    
Capt. Scott Sparrow
Unregistered guest
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 | | Posted on Sunday, January 06, 2002 - 10:36 pm: | |
When you fish as much as we do, you have to be careful using superlatives. There are so many great days on the water that to say a day is the "best" one is to insult so many fine memories. With that in mind, let me say that December 27-29 were three of the best fishing days in memory, with the 29th taking the cake for the most magical and beautiful fishing day of 2001. We may have caught more fish on other days, but there was something about a day so beautiful in mid-winter that aroused feelings of gratitude and awe in both Kathy and me. But
first let's review the days leading up to the 29th.
Lewis Robinson of Rockport came down the day after Christmas to fly fish on my new Curlew. Lewis wanted to see how the Curlew performed, and catch some reds, too. While his wife Linda stayed back at Kingfisher, he and I ventured out early on the 27th. We headed to the launch with our regular Kingfisher guests, Henry Bone and Jeff Foster of Austin, arriving just in time to claim one of the ramps while Henry took the other with his Maverick HPX. We took off from the dock in pretty thick fog -- a familiar experience during December and January.
Lewis and I headed for the east flats where the water was glassy as far as you could see. We gave the fish time to settle down, and then I began poling toward the sun, which was already starting to burn off the low-hanging fog. It was eerie and bright for an early December morning.
Soon we spotted tails, so I began to pole Lewis toward them. For the next three hours or so, we remained in the same general area, where Lewis managed to hook and land three reds over 24 inches on a red Mother's Day fly. The reds continued to tail the rest of the day, even though the wind came up a bit in the afternoon. We were fortunate that they continuted to show themselves, for a thick bank of clouds came up and made it difficult to spot cruising fish with our polarized glasses.
Even though Lewis did well, the reds were difficult to catch: They seemed to be almost totally uninterested in eating. Of course, there had been a full moon the night before, and redfish are typically very finicky the day after a full moon on a cloudless night. However, Lewis is a veteran fly fisher, and knows that just because a red acts offended or uninterested in your fly does not mean that the fish won’t eat on the 10th or even 15th presentation. Indeed, two of the three reds ate the fly as Lewis was making a "Hail Mary" cast over the head of the departing fish. Most fly fishers would have given up hope, but Lewis knew that a well-placed fly -- one that suddenly appears about two inches from the red's nose -- can provoke a strike when nothing else will. He was
amply rewarded for his persistence.
The next day dawned with a cloudless sky, but it was a bit windy at sunrise. We boated over 15 miles to Stover's Point without seeing many fish, and they were nowhere to be seen along the Atascosa Refuge shoreline. So, we headed back to the spot on the east flats where we’d fished the day before. As we approached, we suddenly blew through a school of black drum and some
redfish, so I stopped the boat, and began poling. The wind had stopped, the sky was cloudless, and fish were everywhere. Lewis began to get shot after shot at the same finicky reds that we’d encountered the day before, eventually landing two in the 24-25" range. At one point, Lewis voiced my own feelings about the day by saying, "Where in the U.S., except the Florida Keys,
can you do this on December 28th?" As the day progressed, the wind came up out of the east, blowing us into the setting sun -- making the late-afternoon sight casting nearly impossible. So we called it a day and went in.
The next day, Kathy and I decided to go out together, since the weatherman had predicted perfect
conditions: full sun, no wind, and 75 degrees. Henry and Jeff took off early, while Kathy and I lounged about the house until about 9:30. Just as we were going out the door, the phone rang and it was our buddy Capt. Skipper Ray. He told us he'd just run over several acres of big trout, and he thought we’d like to know. No one -- but no one -- but a great friend parts with that kind of intelligence. I thanked him profusely, and Kathy I took off for the launch with only one thing
in mind: to make a beeline for the trout.
The east flats were glassy as far as you could see, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I knew that
we could sight cast effectively in the thigh-deep water where big trout often cruise in mid-winter. Indeed, as we passed over acres of empty water, we suddently blew through a dozen trout from 24-30 inches long. Needless to say, we stopped and got ready for a wade that we'll never forget.
Our dog Sam was with us, so we gave him some goodies and some water and said goodbye -- for three hours, as it turned out. Imagine water as clear as an aquarium, with sheepshead scurrying about, and schools of baby pig fish and pin fish rippling the surface of the calm water. Shoal grass was intermixed with the
thick-bladed turtle grass, and the bottom was as firm as a sidewalk. We walked with the sun to our back. It took a while for the visibility to improve enough for us to effectively see the fish.
But after about 30 minutes of slow-motion wading, I presented poorly to a nice red that suddenlyappeared about 30 feet away. Again, I presented poorly. The dead calm surface required a highly delicate presentation, which I flubbed. By the time the big fish saw my fly, it was definitely aware of my presence, and turned away in apparent disgust. I felt a little ou of practice, but the beauty of the water was so intoxicating that missing those fish didn't bother me a bit. Well, maybe a teeny bit.
A few minutes later, Kathy saw her first big trout. She presented her red and white deceiver well,
and succeeded in hooking it briefly. But it ran right toward her, as trout are inclined to do, and she lost it after a very brief fight. A while later, she saw another big trout, and missed the strike.
About that time, I spotted another big trout fly out front and short of the fish, and it wheeled and followed. Suddenly its gills flared as it inhaled the Deceiver. But as I went to set the hook, the fly popped free. The fish looked for it; but it saw me and fled before it could relocate the fly.
Then Kathy yelled, "There's big trout all around me! And redfish, too. Everywhere!" I watchedher crouch low and cast to the school. Although I was too far away to see the fish, the area around Kathy was rippling with life. She missed a strike, and then hooked up on a 26 1/2 inch red. While she fought it, the huge school of fish continued milling all around her. She kept
shouting, "Come on over. They're still here." But I was 50 yards away, and by the time I got there, the fish had moved away.
Kathy landed her fish and put it on the stringer so we could take pictures before releasing it.
About then, a sizeable red swam into view, and I made an acceptable cast to it. "A double hook-up!" I yelled. We released both of our fish minutes later, and continued our dream-like walk across the glassy flat.
Then I saw them. Golden flashes, and dozens of dark shadows beneath the surface. The school had returned! But the fish -- mostly redfish it seemed -- were almost 75 feet away, and heading away from me. I probably should have edged closer, but I was a bit impatient, so I double hauled and dropped the fly on the edge of the school. Five or six big fish dogged the fly for 15 feet before one of them slammed it, and missed. Again I cast, and missed another. Then they were gone.
But the action wasn’t over yet. As the wind began to shift to the east, a shadow came out of the glare, heading right for me. A big trout! I cast the unweighted deceiver about 10 feet in front of it, and let it sink. When the fish was about three feet from the fly, I began to strip. The fish sped forward and took it. Minutes later, I landed a 24-25 inch trout -- not huge, but a very beautiful fish. We took some photos of Kathy's red and my trout, and released them as the wind announced that our unforgettable and near-perfect morning was ending.
Well, I hope I haven't bored you. I don't normally go to such lengths in my fishing report, but I just wanted you know how incredible December and January fishing can be. Even today...well, I won't bore you with more fish stories, but it was a great day. It’s really not that unusual. In fact we've had this kind of fishing for the last three winters, in between the cold fronts. If you have a flexible schedule, consider coming down. |
