Welcome to the Apocalypse

I was sitting in the van in a blazing hot parking lot getting some work done while Noah went into Walmart for provisions when he called me.
"They're completely out of water... and a lot of other things."
"Shit. We still need something. Get some Gatorade I guess, unless they're out of that".
"I've got Tampico."
"Okay... that'll work I guess. I think the campground will have potable water anyway."
The pandemic that was barely a blip on the radar when we'd left home was now a huge deal and stores were being cleaned out of goods, some of which we required for the next few days. We were about to venture into the Everglades with a few gallons of artificial juice drink, and a bunch of canned food. That's what we had, and that's all we could get. It was strange being so disconnected then suddenly watching the the world start to crumble around us. Meanwhile, we were just looking for some fish. No respiratory disease outbreak was going to prevent us from exploring the last best part of Florida. It had been far too long... I was very excited.

Three years before, Noah and I had used the Tamiami Trail to get across the state of Florida and reach the Gulf Coast, where we'd spend our final two days of the short whirlwind trip. We found the canals along the trail loaded with fish... but it wasn't enough time. The places we went had been on my mind ever since.

We didn't have much time on our first evening, we needed to get to our campground and get set up there before it was too dark so we could head out to cruise back roads looking for snakes. But we had time for a stop. We revisited one of the places we'd hit on our first trip, and it was very different. The was less water and a lot more weed growth. There were still fish there, and it didn't take long for Noah to catch himself a new species of which I was very jealous, a jaguar guapote.

Parachromis managuensis

I walked around a little looking very carefully into the weed filled waters of the canal and soon spotted something I'd been very much hoping to see... a pike killifish. Then another. Then a whole pile of them. I made one cast and got the largest one to take. I missed it of course. Pike killifish are a remarkably unique little fish and I so badly wanted to catch one... so of course, I didn't, though we'd see many more. The jewel cichlids, since I'd already caught them, were all too willing. At least they were a little better looking than the ones we'd caught a week before.

Hemichromis bimaculatus

With rapidly fading light, we hurried along to our campsite to get things sorted out and set up. Our time in the Everglades had only just begun.

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. 

Peacock Palooza

I'd caught some peacock bass in my limited time in Florida. Never many and never big, but they are spectacularly pretty and hard fighting fish so it was easy to be happy with what I got. Hailing from south America, the butterfly peacock bass, the species most abundant in South Florida, and every other peacock bass species (yes, there are more than one), is actually a cichlid. They get a bit bigger on average than the other predatory cichlids in Florida (Nile and blue tilapia get quite large but aren't apt to slam a fast stripped streamer very often) and were introduced with the intent of controlling those other species. Ah yes, the old introduce a non-native species to control a non-native species. It didn't work with cane toads and cane beetles in Australia and it hasn't really worked with peacock bass and the plethora of invasives it was hoped that they'd control in Florida. But they are there to stay now, and they are wicked fun on the fly rod, or any light tackle for that matter. I was pretty excited to get to fish for them in a known productive area again. Noah and I, on our way towards the Everglades and the Tamiami Trail, payed a visit to a spot my friend Sonny showed us three years ago. This was a quasi-legal cluster of ponds loaded with peacocks. We weren't after new species here at all... we were just here to see if we couldn't improve our personal bests and catch more peacocks in a day than we had before. Given our limited experience and success in this fishery, such improvement wasn't difficult to live up to. But I hadn't the slightest inkling this would be probably the best half day of freshwater fishing of the trip.

We walked into the quite nice, clean looking neighborhood prepared to fish a bunch of different ponds, on a circuit that would loop us back around to where we started eventually. I was going to fish small minimally weighted baitfish patterns with broad profiles... this is was seemed to work best three years prior. It proved it's worth quickly with a couple of small peacocks, but it would take me some time to hone my technique. Peacock bass will eat and spit out a fly so quickly, you almost had to be in the act of strip setting when the fish eats. So a quick retrieve is ideal. It also gets them fired up when you try to get the fly away from them. They don't seem to like losing a race.

The first few fish we caught were little ones, but it didn't take long for us to start catching higher caliber fish. Though they still weren't big peacocks, even for this smaller species that never really obtains the sort of hulking size some of it's cousins do, these fish still pulled like hell.

As we hopped from pond to pond on our loop and continued to figure things out it started to become clear that we were going to catch an awful lot of peacock bass this day. Noah quickly outpaced my count with shad darts, but I eventually got my retrieve and hook set honed well enough to start making up the difference again. Each pond with good structure produced at least a few fish.

The peacocks were the predominant capture, other species found our offerings as well. Notable was this big colorful Mayan cichlid:

We spent almost as much time on our second to last and last stops as we did on the entire rest of the loop, because those two ponds were especially loaded. The first had a length of shoreline with a bunch of bedding fish and some sporadic blitzes breaking out in the open water. By this time, Noah had lost his shad darts and was struggling to find something quite as productive. He eventually found his stride again but I was just on my most consistent string of fish yet using a small white craft hair baitfish. I figured out that some of the bedded peacocks wanted it raced, like most of the fish not on beds wanted it, but others would slam it if I just plopped it over their bed and let it sink. When I stripped the fly past the largest of the peacocks I'd seen all day a few times it spooked each time. But when I let the fly fall dead, he absolutely crushed it. Though it was a more thinned out fish it was a really good one, far and away my personal best, and a spectacular specimen.

We were far from done though, and I continued to use the patterns I had deciphered to dupe more aggressive males. Their colors, their exaggerated forehead lumps, and their at times blazing red eyes made them very striking looking creatures.

When all was said and done, we'd caught an excessive amount of peacock bass. There were times in my early years when this post would have been even more photo heavy than it already is because I'd have taken photos of every fish that wasn't very small... the reality is, though what you see here is an excess of photos of peacock bass, it doesn't really shine light on the number we actually caught. It was crazy. We caught so many fish. By the end, my thumb was raw and I was bleeding in a few spots. This was the first time I'd gotten bass thumb from a cichlid species and I was proud of it. 

After three soul crushing days of failing to accomplish what I wanted to accomplish, I so badly needed this. It set me up for the days to come, days we'd be spending in one of my favorite places on the planet... the Everglades. 

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. 

Underexploited Fly Rod Fodder

I've grown a deep appreciation for walleye over the years, an appreciation for their habits and their looks, more so than their taste. When anglers talk about walleye they're most inclined to talk about how good they taste. Their fight is mostly tossed aside, and that is forgivable given the most common techniques used to catch bigger walleye. And on the whole I find fisherman tend to undervalue a lot of the other aspects of walleyes that endear them to me. I think a significant part of the reason walleye got under my skin, here, in CT, a place without the sort of "walleye culture" that exists in paces like Lake Erie or parts of Ontario and Manitoba, is the tool I use to catch them. See, I don't particularly care to catch a walleye trolling, or even on a spinning rod and jerk bait or jig, or even through the ice for that matter. That's all fine and dandy but it isn't for me. I like to fish for walleye, and every other species of fish, with a fly rod.

And, not to toot my own horn, but I've gotten pretty good at it.

Spring is the time I most look forward to for seeking out trophy walleye. They venture shallow and big egg laden females become targetable. There are still a lot of secrets you will have to wait for me to reveal as far as these fish go, because locally I seem to be the only one dialed into the fly tackle stillwater walleye game. Connecticut may not have a great walleye fishery compared to the midwest, but what we have is pretty decent and under-exploited, especially by fly rodders. I may only catch a few trout over 20 inches a year and I fish for trout a bit more than walleye. But when the conditions are right I can reasonably expect to go out and catch at least one walleye like this: 

You can say all you want that walleye don't fight worth a damn but until you've pulled on one of that size with a 5wt, your argument is invalid. They pull pretty hard in shallow water and on the right tackle. And, frankly, even if they didn't I'd still be out there after them because they are impressive looking creatures with a beautiful color pattern un-matched by other species in the area. Nothing else looks like a walleye here. We don't have sauger or zander, but I can't wait to catch those close relatives of the walleye too. 

Of course, one of the bonuses of my springtime walleye fishing is the excess of bycatch. This big crappie is one of a number I caught this season while fishing for big walleye.

Now crappies... honestly they don't do much on the end of a line. They really aren't hard fighting fish. But when my little woolly bugger gets inhaled by a big 'eye, well, I know what I've got. 

With the early season winding down substantially my opportunities to catch really big walleye will become isolated to certain weather windows. I'd like to break the 30 inch mark and have seen fish well over it already this spring. I'm hopeful though not confident that I've still got a shot. 

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.