it in good stride and simply shugged in resignation. Sam, on the other hand… Finally, Ron suggested heading for home. “Seven hours of fishing is probably more than Dad needed,” Ron admitted, “but he’s been yapping about this trip for two months! “Reel in, Dad. It’s time to go. We’ve gotta clean these fish for tonight’s dinner.” “No,” Sam said. “We gonna go to McDonald’s on the way home. We’ll have the fish tomorrow.” “Why not tonight?” Ron asked. “Tomorrow’s Friday!” Ron shook his head. “I should have known.” The next day, John Bachey and his brother-in-law, Phil Weiser, met me for a run outside. Once again, the Spanish mackerel were prevalent and co-operative—just like the previous Friday when John Freeland disproved the “13th Jinx.” And when I tell you they caught fish, I mean THEY CAUGHT FISH! “It’s a fish on every cast,” John Bachey marveled at one point. “I’ve never had an experience like this in my life.” His best fish of the day was a Spanish in the 5-pound class, but he and Phil whooped like schoolboys because of the nonstop action. John Freeland, meanwhile, fished with me on the 13th and absolutely hammered the Spanish. Less than a week later, he split a trip with Bill Rogers, of Duluth, and the spotted buggers were in very short supply. We did locate a nice pod of baby tarpon in the 30-to-50-pound class, which was exciting. It would have been MORE exciting if one of them had eaten a fly, but at least there was a state of constant anticipation. “Anticipation” also sums up yesterday’s outing with Bob Pascal and his lady friend Terry Janeczko. The graph on my Garmin 172C was absolutely PAINTED with fish images. Would they eat? No! Well, one small Spanish did eat the glass minnow jig Terry was using, but the pods just weren’t turned on. Time and time again we’d start to run and Terry would tap my arm and point at the graph covered with little green fish in varying sizes. Bob, a former All-America halfback at Duke, certainly was “turned on” by something very large and powerful that inhaled his jig and methodically swam away from the boat. No fuss, no muss. No leaping acrobatics. Just a steady ziiiiiing of the reel. When it looked as if we were dangerously close to being spooled, I tightened the drag. Ziiiiiing. I tightened a bit more. Ziiiiiiiing. I tightened a bit more. Then, to paraphrase the title of Cornelius Ryan’s book, I went “A Turn Too Far.” PING! Which I regretfully must admit falls into the category of “Guide Failure.” Shoulda just fired up the big motor and given chase to what was either a shark or a cobia. Next time, Bob. Next time. ENGLISH SETTER UPDATE I am constantly amazed at the difference in Ghost when her half-tablet of Previcox kick in. We can see her eyes perk up and her whole attitude change. Anyone who has an older dog (she’ll be 12 in May) with arthritis or hip problems (she blew out her left anterior cruciate ligament in ’05), needs to ask the vet about this stuff. Ghost was on Rimadyl, but this new stuff is far superior. It lets her roughhouse with Heart—the 21-month-old—and keeps her in excellent condition. Heart is coming along. As all “intact” male pups will do, he’s a constant blur of motion. Grouse season should be very interesting come October! In the meantime, Little Tunny (false albacore) should show up soon, along with King mackerel. That means tarpon won’t be far behind as the water temperature warms. And THAT means it’s time to check your schedule for May, June and July. I still have some good dates left, but my calendar is filling up pretty quickly. A Beach Retreat and the Venice Holiday House both have special rates for my anglers. Go to the Links dropdown for all the info on both hotels. Tight Loops,Capt. Tony
photos
photos
|
|
Lemon Bay - March 3rd, 2009 |
RECORDED:
68 °
FISHING: Excellent
MARCH 3, 2009
Anxious to “redeem” himself after being uh, sorta out-fished by his wife, Denise, last winter, Jim Depaepe wanted a shot at some snook under the lights last week.
So we fooled around in the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) for a while before it got dark so that he could work out the “casting kinks” in his arm before the serious business commenced, and he boated several ladyfish and a nice sea trout.
Once the lights turned on, he nailed several more ladies before finally bringing a nice snook to the net. Now he and Denise (who met us later for a celebratory cocktail) are back in Washington state waiting for steelhead to start running the Skaggit, etc.
“I love fishing steelies back home,” Jim said, “but these Florida fish are pretty special. And the weather at this time of year isn’t hard to take, either!”
Especially when the ICW is generous with its fish.
Lemon Bay, on the other hand, certainly was a “mixed bag” last week!
Ron Boehm, who’s fished with me several times during the past few years, watched his boyhood pal Bob Henricks boat several ladyfish out on the flats.
Ron, meanwhile, scored the Big Doughnut Hole. Zippo. Zilch. Nada. Until we took a drive Up The Creek and Ron more than made up for his prior frustration.
Just seconds after Bob broke off on a very nice fish Ron said “I tied that fly on for you, Bob, so it might be partly my fault.” But he was grinning mischievously. Evil, Ron. Really evil!
He was grinning a whole lot more minutes later after his Mirrodine lure bounced off a concrete retaining wall and was promptly inhaled by something big and strong.
After “a protracted battle during which the angler was savagely tested by his adversary,” I managed to net a jack crevalle for him that went seven pounds. Pentax Moments were observed, then Ron almost immediately boated a four-pound jack.
More jacks of lesser size were hooked (by Ron), and the happy hookers ultimately headed back to the ramp amid sighs of pleasure.
I can only regret to say that John Wade on Wednesday (after a wind-delay from Tuesday) and Bruce Otterberg and Don Gash (both from Wisconsin) did not fare as well.
Despite my best efforts (and theirs, too, I must add) the fish were decidedly uncooperative. Only a few ladyfish jumped onto their flies, and the unhappy guide (that would be me) grumped to his long-suffering wife (that would be Kate) for two days.
THEN the Hunter family lived up to their name and absolutely SLAYED (figuratively speaking, of course) ladyfish and trout in Terra Ciea Bay.
It was windy, as it’s been lately since Florida is getting the dregs from the Northern Nasties, but Rich and his son Rich and daughter Lauren hooked so many fish we absolutely lost count.
“This is great,” Rich said several times as we released fish. He especially got a kick out of the “double” he and Lauren managed. She was down from New Jersey, taking a break from her ad agency in Manhattan, and Rich was in from Portland.
“The sunshine makes up for the wind,” he said, laying back on the casting deck of my Hewes Redfisher while I re-tied fresh bite-tippet. “I just got off the plane from Oregon, and now here I am fishing! This is wonderful.”
Lauren was ecstatic every time she hooked a fish. The “Glitter” girl—a nickname she got from an advertising gig in NYC last Christmas—hooted and hollered and wondered “why didn’t I come down here three weeks ago instead of staying Up There in all the snow and cold and ice?”
The “Glitter” tag came up when I tied on a gaudy plastic bait and she explained that she had been coating enormous pine cones with red glitter for a holiday window display. “Look,” she said, pulling out her cell phone, “I STILL have glitter all over my phone and things.”
All things considered, it certainly was a “glittery” kind of day.
Which is a whole lot more than I can say for this evening, when I had planned on taking Burr Boston out on a night snook trip!
I had serious doubts about getting onto the water when I woke up at 6am and the wind was blowing 23 knots. My expectations didn’t improve the whole time Kate and I were out running errands, but I never cancel a trip based upon “forecasts.”
Once we got to the ramp it became obvious that fishing was out of the question. “I sure as hell wouldn’t fish in this weather,” I told Burr, “so we’re going home.”
Maybe next year. At least I got to scob some flies he and Roman Moser developed—shrimp and lead-eye minnow patterns—that use Ghost Hair (not to be confused with MY Ghost’s hair). I’ll let you know how they fare!
If this danged wind ever quits blowing!!!!
Ah, well. The “forecast” is calling for more snow and minus-degree weather at our house in Deward tonight. And we still don’t know for sure if our “backup” plow operator got our road cleaned out.
Ouch!
ENGLISH SETTER UPDATE
We lost the Old Boy—Ben—in January at the age of 15. Ghost, who will be 12 in May is frolicking like a puppy. Mostly BECAUSE of the puppy—Heart—who’s just 20 months old. He certainly keeps her up and on her toes.
She, on the other hand, keeps him in line whenever he starts grabbing contraband. Never bites him, but head-butts him like she did when he was just a mere tyke.
I’m hoping to get them out on quail at least once more before it gets too hot. If not, I’d love to spend a few hours at Jim Avery’s Wild Wings Farm letting them work chukkars when we get back to Michigan.
That’ll be tough, though, since I’ll only have about a week to drop off Kate and the dogs before heading back down to guide tarpon anglers in early May. And the REALLY hard part is that I probably won’t get back to Michigan until the end of July! There’s just never enough time to do everything that needs doing.
But, I guess you know what that’s all about!
Tight Loops,
Capt. Tony
photos
|
|
Venice - Snook Alley - February 22nd, 2009 |
RECORDED:
75 °
FISHING: Excellent
FEBRUARY 22, 2009
“Ole Blue Eyes” sang something about “the winter winds, are blowin’ in…” well, he might as well have been crooning about southwest Florida these past several weeks.
But, here’s hoping the past couple of days finally have blown out all that cold, blustery air!
Chris Counts and his wife Kate came down from Michigan with their friend Andy Woodrich and we had to do a bit of shufflin’ around to get them into fish.
Thursday afternoon, which was supposed to be “prep time” for night snooking, we no more than got lines in the water when it started raining. And raining. And raining harder.
“We’re going home,” I said. And, we did.
Friday morning found us back in the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) around Nokomis, but the wind was howling and I decided to put the boat on the trailer and seek refuge in Lemon Bay’s creeks.
Good plan, except the fish didn’t want to play. Except for one small lizardfish. Sigh. Another tough day. Okay, we’ll get out Saturday afternoon and catch some fish, then do the night-snook thingy. Everybody was good with that.
So, Saturday morning I drove to the Warner’s Bayou boat ramp in Bradenton to meet Rich Hunter and his old friend Tony Booth. Rich was still VERY pumped about catching that 4-pound jack crevalle and 3-pound ladyfish last week. “That crevalle is now my screen-saver,” he told me. “It bumped my grandkid!”
Oops! Gotta be careful about that kind of thing, Rich.
We drove into Miguel Bay and Tony promptly got into a ladyfish. Then another one, and another one and Rich still hadn’t caught a fish. We poked around some docks while the wind corkscrewed my Hewes Redfisher, and I finally decided to hide behind Bird Key.
The guys ate lunch and I slow-walked the boat westward. Once we got into the lee, I climbed onto the poling platform and started looking for redfish. Found some, too.
That was the good part. The not-so-good part was that Mr. Booth couldn’t quite pinpoint them and all of our best efforts “went for naught,” as he would have said in his native England.
Rich is still pumped up about his “new love”—fishing, however, and wants to go out again Sunday “when my son and daughter will be down visiting.” Attaboy, Rich. Great attitude!
Kate, Chris, and Andy also had great attitude when I met them at 4 o’clock. We got out into the ICW and Kate was charged with the responsibility of catching the first fish. Which she did in hardly any time at all.
The guys got into the act after that, and boated quite a few fish before it was time to get set up on my favorite light for snook.
Interestingly enough, the guys caught several ladyfish, and Andy boated a hefty sea trout, before Chris finally brought a respectable snook into the boat.
The pearl estaz shrimp with white hackle reverse-palmered down the body seemed to work best, although Andy lost the best fish of the night on one of my glass minnows with yellow/black lead eyes. That was one very large snook!
They’re on their way back to snowy Michigan today—from which we just had a call from our plow operator telling us his tractor’s broken and getting our road plowed might be, uh, problematic.
Marvelous. Simply marvelous!
Oh, well, I’m taking Jim and Denise Depaepe back out for night snook this evening. So the hell with snow!
When we fished together last week Denise—as always—caught bigger fish than Jim. So I can’t send them back to Washington state without at least giving Jim a CHANCE to redeem himself.
Film at 11.
ENGLISH SETTER UPDATE
Ghost and Heart continue to refine their “games.” Heart absolutely LOVES leaping high in the air over Ghost’s back. Ghost, who’s sometimes gotten sorta broadsided by that trick, has developed a couple of very nice jukes to get away from the pup.
Meanwhile, she continues to make sure he doesn’t totally wreck the house. He likes to shred pieces of paper that he daintily plucks out of wastebaskets, so Ghost head-butts him like she did when he ate Kate’s marigolds the second day we had him.
They have a great time running around the back yard. I don’t even want to THINK about what it would be like having them house-bound because of the snow in Deward right now!
Well, I’ve gotta dig some holes so Kate can plant some shrubs, then I need to tie some of those Killer Shrimp for Den—I mean Jim!
Tight Loops,
Capt. Tony
photos
|
|
Lemon Bay - February 14th, 2009 |
RECORDED:
76 °
FISHING: Excellent
FEBRUARY 14, 2009
I am IMMENSELY relieved to report that February in Florida is back to being February in Florida!
That is to say, warm, sunny and relatively windless. Sort of. I mean, it IS Florida and there’s always going to be some sort of breeze. Just not the howling 29-knot blows that kept me beached for nearly THREE WEEKS.
Well, anyway, it’s good to have the weather back to normal so that my people can relax on the water amid the frantic disruptions of hungry fish inhaling flies and jigs.
And I am indeed gratified to tell you that those disruptions were frequent indeed during this past week!
Bill Riccardi, who’s fished with me many times, wanted to get his wife Karen interested in fishing. “I really want her to get into some fish so she’ll get excited about it,” Bill had told me weeks ago. But, the weather simply wouldn’t co-operate.
Until Tuesday, that is.
Bill was casting his fly rod, as usual, and Karen was using some of my light tackle. We had to root around a little bit, hitting several different spots in the Intracoastal around Nokomis and Osprey, but finally the water warmed up or the moon and stars were in perfect alignment or something.
We started catching fish.
Lots of fish.
Several different kinds of fish—including a flounder on fly. Ultimately, Karen landed a very respectable ladyfish and the moment was historically preserved thanks to Mr. Pentax. We never did take a picture of Bill, but the day was all about Karen anyway!
I can only imagine the expression on her face when we put her into a school of Spanish mackerel or bonito in a couple of weeks!
Rich Hunter and his old buddy Jeff North joined me in Lemon Bay the following day. Rich finally retired, came to Paradise, and decided to learn how to fish. So he called Sarasota County Adult Ed, where I’ve been teaching some fly fishing classes, but the one he wanted to attend had been cancelled.
“Can I just schedule a day for you to take me fishing?” he asked. Yep, I replied, and suggested that he stop by Casey Key Anglers & Outfitters for a preemptive fly casting lesson.
We booked a half-day. Unfortunately, the wind was too strong for Rich to use the fly rod, but things turned out pretty well anyway.
Jeff, who’s spent a fair amount of time on the water “Up East,” joined us and caught several fish before Rich got on the board. But when he scored, he scored BIG.
ZIIIIIING, went the reel. “Whoa!” said Rich. “Whoa, fish!!!” But the jack crevalle we ultimately weighed at four pounds didn’t want to whoa very easily. As jacks do, this one put on one helluva show before coming to the net.
“WOW,” Rich said when the photo-thing was finished, “that was really FUN!” Not long afterward, we got into a school of ladyfish, and then a bunch more jacks. Heck, Jeff even managed to hook a fairly decent fish.
Naturally, since he was the more experienced of the two, and Rich was boating larger fish, I dug in the needle. But not too deep—Jeff’s thinking about a bonito trip, and you’ve gotta keep the clients happy!
Apparently Rich was happy. He called the next day to schedule another trip later this month. Attaboy, Rich! That’s what keeps Kate happy—and if Big Red ain’t happy, there’s no peace in the cave.
Speaking of “happy,” Tony Newman finally got away from his snow removal business in Minneapolis and we cruised all around Lemon Bay yesterday.
Tony had been urging his friend Jim Jensen to come visit for the past four years, and Jim (or maybe his wife Sandy) decided it was time to get out of the cold, snowy northland for a few days.
They spend a lot of time chasing northern pike and musky on “The Tundra” but Jim never had been fishing in saltwater before.
His first ladyfish convinced him that there’s a lot to like about tossing jigs in this part of the world. “They really put up a fight!” he marveled. “Look at the way it jumps!”
The only disappointing part of the day was the total reluctance of the dozens of redfish we saw to eat a lure. We must have watched and poled after tailing redfish for an hour and not a single one would accommodate us.
Well, Jim Depaepe is in from Washington state on Monday. Perhaps those redfish will be a bit more co-operative then!
ENGLISH SETTER UPDATE
Heart’s 20 months old today, and absolutely FULL of himself. I still marvel at how much poor Ghost—who will be 12 in May—puts up with. He LEAPS over her back, bangs into her, and whips that tail of his around like a baseball bat.
Oh, yeah. Remember when he slammed into my left leg about two months ago and I thought he broke it? Well, the acupuncture sessions with Deena Combs have paid off. My foot and lower leg actually look mostly normal again.
Thank you, Deena. And I will be VERY happy to take you and Joe fishing again later this month!
Guys, don’t forget today’s Valentine’s Day!!! Flowers. Candy. Hugs and smooches, remember? Or you won’t get to come play in the salt when the Spanish and bonito start crashing the beaches!
Tight Loops,
Capt. Tony
photos
|
|
Lemon Bay - January 28th, 2009 |
RECORDED:
80 °
FISHING: Excellent
JANUARY 28, 2009
We’ve had some roly-poly weather down here in southwest Florida the past couple of months. Oh, not like Up North in Michigan, or Minny, or New Hampshire, but awfully darned crazy!
Take last week for instance. Please!
Aww, that’s an old (I’m really dating myself here) Henny Youngman line. Or was it Rodney Dangerfield? Anyway, fishing down here last week was “challenging” to say the least because of rather severe temperature changes from place to place.
Larry Warszalek was down from Chicago. Where it was –11 the morning he turned the key in his truck’s ignition and headed south on I-57. Good place to be “from,” as they say.
Anyway, The Intern (he calls me “The FishDoctor”) was absolutely rabid. Foaming at the mouth. Do you understand that he was READY to go fishing?
Yeah. And it was blowing 25 to 30 knots and the air temp was in the low 30s. DOWN HERE!
“My friend,” I told him, “fishing Tuesday and Wednesday would be madness. I don’t CARE how high your Cabin Fever is. I’M not going out in that mess. Besides, seas are forecast 6 to 8 feet. We need to stay home.”
Intern reluctantly agreed that maybe I had a point. Very reluctantly.
Finally on Thursday (he’d been in Florida for a week by then and still hadn’t wet a line and was semi-manic) he met me in Englewood and we fired up the Hewes.
Full disclosure. It was clear and sunny, but coooooold.
“I wouldn’t do this for anybody but you,” I told him. “This is going to be a challenge.” I mean, we’re dressed in northern Michigan “Go-Get-Your-Buck” camo fleece with the hood pulled up and where are my Australian opossum fingerless gloves?
Yeah. That cold. And here we were in Lemon Bay looking for fish.
“Well, Rochester,” as Jack Benny would have said, THIS fishing guide used a little bit of common sense and decided to poke around inside some of the little creeks that dump into the bay.
Bingo!
Intern caught a fish on his FIRST CAST! I BS-you-not!
Giddy with the sheer relief, I slow-trolled him through the oyster bars and canals and he kept catching fish. Including a very, very respectable snook that was laid up under a dock.
“Yeah,” he told me the next day, “I emailed my dad the photo of that fish. My sister Andrea, too. We gotta get them down here. We all fish Canada together, but I can’t talk them into coming here. Maybe next year!”
That was Thursday.
Friday’s forecast was for hot weather and blue sky. And, I guess it mostly was. Except the fish hadn’t heard about it yet. Oh, we saw a lot of boils as I poledandpoledandpoled around the flats. But they wouldn’t eat.
There were tailing reds. There were sheepshead by the dozen. We even saw a half-dozen very large trout flipping us off. Finally, I figured that if they wouldn’t eat, I would.
“You done stuffing your pie-hole?” Intern asked, as I wiped a dab of mustard from my mustache.
“Yeah, let’s go catch some fish.”
And we did precisely that very thing. Snook and jacks and snapper and boy were they ready to eat, too, once I found some 60-degree water back inside a canal.
We got a couple more nice photos, but the “two that got away” were the ones REALLY worth the ink.
We were tucked back tight against a concrete retaining wall and the sun was high and the water was nudging 61 degrees and the fish were happy.
“How Happy Were They,” Ed would have asked Johnny on the Tonight Show. Well, a snook somewhere about 40 inches long came charging up to Intern’s bait, missed and came charging back again.
Unfortunately, our artificial edible morsel was darn near against the hull of my Redfisher by then, and that biiiiiig snook peeled off and headed for parts unknown.
We were still hoping to relocate him when Larry hooked up. “Nice fish,” he said. Ziiiiiing went the line. “Yeah,” I said. “Nice fish. Now, how about getting him over here to the net.”
He did. But while that respectable jack crevalle was reluctantly being hauled around, ANOTHER jack about the size of my upper thigh was banging into it and demanding to know what sort of food was being ingested and could he please have a bite or two.
Ah, that he woulda/coulda. What a VERY big jack that was!
Intern’s back in Chicago now, dreaming about tarpon in June. And brown trout on the Manistee in August. And, well…you understand.
The following day I did a casting clinic for Sarasota County adult education, and turned a half-dozen folks onto the joys of fly casting. Ditto on Sunday, when I took Deena Combs and Joe Hackett onto Sarasota Bay.
They had come to one of the free fly casting seminars that Casey Key Anglers & Outfitters sponsors, and were raring to “put it all together on the water.”
So, we did. After spending a fair bit of time learning that casting on water is quite a bit different from casting on grass.
Deena eventually hooked and boated her first-ever fly-caught fish. A small fish, as fish might be measured. But a LARGE fish as “First-Ever” fish are measured.
Joe redeemed himself from the ignominy of being “fishless” by bringing a 21-inch spotted sea trout to the boat. He wasn’t quite as thrilled by his six-inch lizardfish, but Deena certainly was.
Oh, yes. Joe insisted that I mention that by the time we got back to the Tenth Street boat ramp he was pitching about 60 feet of fly line. Happy, Joe, to tell the world about how far you’ve come so fast!
ENGLISH SETTER UPDATE
Ghost and Heart got to put feathers in their mouths again on Tuesday morning. Bill Delaney and Frank Dunn joined me once again at Dream Lakes of Florida in pursuit of quail, and it was a marvelous morning despite the heat.
Figures! All of these days with frigid temps and fish looking for warm sweaters, and the morning we all go bird hunting it skyrockets up to 82 degrees!
Well, Ghost was as superb as always. I simply can not believe that she will be 12 years old in May! The combination of Previcox (pain relief) and Dasequin (joint meds) have turned her into a Pup again!
The heat, of course, finally sent her hunkering over to the clubhouse lake for a swim. But, after getting nice and wet and drinking probably a gallon of water she was ready to hunt again. And, sure enough, she pointed the final bird of the day, dripping wet.
Frank unfortunately missed it, but that was only a minor irritation to Ghost. She’d already had a fine time.
The Puppy? Damn, Heart did a good job. Go up to the Articles dropdowns and read about Heart’s Great Adventure, or Boneheaded Puppy and you’ll understand my relief.
It looks like he really is going to be a damned fine grouse and woodcock dog!
Tight Loops,
Capt. Tony
photos
|
|
Lemon Bay - January 2nd, 2009 |
RECORDED: 
73 °
FISHING: Excellent
JANUARY 2, 2009
WOW! It seems like only yesterday we were all caught up in the frenzy over whether or not the millennium change was going to kaput everybody’s computers.
Remember all the fuss? Thank goodness THAT’S all behind us. Now it’s just a matter of concentrating on catching fish—something Rande Yeager, his son Brooks, and their pal Rod Chapman didn’t have to worry about.
Nope, they kicked off the New Year in fine fashion! They’re from Minneapolis (although Brooks lives in Tampa now), so the morning’s slight nip didn’t bother them a bit.
“Hey,” Rande pointed out, “it’s something-below-zero back home, so this feels GREAT!” Brooks and Rod nodded in agreement as I backed the Hewes away from the ramp and we launched our assault upon Lemon Bay.
The first “beach-head” was the big flat along the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) channel just north of where Stump Pass dumps in. The result was a small pinfish and an even smaller lizardfish for Brooks.
“How weird that thing looks,” Brooks commented about his lizzy. Well, he “hadn’t seen nuttin’ yet!” We worked our way into the Pass, and Rod boated the largest Sea Robin I’ve ever seen.
You wanna talk about weird! Man. Go to the Photo Gallery dropdown to see one that Wally Henderson caught (we failed to get a picture of Rod’s). This is something that obviously got lost somewhere during evolution’s train ride.
This alleged fish has gills and fins, of course. It also has, So Help Me God, wings and legs and tiny little feet! That’s right: fins AND wings AND feet! And no, none of us had been drinking. In fact, that’s one of the reasons the guys booked me.
“When you told me on the phone that no alcohol is allowed on the boat,” Rande said, we knew you were the guide for us.”
“Yeah,” Rob chimed in. “We figured you were pretty darn serious about fishing, not just having a boat party. We take our fishing real serious. In fact, we’re two of the better walleye fishermen in Minnesota.”
Well, they certainly showed nearly everything in Lemon Bay how The Guys From Minny do things. In no particular order they caught a bunch of spotted sea trout, grouper, ladyfish, pinfish, lane snapper, mangrove snapper, jack crevalle, snook, and flounder.
The jigs I tie using eight-ounce and quarter-ounce heads, with the same materials I use to tie Commissioner Johnson and Petrella’s Glass Minnow flies, were absolute killers. As usual!
About the only thing the guys DIDN’T catch were some redfish. Which surprised me because reds have been very prevalent in Lemon Bay. But, as I always point out, the fish down here move around a heckuva lot more than brown trout back home on the Manistee or Au Sable rivers!
Ah, well. Rande’s coming back down in a couple of weeks, “and I want to spend the day fly fishing,” he said. “And I guess we’d better start talking about a tarpon trip next summer.”
I like the way you think, Rande. I like the way you think! Which reminds me of a joke…well, maybe that’s better left for a one-on-one conversation on the boat.
Tight Loops,
Capt. Tony
photos
|
|
Lemon Bay - January 1st, 2009 |
RECORDED:
73 °
FISHING: Excellent
JANUARY 1, 2009
2008: THE YEAR IN REVIEW
BROTHER!
To say the past twelve months have been a rollercoaster is to VASTLY understate the obvious. Nationwide—and throughout the world—we’ve all seen or perhaps experienced first-hand unprecedented events.
However, since those of us who fish and hunt in order to at least temporarily escape the daily drudge, that’s ALL I’m going to say about THAT.
Instead, let’s revel in the sights and sounds—in photographs and videos and our memories—of those things with fins, wings, and paws that made the past year tolerable. Mostly, at least.
-------------------------------------
Don’t fret, I’ll get to the current conditions and actual “fishing report” in just a couple of minutes! Right now, it’s appropriate to reflect upon “what was.”
------------------------------------
For me, 2008 started with Julie and Greg Watrobka. They had taken fly casting lessons earlier in the fall from my good friend Joseph Meyer, who owns One More Cast fly shop in suburban Chicago.
“We’re down in the Keys,” Greg told me when he phoned, “but Julie wants more casting lessons, and some actual fishing time. We’d be glad to drive up there, because Joseph says you’re the guy to give her more lessons.
“Besides, we’ve never seen the Gulf coast of Florida. It would be a vacation-within-a-vacation.”
Several days later, we spent a couple hours on the grass before cruising around Lemon Bay. And I’ve gotta tell you that Julie was a real gamer. Even when the wind kicked up she kept casting.
“I’ll take a little rest,” she told me at one point, “but I really want to get this down. So far, I don’t have the feel. I need to keep at it until I get the feel.” And, she did!
The rest of the season became a pleasant mixture of re-establishing friendships with long-time regular clients, as well as making new friends with some new ones.
We spent a lot of time in Lemon Bay in Englewood, just south of Venice, and it rarely disappointed.
Sure, there were a few clunkers. Like one day with newcomer Howard Mullin. Fortunately, Bill Riccardi—one of my regulars—was sharing the trip and he reassured Howard that “Tony occasionally manages to find some fish,” and that we were simply having an “off day.” A ringing endorsement? Hmmm. I’m still not sure.
Or when I took Jim Depaepe “up the river” in search of “a whole bunch of baby tarpon that are always swimming around.” Except that day they did not choose to participate in the planned program. Not a B-poon anywhere in sight. They must have been on vacation, too!
Ah, well, his wife Denise had an excellent experience the previous day catching a large snook and several jacks before the wind kicked up. And Jim has scheduled a rematch for mid-February so he must not have been too disappointed.
Of course, we also had some pretty spectacular times, too. Like the day in Lemon Bay with Jack Erb, his brother Fred, and HIS son Scott.
Jack and Scott each nailed trout in the 21-22-inch class, then Jack boated a fat pompano. After that, Fred took over and within minutes he landed a flounder, catfish, some lane snapper, several spotted sea trout, jack crevalle, blue runner and a gob of porpoise-poop.
They ended the half-day trip with more than 25 fish. We didn’t count the porpoise-poop.
Three days later, I was back “up-the-river” looking for B-poons with “The Three Stooges,” as Peg Pisani describes her husband Ron and his pals Jack Thorpe and Ray O’Connell.
The Albany Mob has fished with me before—both singly and collectively—and are darn experienced striper and bluefish anglers Up East. So it was particularly gratifying when Ron engaged in a fierce battle that resulted in our boating one of the finest specimens of barnacle-encrusted mangrove roots I’ve ever seen.
Nope. He still hasn’t lived down THAT one!
Naturally, the wind won several times. Like when Bob Strayker was so much looking forward to showing his son-in-law Bruce a fine time on Gasparilla Sound and Charlotte Harbor.
It looked pretty dicey just standing on the dock at Placida. “Let’s give it a try,” I told them. “If it’s blowing too hard, we’ll quit.” It was, and we did. In the parlance of my days covering Major League Baseball for the Atlanta Constitution, we were ppd., wind. A month later, though, Bob and his son Rob had a fine day with me on trout and ladyfish and some snook.
Then there was the unique experience of having the helm on my steering go flooey. Fortunately, we were at the dock—just getting ready to head out—when I realized I had no steering on my almost-new Hewes Redfisher.
Turned out to be a manufacturer’s flaw. But instead of issuing a complete recall (of THREE YEARS worth of poorly designed product) the company was just quietly authorizing “warranty” repairs. Lot of good that would have done if we’d been in the middle of Charlotte Harbor when the dang part failed!
Otherwise, it was (fortunately) and uneventful year in that respect.
And there were plenty of “Bluebird Days,” when the sun shone and the wind calmed and the fish ate and ate and ate. Tony Peters and his son Tony had a day like that, boating a pompano thismuch under the maximum 20-inch limit for pompano.
Tony Newman and HIS son Tony also had a “career day,” with pompano and trout, as did John Bachey and Dick Ritter and Andy DiPaolo with snook.
And then there was Sam Povinelli. Good old Sam. NINETY-THREE-YEAR-OLD Sam. With his son Ron and HIS son Ron.
It’s always fun fishing Sam. He says what’s on his mind. And what’s mostly on his mind when he comes fishing is FOOD. When we’d gone out previously, his luck was good. LOTS of fish. But all ladyfish or sub-legal trout.
This time Ron brought a tubful of three-inch New Penny Gulp! Shrimp. And Sam caught his “food.” A trout that just made the slot, and a fat bluefish.
“Oh, sure I’m gonna keep that bluefish,” Sam yelped. “Rose knows how to cook it real good.” Alas, we lost Rose during the past year at the age of 89. Ron says Sam’s holding up well, all things considered. Guess I’ll find out for myself pretty soon.
One of the most enjoyable experiences of the season took place in mid-March.
I got a call from Matt Harnett…well, I’ll just relate the story as it unfolded that morning:
My Redfisher 18 was moored at the Higel Park dock on the Island of Venice bright and early on a sunny, soon-to-be-hot, windless day.
I was leaning back on the console seat with my feet propped on the casting deck when I saw a procession coming down the sidewalk. Brothers, sisters, in-laws, out-laws, even babes-in-arms trooped toward the dock.
Near the rear of the crowd I spotted a slightly older fellow wearing a big wide-brimmed straw hat.
“Hey, Doc,” I yelled. “You wanna go fishing?”
Dave Harnett looked around at everyone, puzzled by the question. “But in my head,” Dave told me later, “I was thinking to myself—there’s a charter captain waiting for his client.”
“Sure you do,” I prodded. “Because I’m your birthday present. Well, not ME, really. The boat. C’mon. Let’s go fishin’.” At which point the whole family broke out in a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
Nearly five hours later Dave and sons Matt and Trevor were back at the dock with tired arms and happy smiles.
Without the need to exaggerate one iota I can tell you that they must have boated 70 fish (“I’d say more like 75 or more,” Matt proclaimed).
That’s the way it goes. As I wrote in one fishing report last year—after the horrible day with Howard Mullin and Bill Riccardi—“some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you, and some days it just doesn’t pay to go into the woods.”
All in all, we caught just about everything except cobia last year. Spanish and bonito and big tarpon during the migrations. Baby poons “up-the-creek.” Snook around the mangroves and under the lights. Redfish on the oysters. Trout on the flats. Ladyfish and jacks and snapper and pompano and bluefish just about everywhere.
To paraphrase “Ole Blue Eyes:” It was a very good year!
It even ended well despite an unusually-early series of fronts that brought cold temperatures to both water and air, along with gusty winds and churning seas, during late November and most of December.
In between the nasty stuff, we worked the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) around Venice, and my “Home-Away-From-Home” in Lemon Bay.
Some days we had to work harder than others, but inevitably we triumphed. Bill Peters and son-in-law Glenn Harrison nailed big jacks and blues recently. So did Trey Zoeller and Aaron Willis.
Chet Zoeller boated a beautiful redfish in a slough off Lemon Bay, and Ross Dillman realized one of his fondest dreams when he caught, fought, and landed a very large flounder in the ICW.
Thanks to all of you for a wonderful fishing season in 2008.
ENGLISH SETTER UPDATE
As all of Tight Loops’ regular followers know, the fishing report simply wouldn’t be the same without being regaled by the exploits of Ghost and Heart!
Our grouse and woodcock season ended on a very high note indeed. In addition to averaging 6 points per hour (the same as 2007), Heart and I combined for his first-ever grouse point-and-retrieve on November 3.
What a tumultuous bird season it was!
Ghost, who turned 11 years old last May, was superb as always. She’s been “All-Business” since retrieving her first woodcock at the age of 21 weeks, and despite more injuries than I even WANT to recount she remains a dedicated hunter.
The puppy. Well, that says it all. He’ll be 19 months old soon and he’s still All Puppy. He took off five times during hunting season for between two hours and three hours at a time. Wouldn’t “come here.” Wouldn’t “whoa.”
Finally, I had to reluctantly introduce him to Mr. Electricity. But, it was absolutely necessary to bring him under control before he met Mr. Automobile.
Anyway, Ghost had made a fine point earlier that morning in a pine planting across the river. A tough point and a tough shot, but we got our bird. Heart, in the truck, was howling.
“You’d better take the Little Guy out front,” Kate admonished when we got home. “Planned to,” I replied, and loaded his neck with beeper, bell, and Mr. E.
He raced out front of the house when I “released” him verbally. I whistled and called “right here,” and he came to me and sat down.
“Good, boy, good boy. OK, let’s find some birds.”
Into the tag alders along the river. Back into the popples and weeds and tamarack trees he ran, sniffling and snuffling.
“Right here,” I called, and here he came, bounding up from Kate’s path to the river to sit in front of me and inhale an Alpo Variety Snap—which he adores.
Petting his head, I said “OK,” and motioned to the riverside thicket. He took three steps and stopped. Every fiber of his body quivered. His feathered white tail stood straight as a flagpole.
Winged thunder roared skyward from the tag alders. Leaden thunder roared skyward from the Beretta. Once, then again.
Whistle. “Heart, bird here! Bird here!” As I propped my 20-bore against a small tree and hung my orange cap on a branch, he bounded to me, long legs slurping in the muck.
“C’mon, Heart. We’ve gotta get our bird,” and I snapped the leash on his collar for the short “swim” across the Manistee River to where the bird had gone.
“Whiiiiiiiine. You go, Dad. I don’t like swimming,” Heart said. “It’s OUR bird,” I replied. “C’mon, we’ve gotta go get OUR bird!” Reluctantly, he agreed.
We took the long way home.
As we walked up the two-track that passes for my driveway, both of us wearing broad smiles, Kate was at the kitchen door. “I heard,” she said, reaching for the camera. “His first grouse. Thank God!”
About all I can say is “Amen” to that.
Tight Loops,
Capt. Tony
Ps—stay tuned for more thrilling adventures. The 2009 season kicks off tomorrow with a hardy trio from Minnesota!
photos
|
|
 |
