Dawn on The Beach

 I pulled into a mostly empty parking lot under the cover of darkness and extremely oppressive heat. Out over the Atlantic, a cumulonimbus cloud hurled electricity into the night. It's a very foreign feeling for a New Englander to have lightning illuminate the scene while his glasses fog up upon opening the car door... it just doesn't do this sort of thing up north. Sure, there are some sticky, muggy nights in Connecticut. But not like this. I'd already adjusted and was comfortable with the heat but that didn't stop it from impressing me every time I felt it. Unfamiliarity is a good thing, and not much of this was familiar. 

Connecticut doesn't have giant turtles that lay their eggs on the beach either, and after walking down the beach a ways I was sitting 20 feet away from an enormous reptile as she did her best to ensure a future generation despite the much altered setting she was in. This was no longer just a barrier beach teaming with native life. Eastern diamondbacks had been replaced with iguanas and anoles and palmettos with resorts and multi million dollar homes.  But the loggerhead was still returning to lay her eggs, though in the morning there was a good chance a biologist riding a quad would either tape off her nest or even dig it up. Now they couldn't make it without human assistance, the cruel irony being that it was human interference that made it necessary. So, though I was a quiet observer to a natural ritual I'd always wanted to see, it was hard to be present for without becoming deeply sad. That sadness turned to aggravation as a jogger came down the beach with a bright headlamp on. Human lights at night frustrate me. I fish without one most of the time because I feel it is a gross unnecessary and a crutch when the target fish species isn't tiny minnows, madtoms and darters. And spotlighting micros is something I do less and less. A headlamp makes tunnel vision. It ruins your ability both to see when it isn't on and learn to navigate what you can't see anyway. And this jogger was on a smooth, sandy beach with no obstacles at all. I was cognizant of his presence from a half a mile away and he was not even aware enough to notice me siting just yards from his path. Nor did he notice the giant turtle that stopped chucking sand due to his light's disruption. The jogger continued down the beach to disrupt who knows how many more turtles. I stayed back as my friend made her way back down the beach. I don't think she'd finished before the jogger interrupted her process, but I wasn't interested in worsening her stress either. I stayed back and took long exposures, covering the little red light on the front of my camera with my finger as I was worried even that might be noticeable to her. She paused a few times on her way down the sand. I'm not sure she was aware I was there, but I'd like to believe she did know and just didn't mind, that she understood that I meant no harm. 

By that time the morning light was starting to come up and when the turtle had reentered the surf, I sat again to tie a slim beauty knot in the dark. The slim beauty is a good knot for connecting tippet to shocker, and I was targeting fish for which shocker was definitely warranted. My 12 weight was already tarpon ready, but I wanted to make sure my 8wt was snook appropriate as there'd been no sign of tarpon yet and I was keen to at least get something blind casting. It had been a few years since I'd caught a snook at that point, and though I'd made some attempts in the dark already by that point in the trip it was without much awareness of where and when I'd be likely to find any in that area. Almost everywhere I'd fished on this trip was new to me, as was targeting these species from the beach. I finished the knot and carefully synched it down then tied on a Clouser before leaning back again and watching the surf for the first signs of life. Before the sun crested the horizon, bait began skipping and dimpling in front of me and further out a big tarpon rolled. I adjusted my stripping basket around my waist and walked down to the water's edge to begin to cast. It wasn't long before the routine of casting, retrieving right to my feet, then casting again was interrupted by a snook eating the fly in the curl of a wave. I'd learned through my friend John Kelly that it's a good idea in some circumstances to stand back a bit to convert fish running the trough, and this payed off here. If I'd even just been getting my ankles wet I'd not have gotten a shot at this fish, but with a few feet of line sliding on sand I had enough room to fish the fly right onto the beach lip, and that's where this fish ate.  It wasn't a big snook but put up an admirable battle, jumping a few times before I subdued it. I enjoy the way snook fight- the short, zippy runs and the head and gill shaking jumps are just the sort of fight I really enjoy. 

As the sun rose further, the tarpon that were rolling off the beach a ways drew a little closer. I looked back at my 12 weight and hoped it would get an opportunity to be flexed a little. But as the daytime heat (only a little more oppressive than the nighttime heat) settled in all I had to show for my efforts were a few big ladyfish. In time, the bait activity dwindled and so did the signs of predators. The fish left and the people arrived, and my interest in casting on a crowded beach is non-existent. It was time for me to go take a nap anyway. 

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, Sammy, and Cris & Jennifer for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version. 

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. 

The Frustration of Leaving: Giant Snook (pt. 3)

There was something deeply irritating about my last hours on our big Florida East Coast snook battlefield. I think I knew I wasn't going to accomplish what I wanted to, but was also still driven towards the end goal by a feeling of greed. There is something about feeling that I'm owed a fish that almost assures that I won't get one. It makes me fish poorly. It makes me panic in the moment when I need to be completely in control. It also makes me too arrogant. What is more arrogant than believing that a body of water and the fish within it owe me a sacrifice? I don't deserve a big fish or a new species or any noteworthy catch until I've put in my all and am relaxed and patient. It's then that I'm in the right head space to remember every little detail and get everything possible out of the experience of a remarkable capture. Now, in the last hours of our hunt, I was angry with the fish. I didn't deserve to catch a big snook while in that state of mind and I'm glad I didn't. I made poor choices that prevented me from connecting anyway, and even drifted right into a spot I was nearly certain a large fish would be in instead of patiently holding off and making a longer cast. With less than 10 feet of retrieve left and the largest snook I'd seen yet hot on the fly, my own shadow killed my final chance of the trip and I honestly deserved that outcome. I was due for a humbling. And Florida is a good place for that.

The next day we were still in a good place for big snook, but the conditions were terrible. They were terrible full stop, but they were notably terrible for the fly rod. I decided this would be the day I tested out a lure I'd had on me and been meaning to try the whole trip. Really, I'd expected Noah to use it, but he'd found success with small paddletails and that's all he cared to fish. So it was up to me to see if this secret lure would do what I thought it might. I wasn't especially interested in actually catching fish on it believe it or not, I just wanted to see how effective it could be, so I'd removed one of the hooks and the other was barbless so I cold just shake a fish off unless it was big enough that I wanted to boat it.

It worked, it worked exactly as well as I expected it too. I moved as many large snook with it in the short time I fished it as I had the entire trip leading up to that day. The sky was clear blue, the wind was up, there was significant chop, and the water was muddy. Under garbage topwater conditions I got numerous blowups from big snook. I didn't land any though I could have landed one. I intentionally shook it off. Not because I didn't want to catch it though. I shook it off because I knew I was being hunted.
Just minutes prior I'd hear a subtle lapping, swishing sound behind my kayak and turned to see the top 2 inches of a shark's dorsal fin slicing through the waves, keeping pace with me. I assumed it was a small bull shark, as Noah and I both had had pup bulls come in and check us out on more than one occasion this trip. But this fish turned and started to pass me, within about 10 feet, and rose up just enough that both it's dorsal and tail where breaking the surface. And, I have no better way of getting the feeling of the moment across so pardon my language... it was pants shitingly huge. I couldn't see the whole animal so I'm not sure what species it was but there are a very limited number that it could have been, and my guess would be hammerhead. That big shark proceeded to follow me around for about 20 minutes and it was close to the most uncomfortable 20 minutes of my life. No matter what species of shark it was an attack was very unlikely, but that makes it no less scary to be in a little sit-in kayak being followed around by an animal much larger than that kayak and much more powerful than myself. I thought perhaps it might be more interested in my loud topwater lure than me and the kayak, but multiple casts in front of it drew no response. No... it was definitely shadowing me.
That was humbling.
Though we were leaving this place that had sort of been home for a while, and it was immensely frustrating to have run out the clock there without accomplishing everything I wanted to, some of the best days of the trip were still ahead of us.

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. 

The Frustration of Loss: Giant Snook (pt.2)

I'm a fly fisherman driven towards goals. I set my sights on something and then work towards it until I achieve what I want to achieve, then I set my sights even higher.
I caught my first big snook on the fly sort of accidentally... I wasn't trying to get a certain size snook. So shortly after catching that big fish on New Years Day 2019, I became obsessed with repeating that result but on purpose this time. Less than an hour after missing the largest snook I'd ever had eat a fly on the opposite coast from where Noah and I had honed our snook abilities, I began to feel for the first time on this trip that I might get my chance at landing one. The conditions weren't going to prevent us from getting to the right areas and we'd found some big snook. I was ready to hammer down until I caught one.

In the Charlotte Harbor area the year prior Noah and I had realized that dead end creeks seemed to be prone to holding larger snook in shallow water. So, even though it was a different time of year and we were on a different coast, we gave special attention to dead ends and backwaters. In the morning of our second day mission on this part of the river we headed into a backwater that Kirk had mentioned to us as a likely tarpon spot. We didn't see any tarpon there but multiple large snook spooked as we made our way through it. It is hard not to spook these fish if you can't see them to make a precise cast, so in the early morning low light glare there wasn't much we could have done. But these were big fish and that had my attention. Again though, like the day before, we went a long time without any notable fish.

There's never any shortage of things to look at in Florida, whether it be people acting intriguingly in the populated areas, or marine mammals acting intriguingly in the backcountry. Seeing a manatee hoist much of its body out of the water to reach preferable vegetation up on the banks of the river was, to say the least, pretty cool. We actually saw likely the same manatee doing this in two different parts of the river two days apart. It was very cool too watch, though I'm still scared of the manatees I can't see... watch one react to a large bird landing on it or getting bumped by a trolling motor and you'll understand my concerns.

There were other things to be concerned about than bumping into and spooking an unsuspecting manatee. Periodically, there were massive eruptions in the river, disturbances that seemed to be made by some sort of large creature, and for a while I couldn't tell what they were. Then one happened right in front of me. I was shocked to see that the perpetrator was a rather small bullshark. That such a small shark could make such a huge commotion was pretty impressive, though I'm certain the bull sharks that made the largest blow ups were not just pups, but individuals much closer to adulthood. Being in the presence of these predators was humbling indeed.

As it had on the day before, the paddle back downriver proved more productive on our second day. For me, it yielded the first snook of notable quality, a mid 20's fish that did everything that makes snook wonderful. I really have fallen deeply in love with these fish and their habits.

Heading downriver further, I outpaced Noah. I hit the backwater pockets I wanted to hit then moved on to the next, not wasting time on the numerous mangrove banks I'd come to the conclusion held little but smaller fish. There's nothing wrong with catching those smaller fish but I was looking for something specific. Something which I found some time later in a wide open shallow backwater. I moved and missed a few average sized fish hanging on deadfalls before I saw the first large one, laid up, belly right on the mud, not moving a muscle. I spooked that fish with my cast. Not 50 yards away however I spotted two more sitting parallel to each other and practically touching fins. Competition is never a bad thing. I laid a cast right in front of them and both fish lunged as if they had spooked, but one turned and engulfed the fly with a hellacious 'pop'. I stripped but didn't connect and pulled the fly out of the kill zone. I quickly re-cast and as soon as the fly hit the water it got slammed. I strip set and the fish took off instantaneously at an astonishing rate of speed. I frantically tried to clear the line and get the fish on the reel, and did so... I think. It's all a bit of a blur. Whatever happened next it resulted in me standing there on my kayak whipping a rod that was no longer bent double under the pull of a 20 plus pound snook, swearing inappropriately loud. As it gradually occurred to me that I'd just blown excellent shots at huge snook on two consecutive days, I just felt worse... and I also felt like I needed to exact revenge. I tore off down river to the backwater we'd seen big snook in that morning. I only saw one and it spooked. I worked a dock line near the mouth of the backwater, and it produced three small snook. The first was really small, but the second was at least substantial enough to put up a fight.

The third fish I'm not convinced was a common snook at all. The fight, the body shape, and the overall appearance lead me to believe this is some other species, likely a fat snook. For the time being that's what I'm considering it to be based on scale counts, body shape, and fin ray counts.

Fat snook, Centropomus parallelus. Life list fish #161. Rank: species. 

Catching a potential new species felt good but I was still a man on a mission... a mission I was not going to accomplish this time. After a frantic half hour of trying to find something to take my frustration out on, I made it back to the boat launch even more frustrated than I'd been just after the big snook broke off. Sometimes, even when I'm catching fish and some really cool ones at that, fishing kind of sucks. It isn't relaxing. It isn't enjoyable. It hurts. 

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. 

The Frustration of Loss: Giant Snook (pt.1)

Fishing allows us a consequence free way to experience loss and frustration. There's no real long term impacts of loosing a big fish other than the increase in determination to best the next one. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, losing a huge fish... actually, it hurts enough that experiencing it, on the regular if you fish as much as I do, helps deal with other pains in life. Maybe.

Noah and I put three days into one area we had high hopes for. Snook and tarpon were the primary targets. We'd fished some of this water with Kirk the week prior, but now we'd really get to explore it thoroughly.

This was old Florida, though we weren't alone on the water as much as I'd like. Ideally, there'd be nobody else out there at all. But I guess we should take what we can get these days. This river was beautiful.

Our first day was completely exploratory. Despite the fact that we'd been on a little bit of this water before it was only a tiny fraction, and we had little understanding of what tides, winds, and times of day would fish best. In fact it was a while before I even moved a fish, a decent sized snook, and then a long time before I caught the first fish, which was a bass. Between the two Noah had hooked and lost what was probably a fat snook. 'Fat' in that context is both the description and the common name. Many people don't realize that there is far more than one species of snook.

With the tide falling, the way back downriver proved more fruitful for Noah. We were seeing some massive gar on the way down, and Noah put a cast in front of one that, unlike the rest, slammed the bejesus out of his soft plastic. By some miracle he managed to get good hook purchase in the bone hard mouth of what turned out to be a trophy longnose gar. The fight was ridiculous, the fish towed Noah right into the mangroves and I needed to assist. That ended with me jumping ship... into the alligator and bull shark filled river... to assist in pulling him to a sand bar where we then landed the fish. As one that loves relict species, fish whose lineage dates back to when there were still reptiles the size of buses wandering this land, this was an animal to behold. I was almost as excited as Noah over this fish. It is such a thrill to hold a giant, armored, just metal looking fish. Though their demeanor much of the time is far from metal, their appearance is impressive enough to make up for their sluggishness. And when they do really unload on an unsuspecting prey item, like Noah's did... it is something else.

That was certainly a high note. I didn't know it yet, but I was just a short time out from a very low note. With the sun getting lower and the tide finally low enough that all the water was out of the mangroves, I laid a cast next to a partially submerged log. A massive wake came of the log, and I watched a mouth more than wide enough to fit two fists in engulf my fly... and I totally whiffed it. I ripped my fly right out of a 40 inch plus snook. A monster fish of which I saw every inch and every fin. I know how big that fish was. It was huge. Of course it didn't come back. 

I was furious. For a fly fisherman that would be a once in a lifetime caliber snook. I should not have missed it. Too much trout fishing builds bad habits. That set the stage for dedicating our time to this area the next few days. Unfortunately, it would not get much better for me, though there was a fine line where it could have gone right. At least I'd leave with a story, but damn that hurt.

The only snook I caught that day. It was very small.

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. 

Snook on Dock Lights

Snook worked their way into my soul in a unique fashion. They were one of those fish that I really wasn't extremely excited about before I'd ever caught one. I'd watched videos, and snook fishing looked fun. They seemed like a beautiful, hard fighting fish that wasn't easy to fool... but that describes a lot of species. When Noah and I first went to Florida, I caught my first two snook in the final day of fishing and my opinion changed quite a bit. They got to me, I have to say. The habitats they use, their behavior, their attitude... I quickly became infatuated with these fish. Andy Mill interviewed Steve Huff and Chico Fernandez recently on his podcast and both talked about their love of nook. They put it into words far better than I could, and naturally so as my love affair with these fish is still young. Look for the Mill House Podcast on Youtube, it is very much worth your time. The way Chico talked about snook especially spoke to my soul and made me reflect on my times going after these marvelous creatures. Three years and two trips with a lot of time dedicated to targeting snook after I'd caught my first, I was going to get a chance to target them in another different scenario: dock lights.

My friend and fellow fish-head, Kirk, has a place and a boat down in Florida now. He invited Noah and I out but promised nothing spectacular. Between Kirk and I, I'm the optimist. I felt confident we'd find something cool with three very fishy people on the same boat. The plan was to head up into the wild waters and see if we could find some rolling tarpon before the sun set, then head into the intracoastal to fish lighted docks for snook and lookdowns after dark.

As we headed into the mangrove lined dark waters that I'd spent hours looking at maps of and trying to decipher spots within, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. Something I'd planned to do and though about for a while was coming to fruition.

We wandered our way around the bends and oxbows, looking for a non-windy corner and rolling fish. Eventually, we did find it. The head of an adult tarpon, looking like a carved piece of chrome, broke the surface, audibly indicated by a sucking sound and followed by the shape of its incredible forked tail. Tarpon are air breathers. They routinely surface to breath, especially in water with low oxygen content. They weren't rolling that frequently here, but enough to give us hope. I watched for rolls and the bubbles that followed as the fish expelled air behind its operculums to get some idea of what direction and speed the fish was traveling so as to cast to it. We were each using different methods, Noah a paddletail soft plastic, Kirk a jerkbait, and I a Gartside Gurgler. This is always a good idea until a pattern is established. We almost didn't catch anything up there in the back country though. I managed a single snook, my first of the trip and my first in more than a year, and that was reason enough for celebration. But we were soon heading back out of the river tarponless, which is about what you can reasonably expect anyway. 

Switching modes and surrounding, we prepared to hop docks late into the night, searching for those with the most active fish. We actually found fish breaking on a dock light very quickly but they weren't obliging. It took a little while to find some fish that were in a good mood and weren't actually just big mullet. Noah struck first. 

I didn't lag that far behind though. My Popovics Jiggy variation (bead instead of cone) got slammed as I pulled it into the darkness outside the dock light and I strip set into a pissed off, high flying snook. It pains me to say it, striped bass are my fish. I could never say a bad thing about stripers. But snook just fight harder. Their initial run is much faster than you can rightfully expect to get out of a striped bass and they will nearly always jump. Less so in deeper water, but a small to mid-sized snook is almost always going to go airborne at least once. Then, once you're done with a heck of a fight, you get to look at quite a unique and lovely looking fish. 

Centropomus undecimalis

The next dock produced a small crevalle jack, and a short time later another snook, again it took away from the light well into the darkness. We weren't seeing any spectacular numbers but the fish were more than abundant enough to keep the energy level up on the boat, and we all hoped that we'd happen upon a dock loaded up with lookdowns, a very unique jack neither Noah nor I had ever caught.

A few docks later, I got a take that wasn't at all snook like, and an extremely odd feeling fight. I could tell it was a very broad sided fish, as it would turn against me and I'd feel the vibrations of its tail pulses transmitting through my fly line. I was pretty sure I had a lookdown, and indeed I did. This was on of the strangest fish I'd ever caught, without question. It was so strikingly alien looking that it didn't matter that I'd seen many photos of them, holding one in my hands was a bit of a shock. Just look at this freak of nature:

Lookdown/moonfish, Selene vomer. Life List Fish #149. Rank: Species

We bounced docks for about an hour before we found another that was loaded up with fish. From a distance we could see the activity; fish breaking and bait spraying. On closer inspection it became clear we'd not catch any fish on this particular dock. There was far too much bait and probably only a few snook or lookdowns feeding. For here in the northeast Noah and I had come up with the "Triple P" or "Peanut to Predator Proportion" to describe the all too common scenario brought about by the presence of far too many peanut bunker and not nearly enough predator fish. Such a high proportion of baitfish makes for a visually spectacular blitz but often very poor catching. This, I guess we could say, was an undesirable "SSP" or "Silverside to Snook Proportion". We moved on and found the motherload.

Two docks, not 30 yards apart, held more snook between the two of them then we'd seen all night. They popped and boiled on bait and sat like ominous shadows in the green light of the docks. Kirk had been playing the dock light game a while now but he'd not seen anything like this. It was pretty stunning, and the action wasn't slow. 

We each hooked fish off of one or both of those two docks, and the fish never seemed to get completely tired of our intrusion. We actually had to leave them chewing there as it was no longer that same day we'd started fishing on, and we couldn't really ask for much more anyway. Right before we left, I snagged one of the docks and we had to go in to retrieve my fly. I learned two important things from this: first, and Kirk had already talked about this, use an anti-shock tippet above your heavy fluoro so you can break off when you inevitably snag (we typically use 30lb fluoro on snook because their rasp and sharp gill plate make quick work of lighter less abrasion resistant leader material). And second, though the fish looked like they were milling around within two feet of the surface the whole time, they were actually substantially deeper. I suspect, had I not switched to smaller but unweighted flies and simply trimmed down a Clouser or Jiggy that I could have actually caught even more fish. That's definitely an optical illusion to take into consideration if you fish lighted docks for any fish species. All told, it was a pretty spectacular experience. I thank Kirk for his time and sharing his new home waters with us, and it was really an exciting learning experience. Noah and I both left the boat launch that night feeling we'd learned a lot, and that our fishing resumes had been added to in a not insubstantial way. To me, that's what it is all about. 

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.