The Lifers in Between

When you go on a multi-week long trip to an area like Florida with extremely high species diversity and are fishing all day every day, it isn't at all unlikely to catch lifers while between focused fishing missions. This post is about those species that I caught on this trip that just don't fit into their own story or the story of a day.

Coastal shiner

Coastal shiner, Notropis petersoni. Life list fish #150. Rank: Species

Our camp was on a pond. This was familiar territory as we'd spent a bunch of nights at the same campsite back in December 2018 and January 2019, but this time around I noticed some micros that we hadn't seen here before, shiners and silversides. Silversides in ponds may sound wrong to northeast saltwater fisherman that are used to silversides being a saltwater baitfish species, but a number of silversides inhabit freshwater habitats. However, and somewhat embarrassingly, I never put much effort into catching the silversides. I did, however, one morning, catch on of the shiners. With very few candidates it was an easy ID; so coastal shiner joins the list at 150 as well as being only my third Notropis. 

Slender mojarra

Slender mojarra, Eucinostomus jonesii. Lifelist fish #156. Rank: species.

In front of a culvert in a mangrove lined river one morning, right near a boat launch we were using a lot, I caught two mojarras on small midge patterns. Mojarras are a notably difficult bunch of fishes to identify. A variety of factors, chief among them the profile of the top of its head in comparison to the other possible mojarra species, lead me to conclude that the first was a slender mojarra.

Striped mojarra

Striped mojarra, Eugerres plumieri. Life list fish #157. Rank: species.

The second mojarra was much easier to identify, thanks to Leo Sheng for pointing out to me that no other mojarra has, as he put it, "the weird extra meat at the beginning of the dorsal fin".

Crested goby

Crested goby, Lophogobius cyprinoides. Life list fish #158. Rank: species.

In the cracks of the boat launch itself were dozens of gobies. Each individual seemed to have a different response when a fly was presented to it. Some ran away. Some attacked. Some didn't seem to care one way or the other. I managed to catch a few of them, and though one was a frillfin goby, a species I already had, a few were the aptly named crested gobies.

So, that fills in some gaps. And creates some gaps, as you may have noticed if you were counting. But have no fear, we will get there eventually. 

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.

Snapper, Puffers, and Snook in Small Canals

What do you do in Florida when it's cold and windy and you aren't in a good trout and redfish spot?

Snook and tarpon aren't fans of the cold. The area we'd elected to spend our first week is an area we'd chosen specifically for it's tarpon and snook potential. Left with wind that made fishing even moderately open water next to impossible and cold that meant fish there probably wouldn't eat anyway, we were left with limited options. The bass freshwater fishing was pretty mediocre in places we'd fished the prior year, when low water had concentrated large numbers of fish in small, isolated pockets. Now the wetlands were flooded and most of the fish were tucked away, spread out in the grass. The best viable option close to camp seemed to be residential saltwater canals, where we could get away from the wind and potentially find some pockets of sheltering snook while also getting shots at new species.

The canal we spent much of our time in alternated between natural mangrove banks and houses with docks, also a seawall or two. There were a few healthy oyster beds here and there which was great to see, and there were fish hanging out around them. I'd rigged my five weight with a size 12 BHHESH, not a bad small shrimp imitation, for these sorts of fish. Small mangrove snappers as it turns out are quite fun on a 5wt. Pound for pound, they've got even wild brown trout beat in the hit and run department. They'd come out and absolutely slam the fly, then dig like hell and sometimes even jump a bit if they were in very shallow water.

Lutjanus griseus

The only predator species that seemed to be working the abundant the abundant school of extremely small baitfish were small crevalle jack.. What species the bait was I have no clue, but the jack eating them were puny. In the main river, we saw big jacks blasting adult mullet. That was spectacular to behold. Loud, fast,and violent are applicable descriptors. I want one of those jacks. THAT would be a blast.

Caranx hippos

What I most wanted, other then for some sign of large predators getting frenzied enough to catch, was a puffer to show up on my nymph. And eventually one did! A checkered puffer, lifer #145.

Sphoeroides testudineus

 Later a frillfin goby found the same fly, the first goby I'd caught in more than a year. I'd caught this species before but I knew crested gobies, a species I hadn't caught, weren't at all unlikely to be in the same area. I hoped one of them would show itself. Gobies are adorable little monsters, popping out from their holes to make quick attacks at intruders and potential food then darting back inside. Often it's a one and done proposition with them. Hook them briefly an lose them, they don't seem likely to come back for seconds.

Bathygobius soporator

The next day, spurred on by warmer weather, somewhat manageable wind, and the crazy big jack blowups we'd seen the day prior, we returned to the same area. The wind was still pretty bad, but the mangrove snappers were, if anything, even more fired up.

Then, it happened. Noah FINALLY caught a snook and got it to hand for long enough to photograph it. I've personally watched him catch a snook larger the most non-Floridian fisherman I know have ever caught, but that was a disaster. I was battling a pelican that had flown into my line while Noah's big snook flopped off his board. He lunged trying to grab it and sliced a chunk out of the tip of his finger on it sharp gill plate. So, unfortunately, Noah can't say his first photographed snook was that monster... but you know what? We love the little ones. Tiny or big, snook remain one of my favorite species of fish to present a fly to. Give me a choice between catching a brown trout or a snook... I'm choosing snook, no further questions.

I blew it with snook that morning. I spooked some big ones and I broke off a small one. Even a small snook can rasp through light mono very quickly, I'm primarily using 30lb fluoro for all my snook fishing. I wasn't using fluoro for the one I broke off, of course. I didn't get a snook that day. That was fine though, the next would prove to be fruitful. More snappers and puffers though? I'll take them. There's nothing like the sort of fishing I was doing in CT. It was a lot of fun on my 5wt.

Though the forecast didn't look to be getting any better in term of wind for days and days and day, Noah and I both had some tricks under our sleeves. I may not be a local, this may have only been my fourth trip fishing in Florida ever, but Noah and I been known to accomplish things with exceptionally limited time and first hand experience before and this trip was not going to be an exception. When you live and breath fish and fishing, it doesn't matter where you go. Patterns reveal themselves and so do paths to success.

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.

Florida: Strange New Species

As Noah and I drove across peninsular Florida once again, I felt partly fulfilled and partly frustrated. In our time on the Gulf Coast, I had not gotten a single new species. I failed to get my redfish. But I had caught a lot of snook, a few good snook, and one quite big one. The end was in sight now. We had caught a lot of new species in Florida this time. I had already reached my goal of adding at least 15 to my life list. It was time to buckle down and really get a lot done in the time we had left. 

As we traveled, we passed lots of oranges. Some growing, some in transit. The growers seem not to mind loosing some product: The trucks are filled as much as they can be, providing an explanation for the piles of roadside oranges we saw in Arcadia. Noah and I joked that if we tailgated the a truck long enough with a catcher's mitt on one hand out the window, we could probably get a free snack.

We spent a night at my Grandparent's again before going back to our base camp. It gave us a good chance to just relax a little. We needed it badly. But in the morning, we were ready to go. On our way south towards Jupiter we decided to hit some familiar places and some new places, starting in Melbourne.

Our first spot was quite productive. I had found some funky species here in November and wanted to get some of them, and this time I did. We both got ourselves frillfin gobies, which were easy to find and fool but not as easy to bring to hand. Dropping my tiny flies into different cracks and holes produced many takes and I eventually did bring some to hand, but I found that, much like darters, the little turds liked to attack my split shot instead of the fly. That is an annoying trait of some of the more aggressive micros I target. These little gobies did have a big attitude. It makes them pretty adorable.

frillfin goby, Bathygobius soporator

Mangrove snapper were pretty abundant there this time, though they were genuinely difficult to get on artificials and bait. I got a fair number of takes and just two to hand. Also abundant were scaled sardines (pilchards) and some other kind of tiny baitfish, which were periodically getting trashed by either jacks or spanish mackerel. We didn't catch any of the blitzing fish, so we'll probably never know which.

mangrove snapper, Lutjanus griseus

Eventually Noah wandered elsewhere while I continued trying to get new species in the rocks. He found some hardhead catfish and was sight fishing them. He called me up and I made my way over. Sure enough there were some cats meandering around a weedy area. He had already caught more than one. I took a few shots before I hooked one. These were a pretty unique fish. Just seeing a catfish swimming around in salt water was weird enough, but these things jumped sometimes when hooked and had a funky metallic sheen to them. Though widely considered a trash fish throughout their range and being very difficult to handle, I found them pretty interesting. 

hardhead catfish, Ariopsis felis

As tricky and somewhat dangerous as hardhead catfish are to handle, not long after I managed to get something to eat my fly that was much, much more dangerous. I had seen a lot of stingrays already on this trip. I'd made casts to a couple. Spooked all of them. This time? That thing just swam over and planted right on top of the fly, taking it much the same way as the skates I've sight fished have. I set the hook, battled the fish for a little while, and found myself in a predicament. I was not going to get a good grip and grin with this thing... I let it sit in the shallows for a moment and called Noah to see if he could grab a towel. Eventually I got antsy and just snapped what mediocre photos I could get, broke the fish off, and ushered it out of the tide pool. This was my third cartilaginous fish species on the fly. 

common stingray, Dasyatis pastinaca

So, I had added 3 new species to my list at this spot today. Could I get one of the scaled sardines we were seeing? We certainly had small enough tackle. Noah and I both sat on a concrete culvert trying to hook a pilchard for a long time. He had the added advantage of being able to use bait. Though I could use bait, it would disqualify the catch from being added to my list. But what we found was that these fish wouldn't grab onto anything for long, bait or artificial. That is usually what makes getting a smaller fish hard on the fly: they just don't hold on long enough to set the hook. Well, in this case they were behaving the same way with the shrimp and the fly. We would occasionally have one on for a few seconds before it would flip off the hook and back into the water. Eventually, Noah got one. I found that when he quit regretting them the going got tougher for me: having bits of shrimp in the water was getting the fish into a frenzy. So I started just tossing pieces in and jigging my fly violently right under the surface. Noah was pretty much packed and ready to leave when I finally managed to hook one of those little buggers and get it to hand. This is a species I certainly hadn't expected to get on this trip, or ever honestly. 

scaled sardine, Harengula jaguana

From there we continued south, and found another very charismatic new fish species. But that will have to wait for another day.