South Carolina Redfish: Running Away

Noah and I had heard quite a bit about the incredible fishing for redfish and speckled trout in South Carolina and had decided to try fishing the area around Hilton Head Island for a couple days. Getting there late in the evening the same day we'd cast at our last tarpon of the Florida trip we drove around scoping spots in an area neither of us had ever been, getting an idea of what we might be in for.

The water we'd be fishing looked incredible. The famous Lowcountry grass flats extended for miles and I imagined paddling slowly down them looking for tailing reds. We fell asleep in a rest stop with, as it would turn out, far more confidence in ourselves than we deserved to have.
We rose early and drove to a launch and were on the water as the sun rose.

There was a problem evident though as we fished. There wasn't much evidence of predatory fish. The was some very small bait, and we spooked some croakers out of the shallows, but we saw no evidence of trout, reds, black drum, or bluefish. We chalked it up to the spot and the tide and moved. 

Our move proved no more fruitful. With the tide bottoming out, we cruised back different sloughs hoping to see some reds. There was more life, but still not as much as we'd hoped to see. Mostly, there were stingrays... tons and tons of stingrays. More stingrays than I'd ever seen. Back one slough we did see redfish, or, more precisely, I saw two redfish. One was tailing briefly against the bank, the other one, a big bull, spooked. And that was it actually; those were the only two redfish we saw in South Carolina. I ended up catching a stingray up that slough, only my third ever but definitely the same species. But that was all that staved off the skunk.

With the sun now very high and the tide low but rising, we opted to bide our time and wait for the flood tide. We went to a park and wandered around a bit to see what sort of interesting things we could find in this unfamiliar territory. It was quite hot and the sun was harsh, so not much was out and active. After a bit Noah went back to the van to do some research, while I stayed out to try to find some snakes. I didn't, but I did find myself a new frog species, a Cope's gray treefrog.

Hyla chrysoscelis

When I got back Noah relayed what he'd learned. Basically, we were completely wrong about where fish would be and when, and with the tools at our disposal it was highly unlikely that we'd catch even one redfish. It as too early for flood tide tailers in the grass. There weren't good trout reports either. We had totally dropped the ball on researching what we were getting ourselves into and it looked very likely that we'd not be catching any of the species we'd wanted.
So we ran.
We ran away from South Carolina with our tails between our legs.
Our sights now were set on very different fish in Virginia.
But, South Carolina... we'll be back. Don't think you've beaten us just yet.

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. 

Mosquito Lagoon Redfish

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.

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.

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.

Florida: Redfish

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Thanks for joining the adventure, and tight lines.

Redfish is very near the top of the list of species I want to catch most. They are a fish built very much to fit my style. They are handsome fish with variation in coloration. They feed in shallow water very frequently, where they can be sight fished. They are aggressive predators, taking a variety of streamers and topwater flies. They tend to live in beautiful places. 

And they are not easy to catch. 

That last one has become pretty clear to me. I got a handful of shots at redfish in 2017. I did not catch one. On Noah and my second trip, it was a top priority for me. I really, really wanted to get a redfish. Probably more than I want to get a tarpon. 

We had narrowed our focus to an area on the east side of the Gasparilla Sound. Sea grass was the key. We had to find areas where it was abundant. The area we were in was a good place to look, whereas many other flats in Florida have had huge reductions in the amount of bottom vegetation. Where the sea grass isn't, life is sparse. Where the sea grass is, life is abundant and concentrated. The loss of sea grass and the other life that relies on it can be traced directly to human activity.

Getting to our launch place just after dawn, I was confident we were in the right place. A huge school of mullet came into view as a patch of nervous water 50 yards long and 15 yards wide. They moved by in a long train as we geared up, jumping and splashing and rippling the surface, moving north. 

We went the direction they came from. We found grass. We found mullet. We found some stingrays. Then we found what we looking for. In the low light of the new day, a tail brushed the placid surface, signifying the presence of a feeding redfish. It was a beautiful spite.
And that's right where things went downhill.
In retrospect, this morning was the best chance I had at getting my first red. We saw the most tailing reds, we saw the most redfish in general, and there were the most good shot opportunities. And the half hour after we saw the first tail was the best window all day.

I blew it. I blew it hard. I made poor shots, I made bad drifts, I wasn't patient enough. I got interest from maybe 3 reds in that window. From then on, finding tailing fish was very, very difficult, and we found that targeting the cruising fish in that crystal clear was very tricky indeed. When you can see the fish coming from 90 feet away and you have a pretty good cast, you'd think it wouldn't be hard to convince one to eat. The fish that didn't spook from seeing the line in the air spooked from it and the fly hitting the water, and if they didn't spook from that they gave the fly and leader an extremely wide berth, so wide I knew they weren't even seeing it clearly. Then they'd probably spook from seeing me or the kayak.

What made this all the more frustrating was that some of these reds were just enormous, big enough to blow my expectations. There were plenty of 20 to 30 inch reds around, but I saw a few that were over 40 without a shadow of a doubt. So massive were these fish that I was shaking severely upon seeing them cruising down the white sand strips, though not enough to stop me from making what I thought were good casts. When the fish showed their disapproval and ran away, leaving huge boils and clouds of sand behind, I had to sit down to catch my breath.

There were snook around too, and they were even more snobbish. They were all laid up relatively close to. but not under, the mangroves, and generally near a creek mouth or around a point. These fish were impossible, at least with artificials and probably with live bait too. They were extraordinarily skittish and could see and feel you coming from a long, long, long way out. After a point I just stopped trying for them. There were plenty of more willing fish in the river. I might as well just admire these ones from afar and not bother them.

But my inability to get a redfish was bothering me. Hugely. After that first day we came back every morning. I never got another decent shot. I didn't catch anything there. Not even a sailfin or hardhead catfish, or one of the few big jacks or pompano we'd occasionally see close to the reds.

My inability to get a redfish stands out to me as the most frustrating part of my angling career thus far. Those fish haunt my dreams like no other. Believe me when I say that this post has been a painful one to write. I want to forget every one of the blunders I made targeting these fish, and every time I thought I had nailed it and the fish dissented. And because it will be a long while before I am in red drum territory again, those memories are going torture me for a while.
 It didn't ruin my experience completely, the flat we fished there was one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. But I can't get those damned fish out of my mind.

I think, sometimes, you can want to catch a certain fish too much.

Backcountry Snook on the Fly

The long straight roads through the Everglades eventually lead Noah and I to the Gulf Coast. We crossed Charlotte harbor and continued north for a ways, then launched our kayaks for the first time in Florida waters in the Peace River. It was time to look for snook and juvenile tarpon. This was going to be the kind of kayak fishing I really love, sneaking into muddy backwaters and side creeks full of snags and debris, where the fish are big and they have the advantage. This was going to be fun.

That initial evening session could have been our only one on the Peace River. Noah only had one bite. But I had five takes, three of which stayed pinned long enough that I saw that they were Snook. I convinced Noah we should stay there in the morning instead of heading straight north. A cold front was coming, and though it was already fairly chilly I contended that there should be a pre-frontal bite to some degree where we were. Besides, I had seen an awful lot of fish, and I do not like leaving fish behind for something that may not work out. So we stayed, after an exhausting back-country camping night.

A box full of tree frogs

The next morning was clear and cool. The tide had dropped much lower than it had been the previous evening. There were signs of life all over the river. Hopefully this would be our chance at a snook.

I pushed into a backwater that we had already scouted using satellite imagery. Just through the entrance I was pushing fish off the muddy flat, leaving swirling clouds of mud. I fan cast ahead of me, hopping to cover fish before I got to them, then turned into the first side creek. I could see a few fish rolling around the opening. The question was, were they gar or tarpon? I had seen tarpon roll the day before but I had also seen some gar, but we had already learned on this trip that the two can sometimes roll in ways that make them hard to distinguish from one another. These, I think, were tarpon. But there were definitely gar on the outside, Noah would catch his first Florida gar right at the mouth of this little creek. As I paddled and cast in the little creek I spooked the fish I came across before I got a fly in front of them. Though I'm not positive they seemed to mostly be snook, some of fair size. After unintentionally disturbing an awful lot of that creek I came back out, joined up with Noah, and continued up the backwater. Once again fish were pushing around, disturbing the mud bottom, so I started to fan cast again. This time somebody responded. A fish came from the right of my fly and t-boned it, I set the hook and was in. This was my first ever snook. A little guy, but a snook nonetheless, and he was beautiful.

Confidence renewed I pushed ever further back. Just past a stranded boat I connected with a second fish, this time a big gar. It gave me a fantastic clear out of the water leap before it came off. Then, a getting even tighter into another side creek, I hooked my third fish of the morning. This one was a much nicer snook, which gave my a gnarly, close range, jumping, running, headshaking battle. This was just awesome. I fell in love with snook right then and there. These are awesome fish that I can't wait to fish for again.

A little bit later Noah would hookup with his first snook too. It would not end well, but the image of a 34 inch snook, gills flared and body halfway out of the water, will stick with both of us till we return. 

unfortunately or last moves of the trip did not result in success. We couldn't find our redfish, I failed to hook a trout, and even the ladyfish gave us a hard time. But our last day of fishing in Florida left me with some great memories. Until we meet again, snook, I will be thinking about you.