Brain Parts

Originally appeared in Florida Sportsman

Ever wonder why so many boats live in yards on trailers? Probably it’s because the buying part of the owner’s brain--responsible for imagining joy and the new boat zipping along on that first day--lost out to the witness section of his brain that watched his wife fall hard on her tailbone on the slimy boat ramp. The witness part of his brain also made a permanent recording of the savage summer rain storm with huge seas and zero visibility…his panicked children…running aground on the way back to the ramp…paying the tow boat…and so on. 

As a new boat owner, the joy part of the owner's brain, with all its early promise, had considered free Coast Guard Auxiliary safe operation and coastal navigation classes, but the fun-loving, macho part of his brain said, “Hell no, not me.” Now the owner's wife won’t even push the lawn mower near the boat, and the kids always have other things to do. 

Truth is, my brain also has a vicarious section that loves to plan fishing trips. I do my research months ahead, when it’s cold and windy outside. Unfortunately, my vicarious brain part doesn’t do details very well.  

Case in point: I recently arrived with pals at an Abaco Island bonefish lodge to discover that the “native Bahama guides” was really just one guide, an enormous young man from the bright lights of Nassau who didn’t know a bonefish from a sand perch. The ancient 20-ft. skiff could get us to a flat to wade, but poling was impossible. Fishing “muds” was the guide’s idea of bone fishing, which he did with hand lines. It’s the least sporting way to catch a bonefish. We were waaay too snooty for that. We waded and didn’t catch many fish, but they were small.

The lodge’s dining room with spectacular water views was closed right after dinner, so we returned to our rooms to drink and tell lies. Why was the dining room closed? That night I awoke to a scurrying sound, flipped on the light and saw at the foot of my bed hundreds of cockroaches covering a box of mangoes I’d brought. The next morning I couldn’t look at the breakfast buffet. I suspect the roaches live in the refrigerator to keep cool.

My vicarious brain section was so eager to go bone fishing I’d bought every lie in the outfitter’s ad in the fly-fishing magazine. Should I have insisted on references, on talking to recent visitors to the lodge? Common sense went fishing.

Trust me here. Your brain is waiting to surprise you. As it gets older, more wrinkled, the brain section that learned outdoors skills begins to weaken. The brain part that selects a long-established fishing knot will come up with a way to tie it more efficiently. All parts of your brain are on the slide when this happens, so be forewarned. The same brain part is responsible for not leaving enough of the leader’s tag end to tie a knot properly, and makes you ignore every illustration, even YouTube videos. Your cheapo brain segment produces this subtle change.

Your goin’ fishing brain part is responsible for not putting the plug in the boat and leaving your new rain jacket at home. It easily overcomes the brain part regulating caution. I’m not sure what brain section is responsible when your new super beer cooler (more expensive than your laptop and lawn mower combined), placed in the boat ever-so carefully, bounces out on I-95 in Miami’s morning rush hour. Who’s responsible for that!?  Blame it on the "poop happens" part of the brain. 

Fortunately, the imaginary memory part of my brain stores the catches of three permit on one day on fly in Key West—those long, perfect casts. Bonefish are in a different brain fold, but easily accessible, in there with giant Rainbow Trout and salmon on my hand-tied flies. Argentine sea-run rainbows? I can see ‘em from my armchair. Makes me want to go out in the yard and check on the boat. My memory is a wild thing. Isn’t yours?

Mr. Getchoos: Don't Let Them Ruin Your Day

Originally appeared in Florida Sportsman

Even worse than having every man at your party come out to correct and advise you about how you’re cooking the ribs on the grill is the phenomenon of Mr. Getchoo, who seems to hide inside every man who’s ever ridden in a boat. You meet him when you show up with a new boat, particularly if it’s a nicer boat than his or one he hasn’t seen before. Like grill advisors, these guys often have zero experience, but plenty to say.

I showed my new 16-foot fishing skiff to a group of men outside a fishing club meeting one night a few years ago when I was new to town. The first man to comment said, “You need to getchoo a white all ‘round lite if you’re going to be fishing at night.” Second man said, “I like it a lot, but you’ll need to getchoo a bigger boat if you’re going to fish the Bay.” A third man said— adding a twist to “getchoo” — “You oughta gotchoo a Gheenoe. Lots of our members have Gheenoes.”

I have an all ‘round white light, a nice tall one custom-wired, but I don’t attach it unless it’s dark. Duh! Tampa Bay can be rough, so the boat is on a trailer. I can find a lee to fish when the wind’s blowing. Sometimes I cross the entire state of Florida. The hull design bears a strong resemblance to the seaworthy open rowing skiffs cod-fishing trawlers carried in the north Atlantic. Comparing my boat to a Gheenoe exposed the man as an ignoramus about small boat hull design.

Mr. Getchoos are experts...in their own minds. They’d like to have you think they’re trying to “hep” you, but they aren’t. They can annoy you if you aren’t aware. From dock lines to anchors to coolers and electronics and trolling motors and the tires on your trailer, they have ideas about how you should outfit your boat--to suit them. Mostly, they’re just jealous.

Another version is the “I hada” man, who says, “Oh, yeah, I hada cooler like that one time. Didn’t hold ice past lunch. Blew out of the boat on I-95. My son hadn’t tied it down. You need to getchoo some tie-downs, and getchoo one of them new $500 coolers you can put up in the bow and stand on.” Not happy with adding equipment, the I "hada" man will remodel your entire boat. When he says, “I hada” he means many years ago. I’ve got an old friend with more hair in his nose than on his head. I catch him regularly fibbing, and it usually starts with, “I hada….”

Disguised put-downs can ruin your day, and these guys know it. They want to appear smarter than you are. It’s why, if you invite one to join you for a day’s fishing, he’ll dress counter to your style, bring more tackle than the trip calls for, show up late and unload enough tackle boxes and gear to fill a much larger boat. Wearing cutoffs and an old T-shirt, he’ll comment on your snazzy fishing shirt with the logo. He’s never been on a fishing team. Did he bring too much gear? Well, sorry, he’s used to larger boats. He can leave a few things behind (sort, sort, set things aside, back and forth to his truck). Probably won’t be fishing for big tarpon out of this boat anyway. Oh, you want me to sit here!? Not much room. Gunnels aren’t very high…better put on my rain gear, gonna be taking spray. Hada boat like this when I was a kid. Did you bring enough ice for a couple of six-packs and my lunch? We’re not going far are we? When will we be back? I oughta call my wife.

Be on the lookout for these guys with their getchoos and oughtas and hadas. Don’t let ‘em ruin your day.

Back at the dock, here’s a solution. Say, “Thanks for all your help today. I made a list of your suggestions. With all you know, you need to getchoo a boat of your own, getchoo a radio show or a newspaper column, and getchoo a more experienced angler to fish with.”

Willy, Florida Sportsdog

Willy, Boykin Spaniel

Hi, I'm a Florida Sportsdog bred to hunt ducks out of small, tippy boats. I do not have any testicles, but my eyes are golden and my hair’s curly and a joy to touch. I got sick as soon as dad got me home, which my vet said was due to bad breeding. Now he feeds me special food and gives me eye drops twice a day because I have diabetes. One of my nuts was what they call “undescended,” so they had to cut me open to find it. I cost a lot of money, but I won’t fetch. Ducks? No, thanks. I like to chase a squirrel up a tree, and dad says maybe that’s my calling. I do like to eat  doves with their feathers on if my dad finds one. Dove hunting makes my dad cuss a lot. It makes sand spurs get stuck in my curly coat and between my toes, and then I whine. Dad sprays my coat with Pam and uses a comb to get ‘em out. I prefer the dog park in St. Pete, except for the poop on all the tennis balls. (Some owners don’t “pick up.”)

I love my dad and I look like a million dollars on the bow of our skiff, my ears flapping in the wind. We just got back from tent camping near Lake Woodruff. While I was resting in the truck I ate a thing called a “zipper” off a Simms raincoat. Dad whacked me with it and cussed. I ran off and wouldn’t come back when we got to the fish camp. I discovered a dead possum in the palmettos and rolled around in it some, then found dad in our tent, where he was laying out his sleeping bag. I ran off again and went for a swim at the marina.

It was raining when I came back and we got in our open skiff. Dad used the belt from his pants to hold his jacket closed. I like the rain. Dad caught a few “specs.” I ate almost all of one, and some things out of a jar called, “Gulps,” then I jumped overboard, onto land, but it was  hyacinths in the water, a thick matt of ‘em, and I could barely swim. Finally I got pulled back in the boat.

A train went right by our tent at night, so I barked a lot. Finally the sun came up and dad straightened out the cooler I’d tipped over. I sneaked and ate four  pickled eggs and some boiled peanuts in their shells. On the way home dad rolled the windows down and cussed and shook his head. It may have been my last Florida Sportsdog camping trip.

Take a Kid Fishing? Nah!

We sportsmen are reminded of our responsibility to “take a child fishing.” You get the idea: A kid out in the middle of "nature" in your boat isn’t on a street corner huffing drugs, and that's a better place to be, right?

But what if it's rainy and cold, the water's rough, nothing's biting and the wee one is bored and its feet are wet? Not so good for moral development and growing bones, then, is it? And, there are well-meaning adult slobs who are poor fishermen. What's a child going to learn, more bad words, how to open beers? It might grow up to be a politician.

Take an old guy in your boat instead. They’re set in their ways, happy they haven’t fallen and broken a hip in the boat, grateful for a soft seat cushion. If you agree to pick him up on the way to the boat ramp at an early hour, he’ll be waiting, and invite you in for a quick cup of coffee and maybe a freshly baked biscuit with homemade jelly. (That actually happened to me once.) They’ll have their gear…rain jacket, hat, possibly a bag of excellent sandwiches and pickles to go with your cans of Vienna Sausages. Smart ones will have a large-mouth container of some sort to pee in, so they don’t have to stand and dribble on the boat’s side. (A young boy will have fun peeing ten feet out in the water, aiming at floating objects, a savage reminder of the host's advancing age and loss of compression.)

To take a kid you’ve gotta ring the bell, wake up the Mom and a few neighbors, then wait while the wee lad is shaken awake, given some feed and a hat, which Mom will have to scrounge around for while you watch Breaking News and the sunrise. (You’ve got sun lotion and a rain jacket for him, right?)

When you arrive at the dock, even a very old adult will offer to help you gather gear from your SUV. A kid wants to carry the flashlight to turn on and off. He’ll be busy looking at his Smart Phone, texting as he’s walking to the car, flashing the light.

Rarely will a geezer jump aboard your boat with sand on his shoes and fiddle with your GPS. He’ll know it’s not a “game,” and will wipe his shoes and accept a friendly hand getting on board. He will not scamper around the boat and kick over the bait bucket or leap up on the gunwales unexpectedly, nor will he/she ask a million dumb questions, or eat the lunch sandwiches before you leave the dock.

The main skill learned by a lad ten years old is how to hold a fishing rod and a Smart Phone at the same time. If the fish don't bite right away the rod is the first to be put aside. It's best if the hosting adult goes along with this boredom solution. After all, simply continuing to fish despite any positive results does appear stupid to a smart kid.

If he gets bored an old guy cranks up his endless fishing lies. “Mighty fine eating, a walleye. I remember back in the late sixties when….” It’s harmless, expected. A kid, lacking experience, can’t really talk fishing, and noone wants to hear about his newest online game, so he’s forced to the sidelines when the stories start. Old-timers are like golfers who talk a ten handicap and play to a 30.

Kids get bored much faster than old-timers, and can be counted on to whine for the dock if things get slow before noon. The only antidote for extended whining and pouting is to give up and head for home. A sportsman host must remember that lectures about perseverance will be deeply discounted by the impressionable child, who remembers keenly the hosts description of the "really big ones" and "lots of action,"

Most people over sixty who will accept an invitation to go fishing have used a spinning rod or can master it after an hour of patient teaching. Many kids have never tried one, and might insist, as kids will do, that they “do better holding it this way,” upside down and reeling backwards. Adults don’t do that, except maybe millennials, and the urge almost never occurs to take them fishing.

Old guys rarely whine audibly. They will sigh and indicate pain vaguely, maybe clutching at their lower back, knowing, however, that they committed to this fishing day. The host owes them nothing. They’re stuck, which can be seen as a benefit when compared to a whining child.

Shifting into Spring

Winter’s behind us. Water’s warming up everywhere, and fish are on the move, bedding in lakes, migrating in the Gulf and Atlantic. True, March winds can blow your fly back into your face, but that’s why I own spinning tackle and lead sinkers and three or four cast nets. I’m a Florida Cracker, and we aren’t snooty about how we get ‘em in the frying pan.

I discovered over the winter that I may have to transition in March from an old, rusty trailer to a new one for my skiff. My plan is to take my wife fishing and let her have a good look at the bare trailer at the ramp, with its one busted roller, worn carpet and a slight limp to the left. (Maybe both tires aren’t the same size?) The idea is to appear willing to continue using the trailer, despite it’s dangerous condition. She’s a dear, so I hope she’ll be paying attention. I don’t think she wants to lose me in a shower of highway sparks.

Wading one morning recently, a Cracker friend of mine, Robert Fischer from Tampa, landed a 6 lb. Sheepshead on a size-4 Jim’s Golden Eye, using a 5-wt. rod and 8-lb. tippet. It’s a complex and unlikely looking bonefish fly only a Florida expert would have chosen. If you know Florida fish, you know that a 6 lb. Sheepshead is a catch of a lifetime on fly. His Jim’s Golden Eyes are custom-tied by Layne “Smitty” Smith from the Suncoast Fly Fishing Club in St. Pete. There’s always a crowd watching Smitty tie flies at club meetings—he’s an artist at the tying vise. (Check out the fly clubs in your area.)

I had equipment problems and a knee replacement after duck season that kept me off the water. I finally got around to putting away my chest waders a couple weeks ago. Mine smelled mysteriously like a penguin cage, so I determined to call Hodgman Wader Company. I’d paid top dollar! Before I called, a shooting buddy reminded me what it was like to be in a blind with me after the Spicy Burrito Breakfast Special in Okeechobee. He said that I broke wind like a bucking horse, and should have thrown the waders in the trash. Come to find out, I was not the problem, but someone had left a teal in one of my boots. I think I know who it was. Oh, the payback!

Spring winds can blow hard and not affect pompano fishing in Fort Pierce, which I do on light spinning tackle with Doc’s Goofy Jigs in the ships’ channel and turning basin. Or I cast to drop offs.

Recently I rode like a tourist in my pal’s boat, out near the mouth of the Ft. Pierce inlet. I had my bum leg propped up, offering advice he didn’t need. Why does he always catch more fish than I do? Beat this: Fished for three hours, caught nine pompano, then went by boat to Chuck’s on the causeway for fried shrimp. Back on the water, caught more pompano, feisty and beautiful each and every one. The only hitch was remembering the art of filleting a 3 lb. pompano, which calls for special techniques. My friend retrained me. (He suggested that I take the fillets I cleaned.)

Speckled Perch fishing can be productive in the wind too, fishing with minnows or jigging in the reeds. I’ve got another Florida Cracker fishing friend who practically lives at Lake Arbuckle in the spring, trailering his boat and camping during winter months. He’s a bit of a whiner, but when he calls, I get right over there and listen to him complain about not having enough fire wood and how hard the wind’s been blowing. We fry up some “speck” fillets and hush puppies in a skillet on a propane stove. He makes a killer tartare sauce. I always take a $6 plastic-wrapped bundle of 7-11 wood and a box of “HOT” Krispy Creme doughnuts. It’s good to have some sort of treat for a guy nice enough to invite me fishing. Never been fishing for Speckled Perch? Get a pal and hire a guide for a half-day on almost any big Florida lake. It’s cheaper than you think, a different way of fishing, and a real hoot.

Moving the Mushroom

Originally appeared in Florida Sportsman

I’ve got a friend who always seem to catch fish, in salt or fresh water, with live bait, lures or flies. When I fish with him he catches more fish than I do. Why? He’s smarter than I am and knows all the tricks. He fishes far more often than I do, and he has an extensive network of fishing friends, so he knows exactly what’s biting and where. A few phone calls gets him the information he needs. He won’t leave home without it.

He  knows before leaving the dock that the water is very clear, big trout are holding over sand holes in two feet of water in a specific area at a certain time of the tide, and they’re busting live pilchards free-lined on medium spinning tackle. He learns where the pilchards are hiding. Naturally, he will be quiet in the boat or get out and wade, knowing that big trout are easy to spook.

When I get the time, I’m apt to jump in my skiff and go flats fishing for trout. Tide? Won’t know ’til I get there. Don't know where I might find pilchards, and my live well isn’t working anyway. I’ll have two fly rods and a spinning rod, with plenty of lures and flies. My plan is no plan. I’ll wing it. I’ll have fun, but I won’t catch nearly as many fish as my friend.

Here’s an example of how he outsmarts me even when I’m in his boat: Pompano fishing recently, three of us anchored and tossed flies and jigs into a tide rip on our right side along a drop-off known to hold pompano.

He doesn’t use an anchor chain, which I have done all my boating life, to let the catenary curve of the anchor rode help set the anchor. He doesn’t want the noise.  Instead, in his 20-foot skiff, he has a small laundry basket and 50 feet of 3/8-inch nylon line tied off the bow to a mushroom anchor. (I’d bet he has a Danforth anchor below decks, on a longer line.)

He always pays out all the anchor line and anchors up-tide of his known hot spot, then uses his motor to drag the anchor down-tide until he’s positioned perfectly. (This gives him the chance to fish the up-tide area before the other two anglers, leaving them the area he’s already fished when he finally stops the boat.)

Quiet is good, so as a guest you’re encouraged to stay in your area of the boat, seated or standing. , A friend fished the bow, I was in the middle, with the captain in the stern seat. He was able to cast to the area directly to his right and work his fly or lure along the bottom, with the current, in a wide arc down-tide, covering a broader area than the other two anglers. The angler in the middle had the narrowest casting window, not wanting to over-cast the bow and stern anglers, and the man in the bow had to be careful not to catch the middle angler or his line if he tried to broaden his casting arc by casting up-tide along the anchor line.  In this case, the guy in the stern covered more water; his piece of the pie was larger.

If the guy in the bow starts getting all the action, the captain in the stern can effectively be shut out.  He can’t cast up-tide over the other two anglers’ lines and allow his lure to bounce down-tide.

The captain’s solution is simple. He asks the bow man to shorten the anchor line, which pulls the boat up-tide into the hot spot. (He’s implying that a small shift will improve fishing for everyone.)  

If the man in the stern begins to catch fish and the others don’t—he anchored the boat knowing precisely where the fish usually “hold”—he’s sure to tell stories as he’s reeling in another one, while you watch him and net his fish. Blah, blah, his biggest fish of all time, etc. He may offer suggestions to you about the speed of your retrieve, your hat. You may be asked to count the fish in the box.

Relax! Get yourself 50 feet of 3/8 nylon and a mushroom anchor for your boat.

When the Wind Blows

Originally appeared in Florida Sportsman

When I was trailering my skiff to the Fort Desoto boat ramp from downtown St. Pete early this morning, I ignored the high-wind warnings on Highway 275 for cars about to cross over the Skyway Bridge. After all, I wasn’t going over the bridge.

I’d already decided to fish, going alone, despite the weather. Challenge accepted. I am very experienced. Wise? Read on.

When I back my skiff in the water on my own, I unhook the trailer strap and tie a line from the boat to the trailer, letting the boat float loose into deep water—plug in— off the trailer. Then I scamper out of the truck, treading carefully on the slippery ramp, and tie the boat to the dock or pull it up on the beach. I pull the trailer out of the water, lock the truck and go back to board the boat. Simple.

Usually I’d stay home if the temperature is 48 degrees and the wind’s out of the northeast at 25. But today there’s a fly-club competition, and I might win the thing with a single fish. Plus, I have a few tricks for fishing in the wind.

This morning, imagine this: My own comic YouTube event. In the mirror, when the boat was nearly off the trailer, I saw waves coming over the transom. That’s never good. My, my, I hadn’t observed the angle of the ramp or height of the waves. The word, “careless,” doesn’t quite cover it.

Without the strap attached, I had no way to pull the boat back on the trailer. So, I backed the truck in farther, letting the boat do its floating thing, and all was well…until the wind caught it and drove the skiff under the dock that connects the main floating dock to the land. Bang, bang went the outboard motor under the dock, then scrape, scrape as the skeg of the motor hit the concrete ramp. After more scampering—wet now to my waist—and lucky boat handling, I managed to get the skiff on the trailer and back on dry land.

I was a bit discouraged and wondered if a smidgeon of Alzheimer’s had lodged itself somewhere. So I decided to pack it up and head home.

On the way back, I cheered myself up imagining how well my “fishing in high winds” tricks might have worked. I’d anchor so the boat would lie bow-into-the-wind, parallel to a channel’s edge. Then I’d cast a sinking fly line along the drop-off. Sinking lines are no fun to cast, but they work well in the wind. A short leader, say, four feet, would have been good, with a big yellow and red Clouser on the end down there where the pompano play. To move, I would have let out more anchor line. With my marine chart in hand, I could have found other likely channels to fish.

Thirty-foot shooting heads also work well in windy conditions, particularly the weighted ones. With only 15 feet or so out of the tip, a roll cast is all you need to toss a fly 40 feet or more. Give it more distance with a false cast, and you can cover a much wider area.

Or if fishing from the boat proved to be aggravating, I could have gone wading close along a mangrove shoreline protected from the wind. I’d start with a finger mullet imitation like a Rivet or other spun deer-hair, semi-floating pattern. My favorites have rabbit strip tails. Throwing tight loops is important close to the bushes. Not wanting to snap a rod trying to jerk a fly out of high  shoreline limbs, I tie weedless flies. It’s a personal choice, based on lots of experience, if you get my drift.

I’ve been known to tie the boat’s bow line around my waist and pull the skiff along, with a small kayak anchor off the stern to keep the boat directly behind me as far back as I want. To keep boat noise down at anchor or while wading, a little weight in the bow reduces slapping… a cooler or fuel can maybe.

It can be hard not to resort to a spinning rod when the wind blows, but if there’s fly fishing competition, I’d have three choices: I could wade fish from the shore, or take a friend to help at the boat ramp. Or, I might stay in bed and show up for the picnic lunch.

Live Shiner Fishing

Catching a big trophy bass is a bucket-list sort of thing for millions of anglers. In my opinion a ten-pounder qualifies. One that big could eat a chiwawa.

The St. Johns River near my home in DeLand regularly produces ten pounders, and a man from Alabama caught one twelve pounds last week using a live Florida shiner for bait.

A house guest of mine saw the bass in a newspaper photo and told me that he’d bass fished his entire adult life—he’s about seventy five years old— and had always dreamed of catching a “wall-hanger, a 10 pounder.”

He’s not in the best of health, and I’m not getting any younger, and I owe him a million favors, so I called the #1 guide nearby and asked about going fishing with him in the next couple of days. As luck would have it, he did have an opening for a half-day charter due to a cancellation. Tomorrow would be fine.

I’d seen the guide’s bass boat. It has a bunch of fancy logos. He has a website that makes him sound like a combination of Jimmy Carter and Tom Brady. He’s good.

I asked, trying to sound casual, “How much do you charge?”  He replied, also casual, “$300 a half-day and you pay for the shiners.”

“Oh,” I said, “how much are Florida shiners?”

He said, “$20 a dozen. We might use four, five dozen.” Yikes! Maybe $400 for a four hour trip, plus tip. BUT…imagine having that many bites!

I’d stepped in it and couldn’t really justify the cost. It was waay too expensive, as my wife would explain to me, but maybe my friend would offer to do what’s called, “picking up the tip,” while I paid the $300 plus bait cost.

My wife realized that I’d be fishing also, and that maybe by using a guide I “would actually catch one.” She seemed puzzled, aggravated might be a better word, that I was hiring a guide to go fishing.

The next day I felt a little like I was riding on a parade float in his boat. A man with some sort of sales background, he opened a cooler and showed us “all the waters you want, a couple of cokes.” And, he had nice new tackle.

There were plenty of live native shiners in a well— some “nice ones” five to seven inches and a couple of floaters and a few semi-stunned twirlers. Farm-raised Minis are under four inches. Giants nearly a foot long look good in the live well and give touron bassers something to marvel about.

After a short, fast ride we chugged into a gorgeous shallow bay behind some oak trees hanging over the water, surrounded by hyacinths and lily pads, just off the main St. Johns channel near Astor, Florida. I looked carefully to see what made the “hotspot” our guide had found different from a million others within a half mile of where we sat, power-pole anchored into three feet of water over loose mud. Having a few corks hanging from overhanging tree limbs took away from the wilderness feel, and the first bass we landed after an hour’s fishing had a hook deeply imbedded in his throat, which would also seem to indicate that a few boats might have noticed our guide’s “hotspot” and fished the area often. That small bass did not survive the super-set my friend gave him when he tried to swim away with the $1.66 shiner. The bass went through the air at great speed and hit the side of the 200 hp. Mercury outboard with a whapping sound.

5/0 Eagle Claw weedless hooks made it easier for the guide—less grass and water junk on the hook— and probably kept our shiners alive longer. Hooked under its chin, he’d lob the shiner into position. Fished three feet under a 2” foam cork with no leader, the bait swims around pulling 50 lb. braided line on a bait-runner spinning reel. When it gets nervous it swims anxiously, feeling the nearby presence of a bass or mudfish or a catfish or gar or alligator or a cormorant or large seagull, all of which combine to run up your bill when they kill a shiner.

When you get a strike you wait until exactly the right instant, which is announced by the guide. Then you strike hard. No, harder than that, and reel like crazy.

After a while we moved a mile or so to another spot that looked bassy but yielded only two fish, one approaching three pounds. Total catch around five pounds. The good news was that we only had a $30 shiner bill.

How Many Flies Do You Really Need?

Originally appeared in Florida Sportsman

I fly fish for bluegills with my pal Ken Doty, who uses only one fly he calls a “spider.” It’s a bit of white foam tied on a size-10 hook, with weensy-thin white rubber legs and a tiny sprig of marabou for a tail. I flail away with my larger, elaborately rigged poppers with eyes. I like eyes and the “plooop” sound poppers make. He has more action with tiny fish, which please him, somehow. They’re all included in his count, which he compares to mine throughout the day, though they could all swim in a highball glass. Usually I catch a few of the bigger fish, but yesterday a three-pound largemouth ate Ken’s embarrassing fleck of foam, giving him rights to “most and biggest.”

When Ken fishes Tampa Bay, all his flies fit in one small plastic box. They’re variations of a three-inch Clouser Minnow on a size-4 Mustad hook. Winter time, he uses the darker ones. Now that menhaden are back, he’ll throw a thinly dressed chartreuse-over-white variation wearing cheap lead barbell eyes.

My flies for saltwater wouldn’t fit in a 5-gallon bucket, and the flash and colors are heavenly bright. My question is, “What’s wrong with me?” I know the single most reliable fly for most areas where I fish, yet I take full fly boxes, trying a half-dozen flies in a morning’s fishing.

Is my pal a cheapskate? Sure, that’s part of it. All his fly-tying materials fit in one small side drawer of an old, scarred desk. My tying table, next to my full-sized dresser full of materials, looks like the Container Store, with four large plastic boxes marked according to contents.

I no longer drink. Could fly tying be a substitute? The scary thing is that I sound exactly like the hopelessly confused hoarder I saw on television, who said that every nasty thing she saw in her home had a purpose. And she hadn’t even made any of the junk herself. Me, throw out my flies? No way! I just need more boxes, thank you.

I’ve already got a dozen thoroughly proven poppers for my next bluegill trip, so what am I to do, quit tying flies? I’ve got countless books, articles and videos of other flies I might tie.

When I go home from Lake Okeechobee to Tampa Bay, sadly, I really need only one fly pattern, a Clouser Minnow. It’s simple to tie, like Ken’s spider. Using bucktail rather than fancier synthetic materials, I can keep the cost low. Bucktail has built-in buoyancy, so if I want a Clouser to sink faster, I use less bucktail and heavier lead eyes. Casting in shallow water from my kayak, I often use light-weight plastic barbell eyes to help keep the fly out of the grass.

In winter months, like Ken, I use a size-4 Clouser tied in dark colors to resemble crabs and shrimp, which are the main forage foods of redfish and trout. I use a Scientific Anglers weight forward line with a clear sinking tip, to help get the fly deep. With a 10-foot fluorocarbon leader and a 5- or 6-weight rod, it’s a breeze to cast, and catches fish.

Spring brings menhaden into the surf and bay, and my Clousers go up in size and brightness. A bright white bucktail under-belly topped with chartreuse back hair does the trick. A little flash material appeals to me, and peacock herl on top, but neither is necessary. As the bait grows from early spring through fall, I increase the length of my flies accordingly. An 8-weight rod is my favorite as the flies get bigger, and I use a floating line and 9-foot tapered mono leader.

One morning last June, I caught seven snook up to 25 pounds in the surf near Fort Pierce, using a big bucktail Clouser tied very long, green over white, with large shiny metal eyes. The idea was to fish the fly on the bottom under the schools of glass minnows hugging the shoreline. Snook and tarpon were crashing the “brown bait” at the tip of my 9-weight rod, scooping up anything that moved on the bottom.

Ken’s ridiculous white spider fly put 50 bluegills in the cooler one memorable summer day. A crude white and green Clouser snagged seven big snook for me. More flies, different patterns? It’s definitely worth thinking about.

Eensy Weensy Doty Spider

Materials:

Hook: Mustad 3366 size 10
Thread: 3/0 flat waxed nylon, white
Body: 3mm foam disk 1/2” in diameter
Tail: pinch of yellow marabou, length of hook
Legs: ultra-thin white rubber…note: the rubber legs dries out living in your fly box. I tie the bodies, set ‘em aside and add new legs for each trip. Just takes a few seconds, and they wiggle better. Old rubber is bad rubber.

Instructions:

Do not use glue on or near this fly. Marabou and rubber legs don’t like it.

• Tie in thread from hook eye to hook bend.
• Add yellow smidgen of yellow marabou tail and move thread to center of hook shank.
• Pinch on the foam disk and tie it down with three or four wraps1/3 back from the front of the disk—smaller lump toward hook eye.
• Cut rubber leg material in 2-inch lengths, fold in the middle over tying thread and add to the side of the foam disk, leaving two 1-inch legs on each side.

As you make these flies, you will be tempted to color the foam disks and add more substantial legs, which is fine if you want to catch fewer fish. White body, yellow tail, tiny white legs one inch long. Just flip the thing out where bluegills live. They’ll eat it. Trust me.

Fly Rod Down!

Me, Early Days

I was six years old when my father took me on my first fly-fishing trip in North Carolina. I remember one moment clearly, when he shook a white fly rod out of its cloth sleeve. Hollering in anger, he held up the broken tip of the rod. My, I was disappointed. He didn’t have a spare rod. After he settled down, he let me play in the cold stream for a little while, rolling smooth rocks, and then we headed back to our rental cabin. I never saw that rod again.

At Lake Okeechobee back in the 1980s, I stowed my fly rods in their under-deck rod holders of my Maverick skiff. The rod holders, with their little bungee holders, worked perfectly. Unfortunately, a heavy cooler with ice wasn’t tied down, and it slid across the cockpit during a bumpy ride back to the ramp, snapping two fly rods.

People and things move around in odd ways sometimes.

Fishing in the Savannas, south of Fort Pierce, I once allowed my fly line to get caught in the trolling motor propeller. Not only was the line stretched beyond repair, the rod tip was snatched into the prop before I could react. Snappo!

Anyone who’s done much fly fishing has seen a rod busted when an angler tries to snatch a fly from a rock, piling or tree. Graphite is strong, but it likes to shatter. Snatching is not good. Never snatch! Don’t ask me the technical reasons, but it’s the same force that will pop a rod the very instant it’s required to bend too far, as when an angler “high-sticks” the rod with a stout fish at boat side. The loud snapping sound of a breaking rod doesn’t happen when you’re catching bluegills, but it can with big fish like tarpon and mahi and tuna. Be cool with a Big One near the net. Lower your rod tip, and put the strain back closer to your hands.

Experienced, sober fly fishermen do not string their rods in motel rooms with paddle fans. Of course they don’t. Fans can reach out, there’s no question about that, and who can resist a testing “waggle” once a rod is put together? Oops! You see the fan, but does your pal when he takes it in hand while you’re making another drink?

A fly rod leaning against the side of a car looks safe. It’s just when a gentle wind blows it to the ground and someone steps on it, or when a car door is innocently opened and closed from the inside, crushing the rod, that the cussing begins. Never lean your fly rod on the side of a vehicle.

Once in Colorado, in a rustic parking area far back in the woods, I found a $500 Sage 4-weight fly rod and reel with line and fly attached, all in perfect order. The video ran through my mind of the angler leaning his rod against the car while he took a pee. The rod slipped to the ground where he couldn’t see it. He drove away. Sad story. Now it’s a fine Florida bluegill rod. (I left a note on a tree with my phone number, but never got a call.)

Solomon Dave says, when you’ve finished fishing, put the rod away in its case. I know. I know you simply put yours in your SUV, like I usually do, fully assembled with the tips facing forward. It’s really dumb. At least break ‘em down so you can protect the tips, and maybe roll a towel around the parts.

Beginners hike with their rods pointing forward. Better is the rod butt forward. Instead of having the fly line go from the reel through the stripping guide, tuck it behind the reel. That reduces its profile and makes it less likely to catch in the bushes behind you. (There are two easy ways to let a salt water guide know you’re a novice: Take two or three fly rods out of your car already strung and walk toward him with their tips forward. Then, step uninvited into his boat at the dock wearing your gritty shoes.)

These are just a few reminders. Today I sent a rod under warranty back to Sage. I won’t tell you which of the “never-dos” I did to break 10 inches off the tip, but the shipping was $12 and the warranty is $75—the price of an entire Wind River graphite rod, reel, line, backing and case from Cabela’s. I’m too careless for fancy rods and, in reality, I’m not skilled enough to appreciate the difference.

A St. Johns River Cricket Match

Originally appeared in Florida Sportsman

There are millions of seductive spots to cast a #8 popping bug if you’re a fly caster on the St. Johns River. Branches stick out over the water, and half-fallen trees lean out, calling out for a caster to get a fly under them, back against the bank in those “pockets.” The river’s no place for a beginner. It takes experience to snatch and jerk flies loose from the bushes without snapping your fly rod. You’ve got to know when to pull hard enough to bust a fly off and tie on another one. It helps if you tie your own. I keep my fly box open on the seat.

After countless hours of fishing, I could have put my entire catch in my pants pockets. Finally, it came to me like a bolt out of the blue, wise old angler that I am: Dave, you don’t know what you’re doing. You gotta find someone to show you how to fly fish on the St. Johns. You’re adrift and dumb.

Enter a guide named Denny Tittle, whose business card says Crappie and Blue Gill, I also teach fish catching tactics. I found him through Astor Bait and Tackle by way of a Federal Ocala National Forest biologist named Clay Coates. Clay was saddened by my tales of failure, and suggested that I seek professional help. I must have looked “wore out,” as they say in those parts. I had driven hundreds of miles scouting back roads for ramps and lakes, pulling my skiff, stopping only to eat weenies off the rollers at country stores.

Denny said he could show me where the bluegills are and how to catch ‘em. Yeah, I could bring my fly rod and give it a try, but he sounded doubtful (so was I) that he could show me how to catch fish on my beautiful custom-tied poppers.

After 10 minutes watching me cast, Denny said, “I didn’t think they’ll take a popper. Reminds me why I gave up fly fishing.” Then, as I kept casting, he baited up a live cricket on a size-6 Aberdeen hook, under a split shot and a small foam cork. Right behind where I’d just made a rare perfect cast to a good-looking shoreline spot, he flipped out the cricket. (He uses a 9-foot limber crappie pole with a small spinning reel carrying 10-pound braided line.) It took a while for a big bluegill to eat the cricket…about five seconds. I kept casting, not catching, while he caught at least a dozen nice ‘gills as we worked the shoreline. The man has a sense of humor, and he’s a nice guy, and he knew I was proud of my bugs. Finally, he said out loud what he’d been thinking: “They won’t come up for it. When they’re bedding in shallow water they might, but not now, not here.”

I made a change: I put on a size-6 popper. On its hook I tied about a foot of 6-lb mono. At the end I tied on a #8 fly called a Crappie Buster, a simple weighted fly with a black chenille body and four white rubber legs. It’s weighted on the rear of the hook, and the legs are tied so that they fold up when the fly sinks. If you have a twisted imagination, it resembles a dying spider or maybe a cricket. Anyway, on my first cast with the “popper/dropper” combination, I caught a nice bluegill. Denny smiled. I was having fun now!

He continued to catch five fish for every one of mine, but he was using live bait under a cork on a spinning rod and I was using a fly. Who is the slicker angler in a case like that? Fly casting a dropper rig ain’t art. It’s not like throwing a size-18 caddis imitation on the Madison River. It’s pretty clumsy casting.

I tied a dozen Crappie Busters when I got home, for poise, I think.

I didn’t have a 9 foot light-weight crappie pole, but I do now. A small reel I bought for my wife to troll Beetle Spins now holds new 10-lb braid. I bought some lead split shot and size-6 Aberdeen hooks at Astor Bait and Tackle. Crickets are $5 per hundred. They come in a sad little wire cage.

When we were saying goodbye, Denny handed me a handful of foam corks. He seemed to know I’d be needing ‘em.

Conditions: The Best Excuse

How’d you do? Catch any snook Saturday? Crowded on the weekends, isn’t it?

The verbatim report:

“Not one fish! Conditions were awful, specially for Robert. He showed up late, hung over, and got sick in the boat ramp parking lot. Must have been ten boats ahead of us. Crowded conditions at the ramp, one near-fist fight, had to park a block away.

“We didn’t get away until the crack of 7:30. I was on the bow with the castnet, and we went to where the bait was supposed to be, but conditions had changed, and the water was dirty, couldn’t find the pilchards. Then Robert’s new 10-foot castnet got fouled on the bottom in the channel. I could feel it tearing, but it must have gotten hung on the lead line. All the boats running by made conditions rough. Most smiled and waved, seeing how we were attached to earth by the net line. Jerks! I finally gave up trying to get it back in the boat.

“By then we’d missed the tide, and the water was dirty anyway, like I said. Due to the full moon and the front blowing through the night before, I knew it was going to be tough fishing, a blue-sky day, the toughest of conditions for a snook bite. I was right, at first. We threw artificials everywhere we knew, caught one 6-inch jack, then conditions started to change and the wind came up, and clouds started building in the north. Must have been another front. I don’t know, but conditions changed in ten minutes to a regular, rumblin’, lightenin’ rain event like you see on tee vee. That’s Florida for you.

“In those conditions we knew it would be a madhouse at the boat ramp, so we ran and hid under the bridge to have lunch and wait it out. Trouble with that plan was that I’d forgotten the lunch at home, right on the counter with my rain jacket. The Little Woman had made us sliced tenderloin sandwiches on her homemade bread. Pickles and chips, Cokes in the 6-pack cooler. Still right where I left it.”

So, after a day with such bad conditions, what are you planning to do tomorrow, stay home, mow the lawn?

“Conditions at my house when I got home were favorable for laughter and gentle ridicule at my expense: You didn’t catch anything?  She had worried when the storm came up, and I’d left my rain jacket.

"So, she left me no choice. We’re going again in the morning, early this time. Same sandwiches. Robert got a new net. I can always buy some grouper fillets to improve conditions at home. Grouper, snook, who can tell the difference?”

Fly Lines Reviewed

I just made a startling discovery about fly fishing tackle: I bought an 8-weight graphite rod, with a weight-forward floating fly line installed over a reel full of backing…for $79, from Cabela’s. It’s called the Wind River outfit. The reel looks like it’ll perform fine on redfish and trout, bass and jacks and ladyfish, at least for a few years. The line’s a weight-forward design. The rod could pass for a far more expensive one. It’s shiny like a graphite rod should be, and the guides and grip look sturdy.

I took the new outfit to a nearby park and cast it for comparison against my pet $700 Winston rod with my newest distance-casting fly line, the Sharkwave Saltwater Fly Line, from Scientific Anglers. The line alone cost $100. The reel on the Winston is a $300 model, with promotional advertising copy as good as any on the market.

On my beautiful, state-of-the-art “fast-action” graphite Winston $1,000 outfit, I was able to cast the Sharkwave line farther than the $79 Wind River outfit…but only by 6 feet!

There’s a message for all of us: You can’t buy casting distance. It’s all based on our casting ability as it is today. It’s a little depressing, isn’t it? If you work hard and squirrel away some fun money, study all the tackle catalogues, and buy online when you are sober, you might still do something really dumb. There’s no replacement for casting instruction and plenty of practice.

No doubt, my new Wind River fly rod, in size 8—my choice for an all ‘round choice here in south Florida—will perform slightly better if I use a specialty  fly line. A “redfish taper” floating line readily available from various line companies for around $90 will cast large flies easier, with fewer false casts. Or, maybe you’d be better off casting smaller, less wind-resistant flies to begin with, and sticking with the line that came on the Wind River reel. My best redfish fly is a sparsely tied size 4. It allows me to make more graceful and accurate casts, which I do on occasion. I truly enjoy casting, and don’t like feeling like I’m casting a gym sock instead of a fly. A “redfish” taper won’t give me that desirable extra few feet of distance, so may have to sneak up on my next “red” and see his beady little eyes before I cast.

Or heading to the Bahamas for a bonefish trip, I’d take the Wind River outfit loaded with Scientific Angler’s floating “bonefish taper,” a specialty line that’s stiffer than most, so it has less “memory” and doesn’t kink as easily. (I might take two complete Wind River outfits and leave one as the guide’s gratuity.) The bonefish line’s got a longer “belly”—the middle portion—which means it’s easier to carry more line in the air during false casting, and it’ll “shoot” through the guides better and go farther. Just a few feet farther, but still….Maybe you’ll be in the Bahamas, and there at one o’clock, right in front of you, 60 feet away, is a live bonefish! Six feet extra would be good, right? It will cost you around $75 bucks. The bonefish line is one of my favorites. It really pays off if you fish from a boat, where you’ll get longer casts than you have before. The color of it is “Horizon”…ostensibly the horizon’s color during daylight hours on a bonefish flat on a nice day. Get out your credit card!

For all around saltwater use, I use an “intermediate” line with a sinking clear tip to which I tie a 6-foot fluorocarbon leader. It sinks slowly, under the surface waves if I’m in the surf, where I caught some nice snook this past summer. It allows me to have a more natural, deeper, straight retrieve of my fly, where a floating line will continue to pull the fly to the surface quicker as it’s retrieved. The intermediate line has increased my catches on south Florida grass flats. It’s a Scientific Anglers line priced around $85, described as “textured saltwater clear tip.” It’s got “AST” on it or in it…a mystery ingredient.

I’m not a professional caster. Maybe I’ll stick with the line that came with the $79 Wind River combo deal. I don’t need the newest $90 line if it won’t help much. Do I?

Angling for Redears

Originally appeared in Florida Sportsman

A 1-lb. redear sunfish is a perfect match for a 3-wt. fly rod. Often called shellcrackers, they fight like a snapper, holding boldly sideways, all fins flaring and pulling like their life depends on it.

I moved to DeLand, Florida, a few months ago. Fishing here is different than farther south. In central Florida, bluegills and shellcrackers feed closer to the bottom. I tried, but I couldn’t catch them on fly-rod popping bugs.

Determined to learn whatever it takes to catch shellcrackers, which are bigger than bluegills, prettier and better tasting, I sought expert help. A local pastor, Lorenzo Lane, took pity on me out on Lake Woodruff when I approached his boat upwind, a courteous distance away, and whined about my lack of success.

My wife, Marcia

He doesn’t own a fly rod. He has an assortment of long fiberglass poles with small spinning reels he positions out of the bow and stern of his bass boat, each lodged in its own pole holder. On the end of each line he puts a long-shank #4 hook. A foot above that he crimps a split-shot about the size of a green pea. He rarely uses corks. Each hook gets a red worm or a cricket, then he starts drifting across areas he knows the fish like. Lorenzo “feels” the bottom and recognizes the telltale, crunchy-feeling of his lead dragging through shells. (Most of Lake Woodruff is muddy, less than 5 feet deep.) As soon as he feels shells and catches a fish, he anchors the boat with two pieces of galvanized pipe stuck in the mud on the upwind side. Once the boat settles down, he puts out a fan of baited rigs, each precisely situated for relatively tangle-free fishing. He manages nine poles with ease, watching each line for movement.

When the fish start biting, Lorenzo’s mighty busy, smiling all the time, yanking fish and chatting amiably. He says the shellcrackers prefer worms to crickets, but the bluegills sometimes go for live crickets first. 

Shellcrackers’ diet of shellfish—mostly snails—and grass shrimp gives their flesh a cleaner taste than bluegills, which eat more minnows and bugs. In south Florida, bluegills often will take small poppers …bug imitations. Shellcrackers rarely eat “on top.”

I’d heard that a certain small lake nearby, back in the woods, had some big shellcrackers. Off I went by myself in the wee hours the morning after Lorenzo’s lessons with two new Crappie-Buster poles, each nine feet long with a tiny spinning reel and 8-lb. line. Two containers of worms cost me $3.50 each, 50 crickets $2.00. Hooks and split-shot and a couple of small corks—another three or four bucks. 

I backed my skiff in at a lonely boat ramp…and kept on backing it until my truck tires were half under water. Hard sand bottom, so there was little chance of getting stuck, but the water was too shallow to float my boat off the trailer.

I knew what I had to do. With the boat on the trailer backed in as far as I thought safe, I climbed aboard and went to the stern. There I stood like a Wild West buckeroo, and swung a small Danforth anchor around my head on its line and flung it far out in the water. Then I set the anchor by hand and tied the line to a stern lifting ring, and got back in the truck and drove off up the ramp, leaving the boat floating. Winching the boat back on the trailer a few hours later was simple, though it involved getting my feet wet and using all the tow strap.

And, yes, I caught all the shellcrackers I wanted, drifting, then anchoring when I found fish. They seemed to favor the worms over the crickets, as Alonzo had said they would. Scaled, with their heads off and innards removed, I cooked ‘em fast over a hot grill, and my, they were fine eating.

Do You Need Waders in Florida?

Originally appeared in Florida Sportsman 

Wearing a pair of boot-foot waders—the ones with rubber boots attached—my friend and fellow Florida Cracker, Robert Fischer, paddled a canoe in December’s cold water to get to an area of grass flats and mangroves he fishes in Tampa Bay. He got overboard to wade and caught the 6- lb. Sheepshead in the photograph. It was a catch of a lifetime on a 5-wt. fly rod. 

I prefer stocking-foot waders. With ankle-high wading boots that lace up or neoprene wading shoes worn over my wader’s booties, they’re far trimmer and fit better. I look like a fisherman, not a farmer. If I’m fishing slippery rocks, as I did a few years ago Striper fishing in Maine, I can attach metal studs to my boots. In cold water, I wear a fleece jump suit and warm diving booties instead of socks.

I’ve made long hikes to lakes in Colorado, which I wouldn’t attempt in boot-foot waders. They’re too clumsy. Breathable fabric in the waders helps me keep cool, and I can fold the top down to my waist if I get hot. I can also loosen my belt to air things out as I walk. Polypropylene socks wick away moisture.

Fly fishing guides out West wear stocking-foot waders. They hike, climb through bushes along stream banks, and spend long days rowing drift boats, often climbing in and out to fish or position the boat. Good waders— the expensive ones—are comfortable, built to last.  An easy to use repair kit comes with the waders.  

It’s a myth that you’ll be pulled under the surface if you fall in. The belt that comes with the waders will keep most of the water out until you regain your footing. Any water that gets in simply displaces the water on the outside. You will look like a fool as you flounder to safety to dry out and get warm. I know from experience. Bless those water-tight, roll-down gear bags with an extra sweater, pants and small towel.

Stocking-foot waders run from $80 to more than $700, so consider how many days you’d use them in Florida. You can buy the boot-foot style for less than $50 if you’re not going far or will fish near your kayak. (Check Bass Pro Shops, etc.) Try on both types and stomp around the store for a while.

Why wear waders at all? We do have occasional reports of dangerous bacteria in salt and fresh water. I was wading in shorts once in the summer of 2005 with a friend who was attacked by an alligator at Lake Istokpoga. (He wasn’t badly hurt and waders wouldn’t have helped.) There are gators, snakes and turtles, stingrays, crabs and sharks in Florida waters, but so far they’ve left when they sensed my presence. You have the same incredible human power. I don’t worry about critters. At Lake Okeechobee I’ve been known, like many Floridians, to wade in shorts, barefooted. The danger’s at the beer joints.

Problems with waders can arise unexpectedly. I carefully hung up my expensive Simms waders to air dry after a November duck hunt, so I was surprised to find them smelling like a penguin cage last month when I was sorting gear for a Montana fly-fishing trip.  A friend reminded me that after my spicy burrito breakfast in Okeechobee, I’d been breaking wind like a bucking horse, and could easily have ruined any pair of waders. (Can you believe that you can rent waders, like bowling shoes?) I discovered that someone—and I think I know who—had wedged a dead blue-winged teal in one of my stocking foot booties. Payback will be hell.