Do you ever feel like bad weather follow you? This is Noah and my third annual Florida adventure and it started in probably the least hospitable weather we'd ever experienced there. It was pretty cold when we left Connecticut, and it was snowing on us when we crossed from West Virginia into Virginia, then through bits and spurts of the rest of our time in that state. It was crazy convective lines, not exactly squalls, almost like low topped summer evening showers but with snow. The orientation of the updraft, the shape of the cloud base, and the
rain foot snow foot looked almost like very small, high based cold core supercells at times. This is mostly fishing blog so I don't expect everyone reading this to get exactly what I'm saying, but you if you get it, you get why I was glued to the window every time we passed one of these micro convective systems and why it was probably a good thing it wasn't me behind the wheel... I might have tried to chase them if it were up to me.
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| Cumulus tower with flanking line (not visible), dark lowered base, anvil blowing downstream, and core of light to moderate snow precip. |
In North Carolina it was mildly warmer. Lower in both elevation and latitude, the convection was still going but precipitation was making it to the ground in liquid form. Dark clouds over Lake Norman preceded a rainbow over Charlotte.
We got some sleep in Georgia and by the time we rolled into our first launching point in Florida, on the Mosquito Lagoon, the temperature was barely kissing 45 degrees and the wind was blowing. I'd fished more comfortable weather in CT in the weeks prior, and here I was launching a kayak in North Florida on a cold windy morning.
Luckily, redfish like cold fronts.
Red drum, Sciaenops ocellatus, have been a long standing nemesis of mine. I've watched people around me catch them, I've made casts at completely unwilling monsters, and I've watched them feeding in the surf on a trip when I didn't have any fishing gear at all. I've wanted a red drum more than I've wanted a bonefish and about as much as I've wanted a tarpon or a permit. Bonefish seemed like my kind of fish, a beautiful species of varied habits that can be very difficult to catch an attains great sizes, but they remained at arm's length for years. Mosquito Lagoon, though a drastically changed and diminished fishery, was poised to break my redfish curse this day.
In retrospect, it is amazing how little time it took. We worked some very lifeless banks and then up into a little creek. I spooked out the first significant fish, a flounder, then nothing for a while. I was feeling less then confident. Then I saw it. Coppery sheen, spotted tail, wide bullish head. The first redfish I'd seen in more then a year left in a cloud of mud along with a couple others. I held off and hot a cast parallel up the bank hoping there were more I couldn't see. Another fish spooking off distracted me momentarily and I looked back up to see a large swirl on my fly. I panicked, trout set into nothing, the fish didn't even have me fly. I recast into the boil, made one strip, and had one of the most visually stunning eats I've ever had. I'm feeling butterflies in my stomach thinking about it right now. I strip set hard and the battle commenced. It wasn't long, the fish wasn't big, but I was impressed by its tenacity. The feeling that came over me when I got that fish... I hope you all have something in your life that makes you feel this way. It's an inexplicable excitement I get any time I watch a big thunderstorm, find an uncommon snake species, or catch a special fish. It's probably at it's most heightened when I catch a fish like that red. Though unremarkable as an individual of its species, I had long wanted to hold any redfish, and here I finally was with one in my hands.
The high, though, like any drug, left me wanting more. I couldn't leave it at that, I needed to catch another redfish, then preferably a few more after that and at least one much bigger one. A combination of wind and rusty kayak handling and 10wt accuracy from a winter of doing precisely not that sort of fishing put me at a disadvantage and I couldn't make magic happen again. Noah, who has already caught redfish, managed another drum species off the same bank I pulled my red: a beautiful spotted trout.
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| Cynoscion nebulosus |
Unfortunately, though we'd found a pocket of good fishing, the Mosquito Lagoon is a shadow of its former self. The quality of fishing there has diminished just as water quality has deteriorated and healthy grass beds have decreased in size and number. Clean water is not only a concern with trout in freshwater rivers. Human activity has had an unspeakable negative impact on the habitats, food sources, and stocks of some of the most prized saltwater game species. Don't forget these fish and the places they live. Losing them isn't worth the short term gains causing their demise. Groups like
Bullsugar are fighting the good fight for Florida's valuable ecosystems. Are you willing to let these places become lifeless voids without standing up and fighting back?
I will be back to the Mosquito Lagoon. When? I don't know. It might be better than it is now. But I'm not that optimistic. Redfish though, are going to continue taking me to places I'd not have gone where they not there. Though I've only caught one, I'm a redfish addict. I already was before I ever set that hook.
Until next time,
Fish for the love of fish.
Fish for the love of places fish live.
Fish for you.
Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon.
