Anyone making a living on the water fly-fishing will tell you they tie flies out of necessity. It’s true. Purchasing flies in the large quantities used by guides would be very expensive. In the process of tying, I think it is only natural to modify designs that, even though they work well, get over used. Plus it gets boring tying the same flies over and over again. The objective in changing a known design is to make the fly just a little better for the conditions that you fish. A lot of tweaking can sometimes alter the appearance of a fly; hence a new fly is born. Sometimes we make minor alterations by adding some tan marabou or find ways to eliminate dumbell eyes and still have the fly sink. Dumbell eyes tend to hang up in the grass. Their purpose is to get the fly down on the bottom and come to rest inverted (hook up).
It isn’t simple just making a new design. It must be tested. So multiple copies are made so that friends and fellow guides can try them. The fly must be durable and hold up in many situations. They are tested for casting characteristics, sink rate, activity in the water and most important will they catch fish. Here are three such modifications which I have tied, tested and guarantee will work under the conditions discussed.
Redfish Diver
This fly looks similar to a deceiver and has some of the same characteristics of Liz Steele’s Purple Passion (one of my favorite flies). The Redfish Diver has a fast sink rate, the same as if it were tied with a 1/50 oz dumbell. Here are the details.
Hook: Mustad #34007 (#1)
Head: No. 25 Lead Wire
Tail: Red Buck Tail (1 ½ inches), Orange and Tan marabou (2 x the hook length) Tie in six strands of gold Krystal flash.
Body: Tan Ultra Chenille
This fly is tied using Orvis G Smoke monocore thread (02RR-6207). Tie off a small section of thread, then place a 1-inch piece of No. 25 lead wire folded and crimped and tied 1/8 inch behind the eye. Tie to the back of the lead wire; wrap once behind and over to secure the lead wire (you can also super glue the wire to the shank). Next run the thread to the curve of the shank and tie in the red buck tail (about ½ a pencil thickness). Next tie six strands of gold Krystal flash and then the tan ultra chenille (cut about 7 inches of chenille). Wind the mono thread to the front just behind the eye. Wrap the chenille forward tightly and bring to just behind the eye. Tie a uni-knot over the eye with the chenille. Braid the Krystal flash by twisting or twirling the strands together and wrap them over the chenille leaving about 1/32 inch between as you spiral the wraps forward and tie off behind the eye.
Turn the hook over so that the shank is down and the hook is on the topside. About ¼ inch behind the eye, tie in a small clump of orange marabou, then tan marabou. The marabou should just cover the hook point, making the fly weedless. Now tie off and whip finish the fly.
This fly is very effective in clear water or in cloudy water (not murky). The fly sinks fast and will be in on the bottom in about 6 seconds (18 inches deep). The retrieve is a slow constant retrieve. Only strip about 3 inches at a time. Because the weight is forward and there are no dumbbells the fly will not hang up in the grass. Redfish really like this fly. I’ve lost a number because they inhale it into their throat crushers, if this happens just cut the line. The hook will dissolve in about 4 hours.
Redfish Bugger
This fly is similar to a fly pattern designed by Dana Griffin of Gainesville, Florida, except without dumbell eyes. This fly uses lead wire as a head weight
Hook: Mustad #34011 (1/0)
Head: #25 Lead Wire Wrapped to Bend
Tail: Orange and Tan marabou (2 x the hook length), tie in six strands of gold Krystal flash.
Body: Tan Ultra Chenille with orange dyed grizzly hackle palmered.
Tie in #25 lead wire 1/8 inch behind the hook eye using Rust colored 6/0 mono thread.
Lead wire is wound around the shank leaving about 1/8 inch to the hook eye. Thread is wrapped forming a collar in front of the wire and behind the wire before the shank bend. Do some wraps along the shank aft of the wire to secure the marabou.
Select marabou feathers of orange and tan and tie in at rear of hook bend, tan above and orange underneath. On each side of the wing, tie in 6 strands of gold Krystal flash and leave hanging. Tie in a 6-inch segment of tan chenille and at the same point at the rear of the hook tie in the orange grizzly hackle at angle suitable for palmering. Run your thread up to the hook eye and leave hanging. Wrap the chenille forward in tight winds to just behind the hook eye and tie off. Take the 6 strands of flash and twist to make a kind of rope and pull straight forward so that the strand runs along the side of the shank and tie behind the eyes. Do the same thing for the other side of the shank. The final step is palmering the feather, making space on the turns so that the gold flash will show through. Now tie off and whip finish.
This fly is very effective in grass flats in windy conditions, and in situations where there is sand (white holes) scattered through out the flat. This fly will sink fast and a slow retrieve is recommended.
You’ll notice that this fly resembles a Wooly Bugger (one of my favorite flies). I tie it in a number of ways including my Tarpon Bugger below.
The Tarpon Bugger is tied in the same manner but uses Purple and Blue marabou, purple chenille, chartreuse super hair and Purple Grizzly Hackle. The Tarpon Bugger is really effective at night and daytime in brackish backwaters and creeks. I’ve had redfish hit this fly at night.
Redfish Assassin
I got the idea for this fly after watching a guide using a Bass Assassin. I didn’t have a trip and was actually about 150 yards away from a guide working a mangrove line. I was intrigued by his work and watched intently with my binoculars from a distance. I had used Crazy Charles type jerk worm before but it hadn’t occurred to me to try tying a fly to emulate it. Jerk worms work best in cloudy, murky or dark water, or on a cloudy day. The action is similar to a shrimp, but more than likely imitates a sand worm or eel.
I’ve tried many different renditions of this fly and these three work best. You’ll find a similar fly imitating a needlefish. This fly has been effective with redfish, black drum, jacks, catfish, and snook. I’ve caught a flounder on a fly made of white super hair. So there are many ways to tie this – but here is the simplest.
Hook: Mustad #34007 (#1)
Head: 1/50 oz yellow/black eye dumbell
Tail: Orange super hair tail (1 ½ inches), Black buck tail 2 ½ inches long.
Body: Black Ultra Chenille
Guard: 80 # mono or gold Mylar weed guard is optional
Tie in barbell eyes behind the hook eye. Select orange super hair and tie in at rear of hook bend. Tie in a 5-inch segment of black chenille and at the same point at the rear of the hook tie in silver Mylar. Run your thread up to the hook eye and leave hanging. Wrap the chenille forward in tight winds to just behind the hook eye and tie off. Take the Mylar and pull it straight forward so that the strand runs along the belly of the shank and tie behind the eyes. The final step is tying black buck tail in over the eyes to just behind the hook eye. Now tie off and whip finish.
This fly is a killer in dark or brackish water. Reds attach this fly with fury. Most hits are made on the second or third strip. Strip is slow, pause, and slow. The fly will sink pretty fast, so you want to keep it off the bottom and just hopping. The strip action will pick it up and allow it to sink again. After the cast count to five and then start the strip. This is a deadly fly at dusk. I’m sure it would work in freshwater, even though I haven’t tried it there.
Most flies are modifications of old designs that still work well. Try some of your own. Make the same ones or modify the ones here. Experiment, have fun, and go out and fool some big fish.
Doug is a USCG Licensed Captain and fly-fishing guide from New Smyrna Beach, a member of CCA, FFF, AFF, APCA, and FOWA. He can be reached at 877-969-4242
I had been working the mid shift for some time now and I was still struggling to get used to the 11:00pm to 7:00am schedule. I had continued seeing things on the road to work that didn't exsist and I was sleeping about every other day. The weekend was coming on quick and I was long overdue for an outdoor adventure. I called my best friend Joe and discussed the idea of going to Lacamas Lake for the weekend and we decided it was a good plan. So with the plan, schedule and the idea set in motion it was time to ready myself for the escapade.
Thursday morning rolled around, that would be about 9:30pm for a guy on mid shift, and it was the last day of the work week. I had suspended my usual bass fishing trip the day before in an ill-fated effort to get the extra sleep I needed for the long drive awaiting me after work. At 7:00am Friday I was released from prison, I mean work, and it was time to ready for the trip. I knew I had just enough time to load the truck, pack the boat, cram some clothes into a bag, and hit the trail. If I hurried I could be on my way just in time to make it to Joe's house as he was returning home after a grueling day at work. Everything went just as expected. I couldn't heap all that I needed into the truck, I wasn't able to stuff all my required fishing gear into the boat, and I had no clean clothes to shove into a bag. How does this always happen I wondered. I must need a bigger truck, who couldn't use a larger boat, and I don't have time to do laundry when there are bass to be caught. I carefully weighed my options and decided not to bring all the camping equipment which would be useful on a trip like this. All in order to save room in the truck for more impartant things such as beer and guns; guns are an important part of any outing. I figured I might get by without all of my trout tackle, but you can never be too sure. It's inconceivable to believe that one can have too much fishing parphenalia, however I did need to make space in the boat for Joe's must-have equipment. With the truck and boat all set and ready to go it was time to pack some clothes. Is there anything clean? What's been worn the least? Does this go with that? How many days will I be gone? After answering all the questions posed, the answer was simple. Who cares, grab a handful of stuff, shove it into a grocery store shopping bag and jam it in the truck. I'm running late! Everythings ready to go an hour later than planned. Now I really need to hurry!
With everything carefully stuffed into place it was time to back the truck to the boat trailer. If I wasn't in a hurry this could be accomplished in one attempt. Six tries later the boat was secured to the truck and I was leaving the driveway. Finally! The truck needs gas! What next? I might as well fill up the boat while I'm gassing the truck. That means two more stops. One to get the oil required for the boat and another at the gas station. A person of average intelligence could probably accomplish both of these tasks in one stop, but I'm in a rush and I don't have time to stop and think. The truck's gas tank is full and so is the boat. My, I am hungry. I could have grabbed something to eat at the gas station if only I had relized five minutes ago that I was hungry. Well I am never going to make it to Joe's in time to head to Lacamas Lake today as it is, why didn't I just hurry. I suppose one more stop isn't going to hurt.
Stomach happy, full tanks of gas and I am finally enroute to Joe's. If only I can drive 90 mph the whole way there without getting stopped we might have a chance of reaching the lake before sundown. 140 miles and two hours later I arrived at Joe's house, but he wasn't home from work yet. It sure is a good thing I hurried.
Joe got home and it was time to shove his things in the truck and boat. More essential camping gear was removed for even more beer and we carefully weighed the decision of which fishing tackle to leave behind. With both of our beer, equipment, and clothing packed up we were ready to roll. I had been awake for too many hours and I don't think the pink elephant I passed on my way to Joe's really exsisted so maybe it would be best if Joe drove for a while. I figured no need to tell him to travel at excessive speeds we have been through this drill over and over and we had the same objectives in mind.
A couple of hours later and we had finally arrived at Lacamas Lake. First and foremost we must get the boat in the water and our lines wet. We can set up camp in the dark, come to think of it could we do it in the day light? We had never tried before. Joe and I have mastered the technique of launching a boat and no time would be lost here. The fishing hadn't been great when we returned to the launch and we needed to find a place to camp. After some discussion it was discovered that neither of us had seen a spot to camp anywhere near the lake, but we probably wouldn't have noticed being in such a hurry. We found a gas station, filled the truck and boat again and thought to ask the clerk if there was camping near the lake. We couldn't have been more than three miles from the lake and the clerk had no idea what we were talking about. How could this man live and work so close to the lake and have no clue that it even exsisted? Just then a customer helped out by correctly pronouncing the lakes name and suddenly the clerk knew exactly what we were inquiring about. Be very careful with your pronounciation around these parts. I would have thought that our pronounciation was close enough to get our point across but obviously I was mistaken. Once it was said and done and we realized there was no camping anywhere near, we had to come to a conclusion. We drove and drove and there was no campsite to be found. The sign at the boat launch had clearly stated "No Camping" and "No Overnight Parking" but surely certain rules and laws don't apply to us. These rule are intended for people who are well organized and sufficiently prepared. We were neither. Besides it would only be one night and tommorow we would find a place to camp if we could squeeze it into the busy fishing regiment.
We awoke the next morning in the back of my truck stiff, sore, and drousy from the lack of a decent nights rest at the boat launch. Nothing was going to keep us off the lake. We launched the boat with the speed and grace of which dreams are made. Again the fishing was not overly satisfying and our thoughts shifted to the sleep we were afforded the night before. Finding a place to camp was a must. We explored the area near the lake until we succomed to the fact that there was no camping in the vacinity.
Silver Lake is only a couple of hours away and we were positive that we would find camping there. We could still make it to Silver Lake in time to launch the boat, fish for several hours and then set up camp in the dark. On the journey to Silver Lake I had begun to feel a little under the weather and decided it was due to my sleeping pattern over the last couple of days. I knew I wasn't getting sick because I don't get sick. We arrived at Silver Lake and to our astonishment the lake was nearly gone! We asked around to find out that the damn had broken and no one had been able to launch a boat. Several had tried and you could see the result of their efforts. Trucks of all kinds lined the shore with boats and trailers still attached stuck in the slick mud and I thought it best to not add my truck to the graveyard. If we hurried we could make it to Duck Lake in time to get some fishing in before nightfall and we needed to set up camp.
70... 80... 90mph... We need to hurry! Duck lake is a ways from here, thier are bass to be caught and daylight won't last forever! My condition had continued to decline since leaving Lacamas Lake and I told Joe that I felt like about twenty-dollars instead of a million bucks.
Time to fill the gas tank, stomach and release some fluids. This all has to be acomplished in one stop or we'll never make it to the lake in time to wet our lines. I was pumping gas when Joe returned from inside the store with food to consume. "Did you know he is a liar!!!" hollars some crazy hippie chick while pointing at me. Joe looks confused at me as if I am suppose to know this girl with the funny colored hair and the outrageous make up. Like I'm supposed to know why she's calling me a liar. I returned his puzzled look with one of complete disarray. She continued on about how I was a liar, a thief of love and this and that but we couldn't wait around to hear the rest as amusing as it was, we were in a race against time.
We passed at least two places to camp right close by Duck Lake so with that settled we rushed onward to get the boat in the lake. We can set up camp in the dark. We launched the boat again with speed and grace and we were fishing in no time. Not much time though so we better make the most of it. It was our first time to this lake and we knew little to nothing about it. So we decided to do some exploring of the lake's shoreline so that when we woke tommorow we would know exactly were to head first. In the morning it will be Sunday and we will only be able to fish for a few hours so it is paramount we explore the lake now. We found mile apon mile of channels running everywhere. This lake with its endless abundance of shoreline seemed like a bass anglers paradise. We had been concentrating more on exploration than we did fishing so we hadn't had a lot of success but this didn't discourage us any. We had been fishing together too many times without fruition to be easily discouraged. The lake and all its fishable waters had us spell-bound when we made the startling discovery that sundown had arrived and it wouldn't be long before darkness filled the air.
Back to the boat launch we headed careful to observe all the "No Wake" signs posted all through the channels. It wasn't long before it was apperent that we hadn't paid close attention and had absolutely no clue where the boat launch was. This is when panic started to set in. I eased the throttle on my Pro Craft boat a little more forward and the boat responded with a little increased speed, cautious to still observe the "No Wake" signs. Daylight fading fast terror of being lost on the lake filling in as quickly. It was then I decided to slide the throttle forward just a touch more. The faster I can get the boat the quicker we can find the boat ramp before blackness makes it impossible to find.
Faster and faster darkness aproached and further and further I pushed the throttle. Once again I was in a race against time and I was afraid time would win this race. Joe brought to my attention that we were no longer exactly complying with the "No Wake" signs. In my mind I had updated my condition from feeling like twenty dollars to about five. In order to defeat father time and make a safe return to the boat ramp I looked over at Joe and exclaimed, "If you're going to break the law you might as well break it!" and I slammed the throttle forward bringing the boat up on full plane. Besides, like the "No camping" and "No Overnight Parking" these laws didn't apply to people like us anyway. Ripping through the narrow channels leaving only our wake behind we found one of the lake's main bodies. To our gratitude it was this main body that was home to the boat ramp that had my truck waiting. I pulled the boat to the shore so Joe could jump to dry land and back the trailer into the water. Seconds later I had the boat secured to the trailer, Joe and I had became so good at this that we amazed even ourselves. Joe began to pull me, the truck, the boat and the trailer out of the water when a crazed lunatic raced into the boat ramp and parked his truck imediatley in front of Joe disabling him from moving any further.
This very large man jumped out of his truck and went running to the drivers side window of my truck where Joe un-rolled the window. He began shouting all sorts of obscenities at Joe, complaining of a black boat that just went ripping by his house on the lake and I was sure Joe's life was about to come to an end. It was probably a little more than coincidence that the boat he had seen was black and my boat was black. Joe is my best friend and decided it wouldn't be fair to let this man kill him when I was the one responsible for the man's rage. So I told him that I was the one driving the boat and apologized and he seemed a little less likely to kill someone now. He continued to chew on our asses for a while. We tried explaining that we were lost and just wanted to get to the boat launch before dark but he kept chewing. We decided not to explain to him that those kinds of laws don't apply to us figuring that he wouldn't understand. After several exchanges of lecture from him and apologies from us he asked if we caught any bass. We were stunned! This large man who had me afraid for my own life as well as Joe's was now asking how the fishing went. We told him that we didn't have alot of success and he responded by telling us that we were leaving to early. I wanted to tell him that we were leaving and that we were in a hurry in case he hadn't noticed. I thought better of it and kept quiet.
Having been allowed to leave by the burly man it was time to go set up camp, and yes it was now dark. We hit a fast food resturant for dinner and I discovered with all the fear, anxiety, and excitement the last hour had brought my condition had been downgraded to about a buck and a half. I had escaped death from the insanely angered man but I was sure that I was dying now. I don't get sick so death must be the cause of the way I feel. I made funeral arrangements with Joe over dinner and let him know that when I died he should use my boat and continue this adventure we had started on. He agreed that he would if I died but in the mean time maybe we should just head back to his house because someone had stolen all of our camping gear and replaced it with beer.
He drove us to his house and when we arrived he offered four different cold medicine alternatives. I told him that I felt like 50 cents and maybe I should just take two of each, just to be sure. Moments later I could hardly stand from the effects of the medicine as well as the complete lack of any real rest. I slept like a baby for the first time in weeks and when I woke up I exclaimed "I FEEL LIKE A MILLION BUCKS!!! Lets go fishing!" Joe and I agreed that we wouldn't go far and headed for Long Lake, five minutes from Joe's house, we would be fishing in less than ten. We hadn't been on the lake for fifteen minutes when I landed a three and a half pound largemouth and we had to ask ouselves why we ever left for our journey in the first place.
We were tied to a production platform about 16.5 miles off the Galveston Tx Jetties. I had my brother's spankin' new $400 Snapper rig dangling off the side of the boat with a bare hook, and a Trigger fish smacks the hook and yanks the rod into the water—75 feet down. I was upset, to say the least.
About 30 minutes later, I was soaking a Sardine off the corner of that same rig for a snapper, when I hooked into a good 7-pounder. I was working him up when, all of a sudden, these HUGE pockets of bubbles started boiling the water below the boat.
I was yelling "Back off, back off!" I thought I had snagged a valve or ruptured a high pressure methane line or who knows what.
Well, just then a commercial diver/underwater welder surfaces three feet from our boat, holding my brother's Allstar rod and Calcutta 700 reel and says "Did you boys lose a rod?" Drinks were on me that night, since I didn't have to replace that bad boy.
This story was related to me many years ago down in Laurel Mississippi. Jerry and his friend Pete gathered up a couple bags of Catalpa worms and headed to the Pascagoula River for a days fishing for bream.
They had their small jon boat anchored in a narrow cut through a bayou. After awhile, a large boat with several rather tipsy fisherman in it roared up to their little boat and stopped - nearly swamping the small jon boat. A beefy faced guy in the boat hollered out "Hey, ya catchin any fish?"
Jerry indicated that they were not catching anything. The red faced guy then asked "Whatcha usin fer bait?" Jerry indicated that they were using catalpa worms. The drunk roared out "No wonder! You're usin' the wrong kind of bait!" The big boat roared off.
A little while later, the big boat came back, this time having to slow down to get past the small jon boat. The guy with the red face who had done all the talking before was in the back of the boat with a Lucky 13 hanging out the end of his nose!
Already starting to howl, Jerry yelled out "Are you catching any fish?" The sheepish drunk didn't answer - just shook his head no, with the lure swaying back and forth from his nose.
Jerry yelled back "No wonder! You are using the wrong kind of bait!!!"
In anticipation of my 40th birthday, I decided to do something special - book myself a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Florida to catch a trophy tarpon. My wife chose the same day to inform me that we would instead be celebrating the birth of our fourth son on or around my birthday. I told her that "gift" was not particularly original and with three sons already, hardly a once-in-a-lifetime event. She told me to “stuff it,” so I set my sights on the following year and dutifully booked us for some birthing classes instead.
Now, I live in New York and the closest tarpon swims a mere 1,300-miles away. Catching one would take some planning, as I knew I needed the odds in my favor. What I learned was that if there was ever a place to beat the odds, it was the famed Boca Grande Pass. I found an experienced captain who, according to his website, was simply “the best.” With 25-years experience fishing around Boca Grande, tarpon success with him was “practically guaranteed!”
A long year later, with my fishing buddy Darren along for the adventure, and less than two hours after landing in Ft. Myers, I suggested we check out the area by driving to Stump Pass Park to see if anything was biting. The beach adjacent to the parking lot was filled with sunbathers. Now Darren is a great freshwater fisherman but having spent little time near the ocean, he has to be forgiven for what happened next. Within minutes of getting out of our rental car, and with no warning, he began screaming at the top of his lungs like a 13-year old girl at a rock concert. “SHAAAAARK! GET OUT OF THE WATER!” I hushed him up quickly as it was just a friendly porpoise. Rookie mistake. No harm, no foul.
As the cries of hysterical children scrambling to the arms of their frantic parents faded in the distance, we trekked down the beach. Almost immediately, we began to see tarpon rolling offshore. My anticipation for the next day’s charter quickly grew. I called our captain from my cell phone to report my sighting and to confirm a meeting time for the following morning. “No good,” he explained. “The wind is out of the east at 20-knots. Way too rough to fish Boca Grande Pass.”
I was confused because the water in front of me had barely a ripple and the pass was just a short distance away. “We don’t have to fish the pass,” I pleaded. “Looks like there’s plenty of tarpon right here!”
“Nah” he said, “Them fish yer’ seeing don’t bite…Too spooky. Gimme’ a call tomorrow and we’ll see about the following day.” Apparently, no one had informed the tarpon of this fact as I watched pod after pod attack schools of baitfish.
The next day was a carbon copy of the first, sunny and picture perfect. With only one day left to catch my trophy, I remembered our guide’s claim. Catching a trophy tarpon with him was “practically guaranteed!” But when I called the captain, I got the same story. “Tomorrow’s no good. Still too rough to fish the pass.”
Needless to say, I was crushed. All the planning and it wasn’t going to happen. Then he mentioned that the weather was supposed to change for the better in two days and as luck would have it, he was free later in the week. I delayed my return flight for one last shot at angling glory.
Two days later, we launched at 6:00 a.m. sharp under identical conditions to the previous days with sunny skies and calm seas. Nevertheless, all was forgotten as we made our way to the pass. For those unfamiliar with fishing for tarpon in Boca Grande, imagine a crowded parking lot. Now imagine that each car you see is a boat and each boat has three anglers and a captain. To say it was crowded is a gross understatement.
We made our way to the top of the fleet and our fearless leader barked out orders. “Just drop them jigs to the bottom, crank ‘em up a couple of turns and don’t move till I tell ya’.” We did as instructed for the next several hours, and nothing happened. I sulked in silence wondering how my dream had turned into such a nightmare.
“Drop ‘em down.” I watched an overweight woman with no business wearing a bikini come tight to a huge fish. “Reel ‘em up.” Now an elderly man was hooked up. “Drop ‘em down.” Two drunken frat boys in the boat next to us had a double. “Reel ‘em up…Drop ‘em down…Reel ‘em up…Drop ‘em down.” My god!
Time was ticking away. Then with less than an hour left to fish, my rod suddenly doubled over. I was hooked up! Now hooking a tarpon is one thing, but landing one is a different story altogether. Throw in the fact that we were completely surrounded by dozens of boats and I had to remain fast to 100-plus pounds of angry silver with no intentions of coming in quietly. I don’t know how we did it, but we finally made it to open water.
Nothing was going to stop me now! Then Darren blurted, “Hey, check out the dolphin.”
I glanced quickly over my shoulder and shrieked, “SHAAAARK!” I wailed as a giant hammerhead closed in for an easy meal. With some skilled maneuvering, our captain managed to keep his boat between my hooked tarpon and the hungry shark, which fortunately lost interest. The captain estimated her at 120-pounds and as we neared the old phosphate docks in the area, the great fish came to leader where we revived and released her. I stared in awe as she slowly slipped from sight. I will playback the memory of that day over and over, but already I’m planning my next birthday. I’ve always wanted to catch a permit on fly. I know it’s extremely difficult and my chances are slim, but I’ve found a guide on the web who claims with him, success is “practically guaranteed!” –
In every person's life there are some events that are never forgotten. Most of these special memories occur in our childhood while our minds are still young and fresh. And each of these memories is generally tied to a special someone that somehow in a single moment or series of moments influences our life in ways we never imagine as a child.
For me, that special someone was a fish. Yes, I said a fish. Not just any fish. One special fish. A fish that was a part of my life for four years, and even now reappears in my thoughts and dreams. That damn fish just won't go away. And over time, somehow I have come to think of him as a friend. Even though as a child I was sure he was gonna eat me.
PROLOGUE
I wonder, is a prologue like a monologue, except before you say it? Oh well, I digress. Before telling you my big fish story, I need to give you a little background. Some of you know me, and some of you don't. But soon all of you will know more about me than you will ever wish to. You can run, but you can't hide, lol.
After having written several of these stories in joke format, I guess it's time I get serious and make a book out of it. So, all of the previous stories are going to be gathered together and placed into a time ordered sequence, just like they really happened. YES, THEY ARE ALL TRUE. As true as my old brain full of stuffing will let them be. They say the brain is a terrible thing to waste, and boy do I feel terrible.
I always wanted to be a singer or guitar player. Seven years of music lessons. And all I can do is empty a building of people in less than 30 seconds flat. Dad suggested I sing tenor, which I thought was awesome until he informed me that he meant I should sing ten or twenty miles from home.
My second ambition in life was to be a writer. The next Steven King, but my whole life I felt it was an insurmountable task. Let's face it, no one would read the junk I write. Until now. When I started writing this I had a mailing list of thousands. Hopefully at least a few of you are still reading, maybe even one of you will finish this.
I understand now why I write, and why I wanted to sing, because it's the best way to say what is inside. Be it sadness, happiness or tears, music and the written word express them well. Well, for some people, maybe not the tedster. But believe me, if you think my writing and singing are bad, try just listening to me ramble on sometime. Speaking of rambling... ok.. it's gonna be a book.. now back to the beginning...
In the beginning.. there was a scrawny little boy named Steven, whose Daddy loved to unmercifully refer to him as "Stevie Weevie"...... I CANT TAKE IT ANY MORE........... Stop Laughing.... I SAID STOP LAUGHING... IF YOU DON'T STOP LAUGHING AT ME, I'M GONNA E-MAIL TEN MILLION PEOPLE "YOUR" MIDDLE NAME.... Oh..... Now you get quiet...
BEFORE MARATHON
Before Marathon, I spent nine years as a prisoner in a snow-infested land called Indiana. A boy's prison if there ever was one. Six months out of the year we were forced to wear big heavy coats, boots and mostly stay inside. For a young lad like myself that was truly a prison.
So when spring came, it was off with the shirt and back to shorts. All the boys would race down the hill to Williams Creek (Which explains how I got all the stitches in my forehead, story next time), carrying our fishing poles, hooks baited with Oscar Myers hot dogs (yes, I said hot dogs, we were only kids remember), and battle it out in the raging waters of Williams Creek to see who was really a man (He who catches the biggest fish).
I never caught the biggest fish. It was always Kevin, or Kent or even once my little sister (Oh... how humiliating, so much so that I remember it 30 odd years later).
The trips to the creek may have resulted in more injuries than fish, but they were truly formative in how they affected my mind. My little boy mind learned to think in terms of "To be respected you had to catch the biggest fish". The point might not be clear to you now, but I promise shortly you will begin to understand my fishing "obsession" and how it, and the Barracuda, affected my life. I became determined to catch the biggest fish, but never did I dream that it would decide to catch me... At least I never dreamed that "before it happened".
WE MOVED
Several things happened about that time. Things that I'm not sure you would believe. And so I won't go into them much. I doubt many of you would believe that I am the grandson of the man that Time Magazine called, "The second largest landholder in the world", that there were kidnapping threats on the lives of my siblings and I, etc... So for now....
I will pass on these and simply say that events happened that precipitated a sudden move to Florida.
And somewhere between 1968 and 1970 (short memory here), during the time of Woodstock, Vietnam and some guy saying "One Small Step for Man...." (well you get the idea)... one little boy and his family moved to the Florida Keys... towards my destiny with a big fish....
LAGOON MOTEL
When we arrived in Florida my parents decided that they wanted to live on an island. We stayed at several hotels, but finally decided upon "The Lagoon Motel" in Marathon, Florida. We met some really nice people, "The Tanners", and stayed right on the water. It was great. For the first time in my life I was next to "Real Water". Not that fake water like they have up north. This was real water with salt, and everything (The ocean).
And most of all BIG FISH.
The hotel sat on a canal, with our cabin right next to the water. You could walk down the wooden docks to where all the charter fishing boats were tied up. I spent half my time bent over the edge of the dock trying to look for fish (There were a lot of what I considered, at the time, big ones).
I fished every single moment I could for several days. For once, I was going to catch the biggest fish. After fishing I would jump in the water to wash the fishy smell off. I never once even thought of the fact that there were VERY BIG FISH in the water. I was young, naive, and more than a little stupid (anyone who ties the dog to the back of the van bumper and forgets to tell Dad, is stupid, and thank goodness the dog survived).
On the third day I finally caught a big fish. OK, to me it was a big fish (5 pounds). Remember, I was only 9. It fought like the dickens (I have no idea what that word means, does anybody?). It took me five minutes to land it, and when I did, I had no idea what it was. It was all kinds of colors, a bright green body, bright orange gills and a beak. Just like a bird. I don't remember exactly what I thought at the time, but I do know I was scared to death of a fish that was all those weird colors...
Fortunately, Mr. Tanner came along. He explained to me that the fish was called a "parrot" fish, which makes sense because it has all the same colors as a parrot. He was also kind enough to explain to me that the beak was for breaking rocks, so that the parrot fish could eat rocks (coral is actually a living organism). Then he helped me throw the parrot fish back (umm... I heard somewhere that parrots bite).
Next I caught some little fish (about a pound) that made weird noises. It scared the heck out of me when I reached for the fish and it made a grunting noise at me. Mr. Tanner said those were called "Grunts". Oh duh.... And when I caught a little fish that blew itself up in a ball, he called that a "Puffer".
A BABY BARRACUDA
Later that day.. I caught a little fish.. about a foot long... It look a little like a trout. I reached out to grab it, and Mr. Tanner came running.
He hollered. Don't touch it! Give me a break, this fish was skinny and couldn't even weigh a pound.
I was really beginning to have my doubts about Mr. Tanner. First he tells me that the green thing is called a parrot fish (after some deep thought I had begun to think he was teasing me). A fish that made a noise was called a "grunt". And one that blew itself into an air-filled ball covered with spikes was called a puffer. Oh lets not forget the snapper (I understood that one when it snapped its little teeth down on my little finger).
So I ask him, "Why not?" He says that fish will take my fingers off.
Huh? This little fish take my fingers off? I don't think so. I started to reach for it again. He grabbed my hand with one of his. Then with his other hand he grabbed the little fish. He used the fishing line to pull the fish's jaws open. And then I believed. I have never seen a fish with more teeth than a barracuda. And I profusely thanked Mr. Tanner (after counting my fingers). I said, wow. I sure am glad that they are small. I was swimming down here a little while ago. That was the last time I ever jumped into "the ocean" without looking. Because Mr. Tanner told me that he had personally seen one of these fish that was 6 feet (um... I was about 3 feet at the time, that meant the fish he saw was twice as big as me... yikes), and had heard that some had been seen as big as 10 feet. He also said that sometimes they swam in schools of hundreds of them.
But the scariest news was when he told me that Marathon and the Florida Keys were the world's largest breeding ground for barracudas. This was where the big barracuda's came to make little barracudas. Swimming anyone?
I kept looking at him, at the fish and the little wet foot prints from where I had been swimming just a short while ago. Thanks to that little barracuda, and Mr. Tanner, I have never gone into the water without looking first....
BADDTEDDY MEETS BIG DADDY
Later that day, my father announced that we had a new home. There was a lot of jumping up and down, hollering and screaming (sorry about catching my hook in your leg Dad), followed by a ton of questions. Where, when, how's the fishing?
The next day, destiny and I met. Or I should say, me and Big Daddy, the king of the barracudas. It started innocently enough. We piled into the family van (Oh what an ugly shade of green) and headed to our new home.
Marathon is located 58 miles north of Key West. The northern end of the island is connected to a series of 33 bridges leading back to Miami and the great up north. The southern end of the island is connected to the longest bridge in the U.S. Called simply "The Seven Mile Bridge", it leads from Marathon towards Key West. The biggest building on the island is "Fisherman's Hospital" which says a lot about the locals if you really think about it, lol.
So here I am. Right dab smack in the middle of all this ocean. Wonderful, at least that's what I thought until I reached our new home, and met Big Daddy, King of the Barracudas.
We pull up to our new home. Our fist thought, wow, it's kinda small remember we were on the road from riches to rags). But that was only the view from the front (in island terminology, the landward side is called the back...). What Dad hadn't told us was that the other side of the house was on a canal. A canal leading to the Gulf of Mexico, or to us kids "the ocean". It took all of ten seconds for me to look over the house and grow bored, and a lifetime has been spent thinking about that little backyard plot of land adjacent to the ocean.
My first thought was... Why didn't I bring my fishing poles... Eeek! I was in heaven. We had arrived. Our little family consisted of: Father known as Dad, mother known as Mom, a little sister named Ginny and yours truly, Stevie Weevie (I really hated that name). Oops we had Ding Dong the Dog, and the invisible sibling (maybe I'll explain someday, and then again maybe I won't). Just the 6 of us, or make that 7 as you will soon see...
So, while the adults are looking through the house (It turns out Mr. Tanner had bought the house next to our new home, and had talked my Dad into this one) yours truly was running around outside. The first thing I did was run to the water. I took in a deep breath and tasted the salt of the ocean in the air (Not to mention a little stale seaweed). I was thrilled. All us kids and the dog are having a great time running around. It's a little boys idea of heaven.
Then I got serious. It was time to check out the fishing. I examined our waterfront property. The back of our home was at the exact end and center of the canal so we had a direct view of the ocean. The seawall along the back of our new home was a concrete wall. There was a dock that was basically a wooden staircase going down into the ocean. You could walk right down into the ocean. TOO COOL.... The adults explained to me that the water was 15 to 20 feet deep. WOW... And it was fairly clear. I could make things out on the bottom (barely). And despite the sun's refection (glare) I could see fish swimming. YESSSSS! A chance to prove my manhood (at 9?). Life is good.
I wanted a better view of the fish. I had learned at the Lagoon Motel that if you lay down next to the docks and look under them into the shade that you can see a lot farther underwater because the docks shade blocks the suns glare. So I ran next door, to what was going to be Mr. Tanner's dock. I climbed down on his dock which was a flat wooden dock which was only about a foot above the water and leaned over the edge. I could see fish. Big Fish. Some of them 5 or even ten pounds swimming down there. I was going to catch the biggest fish. Prove I was a man. And feel good about myself. LIFE IS GOOD...
Then I picked up a few rocks and started skipping them on the water.
Then simply throwing them to watch the small fish scatter. LIFE WAS GREAT.
And then.....
Yep...
I threw a rock.... a big one, about the size of my hand... it hit the water with a splash. The fish scattered... it began to sink... and then a huge black shape came racing up and stopped just inches from my sinking rock. This big shape had eyes. It was a fish. A FRIGGING HUGE FISH... the biggest fish I had ever seen in my life... And it looked at me with those big, black dead fish eyes... (Yes... fish can see us as... well as we can see them) It opened its mouth slowly (It's teeth were as big as my fingers)... and it swallowed my rock....
There was a lot of screaming... (nothing coherent I'm sure) After all... what exactly would you scream in that situation.. ummm.. Big Fish... Big Fish.. BIG FISH? Or "IT SWALLOWED MY ROCK"? I was like a miniature air raid siren.. but louder... and the adults came running...
The barracuda is still sitting there looking at me... The adults look at that huge fish... the fish spits out the rock... which starts to slowly sink... the fish takes one last look at us.. then it turns and s-l-o-w-l-y swims off. I swear if a fish can swagger, that fish was swaggering as it swam off. If there had been bubbles, I'm sure when they had popped they would have sounded like an evil laugh... heckling the screaming little boy... the little boy whose name just might be.... LUNCH.....
Mr. Tanner tried to calm me down. He said that Barracudas (BARRACUDAS!!!) rarely ever attack people. Ummm.... if you are a nine year old boy.. you don't think about the millions of people who didn't get eaten by barracudas... you think about the ones who did... And especially about the next one... This guy sure wasn't helping.
He did try... He explained that there are barracudas all over Florida (No child psychologist here), that they rarely bite people (oops), and that this particular barracuda had been living in the canal for years (just what I wanted to hear) and had never bitten a single person (yet).
I asked if we could get a house on a different island, but Dad just laughed. But later, I heard him asking Mr. Tanner the same questions I had. He had seen the fish, and he had seen me. Let's face it, if there was a contest, I didn't have a chance... Mr. Tanner laughed and said the Barracuda was harmless. One thing I realized after all these years, I knew Mr. Tanner for years, but I never once saw "him" get into the water.
NANCY MEETS A BARRACUDA
Mr. Tanner had a little girl named Nancy. Nancy Tanner. She was about two years younger than me. She was also the world's biggest tomboy. I remember one thing in particular.. she loved Scooby Doo... If anything fun happened.. if she caught a fish.. or was just in a good mood.. You would hear her call out Scooobbyyy Dooooooobbbbbyyyyy Dooooooooo....
Well, there was one day she wasn't thinking about Scooby Dooo. That was the day she almost became lunch for The Five Foot Barracuda. There were four of us kids out on a little sailboat called a sunfish. We were coming back from an island that was half a mile offshore. We were coming back against the wind (what little wind there was) and were having to zig zag (tack) back and forth to get home. We would go from one side of the canal to the other and would only move 20 feet forward. It was taking forever... So we got bored and someone (who shall remain nameless) threw Nancy Tanner in the water....
Nancy started swimming for our dock. Then my dad yells that the barracuda is under the dock. This is normally a joke to all of us. We yell it all the time. Along with "Shark.. Sharkkkk.. everytime someone goes swimming... " But this time he seemed serious and went running... for a spear...
None of us knew what to do.... I couldn't get to Nancy with the boat (we were facing the other way with the wind against us... The barracuda was under the dock she was swimming to... and the other side of the canal is a long way... Nancy swims back and forth in several different directions in her panic and makes trying to pick her up with the sailboat even harder. We are all in a panic....
Then our hero arrives.. My Dad... He had a lobster jig (A four-foot wood shaft with a metal head that has four big spear tips on it). He climbs down the steps of the dock... grabs the spear by the top of the shaft... raises his arms in the air.. and shoves it down with all his might... making a big splash... Unbelievably, he hit that barracuda with all his might.... with a spear with four heavy duty metal prongs on it... and the barracuda just sat there... Dad raises up the spear.. all the prongs are bent in different directions (Barracuda scales are like armor).... and Dad stands there too stunned to speak as the Barracuda swims off s-l-o-w-l-y... Nancy isn't eaten, but we all have a new respect for the fact that if the barracuda chose to eat any one of us at any time, we were lunch. No ifs' no ands, no butts... Simply the barracuda decided if we lived or died.... All but Mr. Tanner who with all his words of wisdom never went in the water.....
BOB MEETS A BARRACUDA
Like I said, "The Barracuda" had become a legend. It was known to all the neighbors, and it was known to all of their friends. It was even known to all of our friends a thousand miles away in the cold lands of Indiana. Brr.... I hate even thinking about snow....
So when we would have visitors come down from up north, they would want to go out behind the house and see if they could see "The Barracuda". There weren't barracudas. There was just one Barracuda. No other fish in the ocean, before or since, has held such a reputation among us land lubbers. Simply, there are billions of fish in the ocean, but if you say "The Barracuda" to people who lived in Marathon back in those days, they will know exactly which fish you meant. He was special, also a member of the family, and like I said a celebrity...
Ok.. there was one fish more famous... Down the road about 30 miles on another Island was a placed called "Theatre of the Sea". That's the place where all the "Flipper" episodes were filmed. I have to agree that Flipper was more famous, but first, Flipper was a mammal, not a fish, and second... Flipper was penned in a small area (It only looked like he had the freedom to swim in and out) and had to be bribed with fish. Our barracuda was a free spirit that hung around our homes by choice... So I stand by the fact that he was the most famous fish in Marathon, Florida during the 60's and 70's.
Some friends of Dad's decided to come down for a visit. The father's name was Bob. And to this day I don't know what he said to Dad to piss him off, but he must have... They had an argument around the side of the house, and then came out back trying to pretend everything was OK.
So Bob's standing in our back yard in a three piece suit and tie (Kinda uppity up for the Florida Keys in the summer time). He insists on seeing "The Barracuda". And he didn't mean later. He wanted to see it NOW. Ummm.. remember this is a fish with a mind of its own living in the ocean (Unlike Flipper in his underwater cage). Well, all us kids run to find the barracuda... We look under the docks, the boats, all over. No barracuda.
Bob starts with, there really isn't a barracuda, the whole attitude thing... about at this point Dad looks under our dock, and says..Bob... come here.... I see "The Barracuda". Bob comes over, leans out a little but can't see anything. Dad says.. You have to lean out a little so you can look under the dock without getting the sun's glare... Bob still can't see the barracuda... Dad leans out and says.. I can still see him.. He's still there... Bob looks.. No Barracuda... leans father... starts to say something.., Dad gives him a push. Bob goes in, suit and all... and scrambles to get out of the water. Away from the Barracuda. I was never so proud of Dad as I was that day. :-)
Other incidents occurred with the barracuda, a few minor tangles with the local black tip and shovel nose shark populations, but nothing really bad happened. In the winter we had schools of 3 and 4 foot barracuda come in, but we weren't worried because none of us went swimming in the cold.
OBSESSION
But my obsession with that Barracuda grew. If I could catch "The now "Six Foot Barracuda", I would be a hero. I dreamed about that fish. And truth be known, I still do. In the daytime I might be afraid of him, or at least indifferent, but at night in the safety of my bed, I had the courage of a lion at dinner time. In my silly child's mind I dreamed of putting a ramp on top of the house, mounting a big spear on the front of it... and riding the bike off the roof (spear first) to joust the evil barracuda and save the princess (We'll talk about BaddTeddy's first crush some other time).
You see what I'm telling you ... don't you... that somehow in my mind... my need to prove myself... to stop feeling like a failure.. to be a grown up... was to prove myself in a contest of man versus beast... As a child.. boy versus barracuda.. in my stories... teddy bear versus dragon...
That barracuda was the first real dragon I ever faced... and I dreamed of saving the princess from it... (I know it sounds lame now, but I was only 9 years old, so GIVE ME A BREAK.....)
BADDTEDDY MEETS MR. BARRACUDA
Sooner or later it was bound to happen... The barracuda and I would both be in the water at the same time... and we would meet... and I had to remember the most important lesson you can ever learn when dealing with animals... SHOW NO FEAR....
It was a hot summer day. The family was playing in the back yard. A friend of mine (Andy) and I were going lobstering. Basically, this meant we put on face masks and snorkels (He wore one, I never could stand using snorkels). He was wearing flippers (to make him swim fast) and I was barefoot. I loved the feel of the ocean and hated to cover myself with all that plastic stuff.
So we start going down the canal... Swimming down to the bottom and along the canal walls looking for antennas (Lobster, not car) sticking out of holes in the coral. Once we saw the antennas we would reach into the walls and grab the lobsters. And hope nothing else grabbed us.
So here we go down the canal, innocent as can be. Just another day. Nothing special. Not expecting anything to happen. A perfect day to be a kid.
We start to swim into a small cave in the canal wall. It's almost shaped like a U-turn... just a few feet into the wall and then you come back out... and so we swim in looking down... for lobsters... and then I decide I need air (who doesn't). So I look up and I am face to face with "The Now Six Foot Barracuda". It is less than two feet from my face. I start to scream (not the best idea underwater). The barracuda opens it's mouth, all the way.... There are teeth inside that would give a pit bull nightmares... A whole lot of teeth.. and they are less than two feet from my face...
... (Bubble... Bubble........) all thoughts of courage, fighting the metaphorical dragon and saving the princess gone..... I turned and swam as fast as I could towards the dock... My mask had fallen off when I screamed and was dragging behind me. I had no flippers (for speed), no snorkel for air, and I swam approximately 150 feet without stopping for air once.... I was a lean mean swimming machine... and I was heading for shore....... I was heading for the dock... the one in our back yard with the steps that went down into the water.. When I reached them... I didn't bother trying to walk up... I swam up the steps.. and I was still swimming when I got up on the concrete and then the grass.. I was still trying to swim and they were holding me down... It took them a few minutes to get me calmed down.. Not to mention breathing and the water out of my lungs.... and I kept trying to tell them what happened (between gulps of air) and then they all started laughing...
I WAS MADDDDDDDDDDD... I was nearly killed... My head had nearly been inside the mouth of a huge Barracuda and then I had nearly drowned trying to get away... How dare they laugh at me....
I was so furious I couldn't listen to what they had to say.. And they were laughing so hard that they could barely say even a single word. Finally Dad caught his breath and explained....
They had heard me scream... The whole neighborhood had heard me scream.... And I had screamed so bad that I had scared the barracuda... Andy who I had forgotten about told me that he had seen the barracuda just after I did, he had seen the barracuda open it's jaws when the barracuda and I had accidentally almost bumped into each other, but he had seen something I hadn't. He saw me scream that air raid scream of mine... and he saw the look in the barracuda's eyes as it turned around as fast as it could to swim the other way. I had screamed so loud that I had scared the barracuda away...
What Dad and the others had been trying to tell me is that two seconds after they saw me scream and start swimming towards shore, they had seen the barracuda come shooting down the canal "away" from me. They had all realized what had happened long before I got to shore (The barracuda and I had scared each other) but because I would not stop swimming for air, or the steps for that matter, they hadn't been able to tell me... And so seeing me swim all that way, screaming underwater while the barracuda did the same thing in the other direction, it had been all they could do not to start laughing as I swam up the steps of the dock and onto shore....
EPILOGUE
The barracuda and I lived with each other in peace after that. Often sitting there just a short distance apart. Me with my fishing pole, and him with those black cold dead fish eyes. Over the years, thinking about it, I even started to think of him as a friend in a way. I've realized that at any time he wanted too he could have eaten me, but he hadn't. And he gave me something wonderful. One of those special childhood memories that will last forever, and a reason to write this story. Looking back I feel almost guilty. The last time I had seen him, the water had been extra clear, the sun had been at just the right angle, and I had seen four new scars on the back of his head. Scars from my father's jig. Maybe he was just curious watching Nancy and he really wasn't looking for a Scooby Snack (Sorry, I just had to say it)...
Ok, here we go again. My cousin and I are back on the same Florida lake, and we have decided to fish with real live shiners. Shiners are any numerous small silvery fishes of the family Cyprinidae, and we love to fish with them. However, it turns out the shiners we had, which were very large, attracted more than we could handle that day. Something big, I mean huge, started attacking our lines. They would hit like a big Tarpon, and take our line and shiner to boot. It turned out to be a very big mystery for the day, as we never found out what was hitting our lines. The big fish just kept hitting and soon we were out of bait and tackle. All in all, it was a wonderful fishing day, and a day we can always talk about the big one that got away.
Go fishing today, and if you are too busy toooo go fishing, you are just tooooooo busy.
The appeal of deep sea fishing begins where the water has become a dark blue essence, where land is far out of sight. So far out of sight as to belong to the different era of a hearty breakfast ashore well before dawn. Out here the mightiest creatures may be the predator or the prey. Any emergency must be dealt with on the terms of the sea. Although the deep sea fisherman usually returns safely, with only a sunburn, this is nevertheless true adventure.
In North Florida, deep sea fishing belongs essentially to the Gulf Stream and to the wandering eddies and branches that flank it. Immediately along St. Augustine's shore, surf fisherman compete for redfish, pompano and whiting. Just beyond the near shore in waters forty to one hundred feet deep, there is excellent fishing for king and Spanish mackerel, small tuna, tarpon and the sociable barracuda. This fishing is within the capabilities of most boats and gives any number of people a pleasant taste of the sea. Yet the deep sea crew does not slow down in these waters. You plug in the coordinates to the "ledge" with St. Augustine lighthouse behind you and sunrise a glimmer on the horizon, the compass reads 100 degrees and the radio relays reports of other boats ahead and behind, all seemingly crewed by Daffy Duck. The first flying fish erupt from the swells. Porpoises scramble to ride the bow wave. A toy tanker appears on the rim of the world. Somewhere near the "ledge", the Stream waters reveal themselves quite clearly to the eye.
The first sight is a shock, looking into depths the color of blue topaz. The suspicion that this could be your day of days edges into consciousness. Here the engines are cut to a murmur. The leaders are clipped to lines, the outriggers swung out. The baits first skip in the water and then settle down in varying lengths from the stern. The reels are checked. Fishing begins.
Fish of the open sea are accustomed to taking prey that is moving fast itself. The trolling speed is sometimes set surprisingly high - large species of the mackerel family (Wahoo, King) can move through the water at better than thirty knots. Strikes can be spectacular. A 50 lb. dolphin will greyhound across the surface to take a bait, dive sixty feet and, visible all the time, rise like a Poseidon missile into a series of acrobatics.
Part of the magic of deep sea fishing is that it is carried out on the edge of the unimaginable. The trout fisherman, even the salmon fisherman, fishes with poetry and technique, but they fish within limits for there is only so much that will fit into a mountain stream. Not so in The Stream. A foot behind the bait, parting the water just twenty yards astern, may be the throat of a 500 lb. blue marlin or a mako shark. The beginning of a battle to last eight hours or more may be two seconds away at any moment the lines are in the water.
There is an unusual delight and remembrance of those sports whose imagery relates closely to home. St. Augustine, the nation's oldest settlement, remains a child of the sea. The air of Salt Run before dawn when every surface is as wet as after a thunderstorm, the sun rising from a fiery sea, the exciting dance of the lures, the ice cold beer as the Stream slips to the stern homeward bound, along with the outrageous camaraderie at the dock at Camachee Cove and the pan bread at Oscar's, are images equally of deep sea fishing and this area's life. They are impossible to improve upon. And sixty miles out, a meandering thunderstorm flickering far astern, with your line being ripped out by a marlin rising out of the sea like a flying boxcar, you will remember how it once was there in The Stream. When united by good and kind feelings, you and your friends captured your dreams.
Cape Cod, Massachusetts is an angler's dream-come-true. From Cape Cod Bay to the rips of Vineyard Sound to the beaches of the Outer Cape to the canyons offshore, Cape Cod is sure to deliver on great fishing adventures.
The Cape, like most saltwater fisheries is somewhat seasonal. Spring and Fall see migrations of huge "cow" striped bass along the coast. The "lazy days" of summer see great top-water action with marauding bluefish. As summer eases into fall the fishing opportunities explode in the fertile waters of the Cape. Powerful "cow" stripers emerge from the depths, tough toothy bluefish slash through the rips and bonito and false albacore boil the surface with their rocket attacks on sand eels, tinker mackerel and killie's.
Cape Cod Bay is alive with whales, stripers, bluefish and near-shore tuna. The last few years have seen huge schools of surface-feeding "football" bluefin tuna (60 - 150 lbs.), tackle-busting adolescents that can be caught with a variety of tackle and techniques. Also in "the Bay" are the "footballs" parents, huge powerful "giant Bluefin" that can exceed 1,000 lbs. The offshore canyons south of Cape Cod are rich with tuna, sharks, broadbill swordfish, white marlin, dolphin (mahi-mahi), blue marlin and wahoo. Perhaps what makes Cape Cod such a fabulous saltwater fishery is the accessibility of so many species, and the variety of tackle and techniques by which these fish can be caught. And for diversity, it is not uncommon to catch any and all of these species in one spot, on the same day!
Cape Cod provides angling opportunities for "trophy" hunters, but is also an ideal place for youngster's to make their first "catch." Fishing Cape Cod can be as simple and inexpensive as fishing for "snapper blues" with a reel-less bamboo "snapper" pole, and as expensive and exotic as an overnight canyon trip. All of the inshore species can be caught from public beaches, or other easily accessed areas, and can be caught on fly-fishing gear. Baits can range from live eels and pogies, to frozen squid, mackerel and herring, metal "spoons," soft-plastics to hard-body plugs and top-water poppers and sliders.
Cape Cod has many excellent guides and charter boats, and hundreds of tackle and bait shops that can help with tackle, bait and locations to fish. These folks know where the action is, what baits and techniques are working and are happy to share their knowledge to "put you on the fish."
A couple of points to note are that it is illegal to target striped bass is federal waters (beyond the 3-mile territorial limit) and a Federal Highly Migratory Species (HMS) permit is required for sharks, tuna and billfish. The offshore charter boats will have an HMS permit that covers all of the anglers on the boat, but if you plan to head offshore in your own boat, be sure you and your boat are up to long trip out, and back. As always, check the weather forecast and make sure you have all of the required safety equipment and permits.
