Everglades Backwater Snook

The Everglades is the mother of all Florida snook and tarpon nurseries. The number of individuals of these species that use the shallow, often freshwater back channels of this incredible estuary is huge. Without the Glades, we may as we say goodbye to the best snook and tarpon fisheries in the U.S. 

The River of Grass, life force of south Florida and beyond. We lose this, we may as well give up completely. And folks... we are losing this.

Our finale full day in Florida dawned much like many others had: misty, vaguely cool, and calm. I went about my morning routine with the melancholy sense that time was limited. We'd been in Florida for literally weeks. We'd had our failures and our successes. We'd seen so, so much. And now it was just a day and a morning before we pointed the van north and said goodbye. I looked through the mist in the tree line, wishing I'd catch a glimpse of a panther, then breathed deeply and decided to pretend I was just going to stay here forever. As I sit here writing this, I wish I had. I wish could've found some dilapidated shack away from any prying eyes and let Noah go home without me. I might have gotten myself killed at some point in the time between then and now... hit by a car trying to save snakes or turtles in the road, dehydrating away on some distant island of trees, or maybe wrapped around a tree by a skunk ape... I might have ended up dying but I would have been the happiest I'd ever been I think. It took very little time in the Everglades for the pull to overwhelm me completely.

We headed west instead of east this day, aiming for waters with higher abundances of snook and tarpon than those we'd fished the day before. I'd gotten some tips from some friends on areas we might find juvenile tarpon but we'd already gotten well past dawn so the likelihood of finding them active was diminishing. We did see some roll in the first place we checked out but didn't move any. We then free-styled, hopping spot to spot as we had the day before, but this time the snook were the headliner.

It took some time for me to hit my stride and get into the snook, and it also took us a bit to get used to the fact that most times we saw fish rolling en mass from the van, it was gar not tarpon. Once you've seen enough rolls it's easy to discern the difference while standing on the bank, but not so from a moving vehicle. 

At one of our western most stops, I watched snook popping over and over on the other side of a fenced in dam. Eventually I could resist no longer, I skirted around the fence and made my way out the wall as unassumingly as possible. Yes, I am indeed admitting to trespassing... please don't follow my example. But there's only so much of listening to those loud pops that I could take and it looked safe enough. There was water coming over the dam at more than a drip in only one spot and that's where all these snook were stacked up. Casting a Clouser into the foam and letting it fall resulted in jarring takes, and I caught five snook in very quick succession before sneaking back to the bank and tying not to look too guilty. 

We continued to bounce around hoping to suddenly luck into a pile of juvenile tarpon. In one spot I had a definite take from one, but again the rollers were predominately Florida gar. 

Them we stumbled into quite the snook nursery. Noah caught the first, and we were both blown away by just how tiny it was. We proceeded to catch a bunch of tiny baby snook out of this spot and it was an absolute joy. 

We hit some midday doldrums after that. I hooked and lost some tilapia, I'm not sure what species, potentially something new, then managed to coax a Nile tilapia off a bed. That was a new species for me.

Nile tilapia, Oreochromis niloticus. Life list fish #162. Rank: species.

We messed around aimlessly for a while, back tracking and hitting spots we already had, not really getting onto anything significant, until later when the tides and light began to change things and we found willing snook again. 

(note: DO NOT hold snook even a little bit larger than these vertically as Noah and I are in this photo, their jaws don't support their body weight well.)

None of the snook we caught in the Everglades were big, and they didn't satiate my need for a giant snook on the fly. But they filled another need. These are Florida's future big snook. They're a sign that we haven't completely ruined this place yet. The Tamiami, despite our best efforts, continues to produce good light tackle snook fishing. Is it anything like it must have been years ago, days when Flip Palot, Chico Fernandez and other drove these same canals before the road along them was paved, sight casting to snook from a pickup? No. And it will never be that way again. But it isn't dead yet. And I needed to know that.
As the sun dropped even more we new we had to find some tarpon. We headed to some known water, then something really special transpired. 

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

This is The Jungle

I have a special connection to small watercourses in as close to a natural state as they can be. In Florida, watercourses are much altered. Manicured, straight canals cut across the flat lands, man's way of forcing water to bend to our will. A lot of this land would by impossible to develop otherwise. Much of it would be wet year round and quite a bit of the rest would at least be wet part of the year. These canals have great fishing, both with native species and a plethora of invasives that we humans have introduced intentionally or accidentally, but they don't speak the same language as a natural watercourse. Water still rebels against our will when we try to beat it down. Ask anyone that was in New Orleans on August 29th, 2005. Yes, a river is best left to do what it wants to do, not what we want it to do. 

There's a small watercourse tucked away right within the urban jungle of Florida's East Coast that I've decided to call the Jungle Stream. It must be noted that it isn't in its natural state, nothing in Florida is anymore. But it is a far cry from the golf courses, packed suburbs, and busy strips just miles away. Because there are so many people it isn't even easy to avoid them in the Jungle Stream, but it is still unquestionably that place I'd rather be and has become one of my favorite places to fish since Noah and I first visited it more than a year ago. The plethora of fish species we'd seen and caught in this foreign feeling place certainly didn't hurt, one of my favorite of which is the bigmouth sleeper, Gobiomorus dormitor. These fish aren't generally considered an ugly by-catch for anglers fishing for other fish species. But to me, they are a remarkable fish of which I can't possibly get enough of. The species starts its life in brackish water then moves into freshwater rivers, streams, and canal, as well as sometimes moving into still waters. They are classic ambush predators, laying in wait for a prey item to swim overhead. I've seen numerous sleepers laying in ambush on submerged logs and branches, on which they blend in incredibly well. I was very pleased when the first sleeper I saw on our first visit to this stream this year ate my fly without hesitation. My only bigmouth sleeper prior was a very young one, and this one wasn't big either but it had grown into its big boy colors. The adults look very different from the tiny individual that was my lifer.

It was fitting that one of the first fish I'd catch out of this creek this trip would be this wonderful native sleeper. I enjoy targeting Florida's plethora of exotic invasives, and their presence certainly improves my ability to build my life list., but I'll always be a native fish lover. The fish, as it would be, where it should be.

Spotted sunfish, Lepomis punctatus

The creek wanders through the most wonderful woods. Parts of it are slow but very deep, and the dark waters make it impossible to see the bottom in some of the holes. They look bottomless. On our previous visit, we'd seen snook an striped mojarra in a lot of these holes, as well as huge Florida bass. This year we saw very little except schools of spotted tilapia in these holes. There are a few small roll dams on the creek though, and for a stretch beneath each the creek flows faster and is more interestingly structured. It was from immediately below one of these dams to about 200 yards below it that Noah and I found the most life. 

Cichlasoma urophthalmus, Mayan cichlid.

Where fish congregate, other wildlife is likely to congregate as well. Paddling with gators is something I've now gotten used to. I talk to them. I compliment them. I tell them how awesome I think they are. I can't believe I've been allowed the privilege of getting to see and interact with these modern day dinosaurs. I don't fear them at all, but I respect them immensely. Later on this same trip though I encountered an animal while paddling that legitimately scared me. I can't wait to tell that story!

Spotted tilapia, Pelmatolapia mariae

Spotted sunfish, spotted tilapia, bluegills, Mayan cichlids, bigmouth sleepers, and redear sunfish dominate the roll dam pool itself. I caught my fair hare of good looking fish and some large specimens of a couple of the species, but Noah, drifting a night crawler on a jighead, nailed the most impressive fish. This monster redear sunfish was the largest of the species either of us have seen:

Lepomis microlophus

Noah has a habit of catching huge Lepomis on our out of state trips. His Champlain "mega-seed" Lepomis gibbosus a few years ago is another such catch. I like big sunfish, so I was both stoked and green with envy. He caught another only a little smaller just a short time later. Photos did justice to neither, they were brutes. The species does get quite a lot bigger though, and we' both love to get a proper leviathan redear. I'd get some big Lepomis on this trip too, but it wan't my time yet. I was just happy to be catching a few sleepers! While Noah continued fishing the dam hole, where the fish had gotten finicky towards my artificials, I waded off downstream to see what I could get. Mostly Mayans as it turned out, but it was nice to do some wading rather than standing on the kayak or on the bank. The water felt cold, but it wasn't really. It felt like it should be within trout range, but it was really in the 70's. Wet wading is a connection to the stream I miss all winter at home.

Wading white sand and shell bottom under the tree canopy in the evening... Heavenly! 

We'd be back here a few times, but in the meantime we had other special places calling our names.

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon.

Florida: A Fish of a Lifetime

Dawn in the Swamp

Noah and I awoke on our last morning at our base camp east before our four day west coast stint intent on hitting our favorite ditch again before continuing westward. I wanted desperately to catch a brown hoplo. They had other ideas though, and were nowhere to be seen. Walking cats though, were present as always and a little bit willing. I took one on a Walt's Worm. I must wonder how many times a Walt's have been affixed to a fly angler's tippet in the state of Florida? I can't imagine many. On this trip I had already caught a swordspine snook and more than one walking catfish on one. But I was about to catch something much more special.

Clarias batrachus

The lake chubsuckers presented themselves as tantalizing targets on this morning once again, sitting motionless in the water column. But unlike previous visits to the ditch, for one reason or another some of them exhibited interest in my fly if I let it fall slowly in front of them. When I actually had one nip the fly I was taken aback. I kept at it, and sure enough....

Lake chubsucker are a very odd little fish. They demand clear, still water with extensive weed coverage. They are omnivorous: plant matter, algae, small crustaceans, and insect larvae make up their diet. Though wide ranging and fairly population-stable, catching a lake chubsucker on hook and line is very unusual. Doing so with an artificial fly? Basically unheard of. Though I cannot say it with the certainty with which I could my barrelfish, it is a distinct possibility that I am the first to do so. This odd little cyprinid is a fish of a lifetime. I still can't believe I caught it.

Lake chubsucker (Erimyzon sucetta)

 From that point it was pretty anticlimactic on my end of things. I caught some Mayans and some sunfish and a couple bass. No big deal.

Cichlasoma urophthalmus

Noah held out though and got a new species. We think this is a Nile tilapia, but identifying tilapia is a gigantic pain in the ass. If you think we are wrong, please do tell. If not a Nile, I assume it must be a blue tilapia.

Oreochromis niloticus?

Shortly thereafter, we began our cross state drive. On the other end, we would encounter redfish that continue to haunt my dreams and snook that do too, but in a very different way.

If you enjoy what I'm doing here, please share and comment. It is increasingly difficult to maintain this blog under dwindling readership. What best keeps me going so is knowing that I am engaging people and getting them interested in different aspects of fly fishing, the natural world, and art. Follow, like on Facebook, share wherever, comment wherever. Also, consider supporting me on Patreon (link at the top of the bar to the right of your screen, on web version). Every little bit is appreciated! 

Thanks for joining the adventure, and tight lines.

Florida: Jungle Small Stream Fishing

On our second full day of fishing in Florida, after a slow morning trying to find snook and snapper in a mangrove lined river, Noah and I somehow managed to take a wrong turn somewhere and we found ourselves on a different planet. 

Imagine, if you will, a meandering clear water stream, slightly tannin stained, flowing over a white sand and clamshell bottom. Along the banks  grow cypress trees, huge deep green ferns, sabal palms, lush low growth  carpet, and palmettos. In places, hulking dinosaurs sun themselves up on the banks, and in the water swim all manner of turtles, some bulky and slow, some look like fast moving aquatic pancakes with limbs and a head. Also swimming in the water are fish. A stunning variety of fish. Giant green largemouth bass. Huge schools of striped mojarra. Stunningly colorful cichlids and tilapia. Not one snook species, but four! Gar, sleeper, armored catfish, sunfish, sheepshead, snapper, oscar... the amount and diversity of fish swimming below was stunning, though not completely natural. 

I had never fished a place like this before. And catching strange new species out of it was not just expected but a near guarantee. Noah and I paddled through deep holes, portaged over log jams, and waded through shallow runs, trying to see and catch as many new species as we possibly could in this bizarre prehistoric looking realm. 

Spotted sunfish (Lepomis punctatus) of the massive variety.

Mayan cichlid (Cichlasoma urophthalmus) that robbed me of a shot at a pair of bigmouth sleeper basking on adjacent submerged branches.

As we worked downstream we kept seeing these striped cichlids that looked really odd. Our thought was that they were convict cichlids or zebra tilapia. But, later in the day, I caught one, and between the time it ate my fly and a brought it to hand it went from very clearly striped to just a dull dark coloration. Once out of the water it changed color even more. By the time I released the fish it was abundantly clear that this was just a spotted tilapia and that the species was more adept at coloration change than either of us realized. Noah and I both caught our lifer spotted tilapia in this jungle creek.

 

Spotted tilapia (Pelmatolapia mariae) 

Something I was seeing a very large number of that neither of us expected to were bigmouth sleeper. A native FL species, bigmouth sleep are a very large member of the family Eleotridae. Most members of the family have a juvenile planktonic stage followed by an adulthood of living in freshwater or brackish streams or other estuarine habitat. Bigmouth sleeper can get quite large, they are in fact the largest member of the family Eleotridae, but the fish I was seeing were smaller ones no bigger than 10 inches. Most weren't over 6 inches. After casting at a large number of these fish and getting snubbed, I had something long, slim, and darter like jump on my fly while I was paying more attention to a small snapper. I got the fish to hand and gasped.  Noah asked what it was, to which I simply quickly opened my hand to reveal a beautiful little bigmouth sleeper without saying a word before running to get my camera. I had already caught a few new species on this trip, but this was my first of the day and one I really did not expect to get any time soon. Gobiomorus dormitor, the bigmouth sleeper goby, is without a doubt one of the coolest species on my life list.

Gobiomorus dormitor

The very next cast I caught another new species, a little mangrove snapper. Though widely though of as a saltwater fish, many snapper species are tolerant of water with a very low salinity, and indeed this mangrove snapper and his buddies were perfectly happy in this freshwater jungle river, swimming right alongside bass and sunfish. Though there were a lot of them around they were actually quite difficult to dupe with an artificial fly. Most just stared it down and never took. I got two takes in all. 

Mangrove snapper or grey snapper (Lutjanus griseus)

There were gar around. No matter whether they are a new species or one I have already caught, if I see gar, I am going to cast at them... I just love gar. I put a lot of casts in front of gar in the jungle creek and some actually ate. Of the ones that ate I hooked and landed two. These are Florida gar, very often mis-identified as spotted gar. Though there is no visual way to tell the difference, the range of spotted gar in FL is very small and the range of Florida gar is not. Outside of the Florida Panhandle,  The Suwanee drainage, Crystal River, and an area from about Fort Meyers to just south of Everglades City, if you catch a gar it is a Florida gar. Other than that the only distinguishing characteristic is a set of bony plates under the start of the jaw of spotted gar (please do correct me if I'm wrong, accurate information on distinguishing the two species is hard to come by).  Notice how similar the hooking location is on these two gar is. These fish often hit with a quick turn to the side that puts the fly near the start of the mouth, and if the line has sunk bellow the fish's jaws the hookset will bring the fly into the slightly fleshy area on the underside of the fish's lower jaw. Though this just outside the mouth hookup might be considered fowl play by some, I actually prefer it over burying a sizable hook in the hardest part of the fish's mouth, possibly breaking teeth and making it tougher to remove the hook. 

Florida gar (Lepisosteus platyrhincus)

We were seeing a fair amount of snook and mojarra as we paddled, but not catching any. I did get one hookup with a striped mojarra and regretfully broke it off. But as we went downstream we found more gators, more difficult passage, and still no snook that wanted to come out and slam a fly or lure. Going back upstream we hit spots we had seen fish in on the way down. Some produced, some didn't but we got nothing new until we got nearly all the way back to the start. In one fairly small stretch Noah got his lifer Mayan cichlid. Then I got a huge bluegill. Then a nice Mayan.

Lepomis macrochirus 

Then I caught something really special. One of the big reasons we had chosen to fish this particular stream is that my good friend Alec told me we would have a fair chance of running into more than one species of snook. Some don't realize that snook doesn't refer to one species, but the genus Centropomus which includes at least a dozen different species. In this strange jungle small stream, I caught a swordspine snook with a Sexy Walt's Worm nymph. The smallest of the snooks, a swordspine's may only grow to 16 inches long. An elongated anal fin spine that extends just a hair beyond the start of their tail fin differentiates them from other small snooks. My 4th new species of the day was almost as cool as the bigmouth sleeper. 

The line formed by the right side of my pinky marks the start of the caudal fin.  

Swordspine snook (Centropomus ensiferus)

A short time later a strange looking dark creature hammered my fly. It was an oscar! We had not seen any at all and it was a real surprise to catch one right at the end. 

Tiger oscar (Astronotus ocellatus)

With that, and a small evening thunderstorm hot on our heals, we got ourselves out of the jungle and headed back to base camp. On the way, we found something really really special. But for that, dear reader, you will have to wait for the next post. 

If you enjoy what I'm doing here, please share and comment. It is increasingly difficult to maintain this blog under dwindling readership. What best keeps me going so is knowing that I am engaging people and getting them interested in different aspects of fly fishing, the natural world, and art. Follow, like on Facebook, share wherever, comment wherever. Also, consider supporting me on Patreon (link at the top of the bar to the right of your screen, on web version). Every little bit is appreciated! 

Thanks for joining the adventure, and tight lines.