Just Fishin’

I used to pray every night that I could go fishing every day for a living. Then I finally figured out that the Lord really doesn't work like that, so I just decided to quit the responsible world anyway and ask him to forgive me instead. I'm not sure if I'm being punished or rewarded yet, but so far it's been a pretty interesting run down here at the end of the road. Let's just say that life is a trip.

There is absolutely nothing to do here in Port Mansfield except fish, so most of those who come here can. We have the fortune to visit and fish with a lot of folks who are at the top of their game. The wonderful thing about bay fishing is that there are so many ways to do it that there is something to fuel everybody's primordial calling. There's everything from just going to try and catch fish with whatever it takes to specializing in any number of techniques with various levels of difficulty. There are plenty of 'specialists' out there; from the 'topwater only' guys after one big bite to those who couldn't care less about anything except sight-casting to bone-crushing redfish in remote places. Perhaps that is why fishing is so popular, but no matter where our saltwater passion takes us, it's all good for the soul.

At any rate, no matter where we are in this game, we would all like to think that we are the best at what we like to do best. Sometimes it takes a little humility to remind us that such a premise is merely another delusion, however, that is the one lesson that will prod the honest among us to move the bar. That's another great thing about lure fishing. There will always be room for improvement. Well, I had my rear bumper handed to me the other day by some of those 'specialists', so I thought I'd share.

Where we were, the fish wanted none of my 'highly refined' and proven presentations. They would even spook off 1/16 oz. leadhead and soft plastic if it landed within fifteen feet. Of course, blame it on the fish because I do this every day. "Sorry guys, Saturn isn't aligned with Uranus and they're not going to feed until later. I know these things."

Well, out of my boat jump two of the best dressed, metro-sex looking dudes; complete with pleated pants, Stetson straw hats, fold-down microscopes on their hats, and pulling thick crayon-colored string through long wimpy rods of all things. Interesting, but "fat chance" says I. There is no way these fly-fishermen were going to have even a remote chance except perhaps practice making swooshing sounds with their silly sticks. It smelled of a dead walk and a waste of precious morning time. A stolen oneliner came to mind. "They know how to shop, but can they fish?" Well they could; and they did, in two separate arenas.

The first spot I mentioned was on an extremely thin sand flat at low dawn. The boat had pushed scattered wakes as far as we could see, but as many fish as were in there, the silence screamed "uncatchable conditions". The boat barely floated with the motor up. That's not much, plus the water lay totally becalmed.

The first explosion certainly was a fluke, but then the noise became sporadically familiar as they slowly covered more water. Nano-sized poppers, resembling little burnt marshmallows from a box of Lucky Charms, were repeatedly drawing detonating strikes. "O.K. I'm impressed! Great job!" Then I promptly pulled them out of there to a place where I thought I could play too. After all, thou shalt not threaten my manhood with such effeminate equipment, and don't think we don't have fun challenging each other with different skill sets either–just to keep it all interesting of course. Actually we were off to try and isolate a better concentration of catchable fish, or so I said anyway.

The second spot revealed a sizeable school of redfish slowly milling about the bottom of a narrow, four-foot deep gut. The water was still deathly calm and extremely clear. We pulled some distance ahead of them and waited for the boat wash to settle (something I wish more people would consider instead of torpedoing them like starving attack pilots.) We snuck to nearly waist deep and began probing the gut. Again my finely honed techniques proved futile. It was just one of those days for a level-wind guy. The fly-heads, however, were simply blind casting with little brown and olive colored clousers about " long.

When I say casting, I mean smooth-rolling a weighted line into the backing with rifle-like power and accuracy, and with what amounts to an insect attached to the end of it. They caught aplenty in a very difficult situation, often bowed up two at a time. I didn't understand in the beginning but now know these things, and am either better off for it or quite possibly gender challenged. These fly guys just flat kicked my butt.

The underlying moral of all of this ramble is actually several. One- there are so many 'styles' to master in lure fishing that we won't live long enough to conquer them all. Second- even when we think we know something, there will be someone right behind you to challenge you differently–which is always a good thing. Third- there is a time and place for everything, and David Sams nailed it in the intro to his book Engulfed. To paraphrase; "Most fishermen fish primarily for the enjoyment. You had eight on live bait. He had four on plugs, and another guy had two on flies. Dead heat."

Everybody has their own style and their own measuring device for success. If Texas Parks & Wildlife determines that we need to adjust trout limits down here on the lower coast, I betcha we're going to see a lot more 'specialists' out there. That's O.K., because although I don't pretend to know much, I do know that fishing is like a big buffet and only those with little imagination are starving.

As for me, I think I'll continue to work on catching some of those fish that I haven't been able to catch yet, even if it means wearing pleated pants and picking up a Wanda Wand. Anyway, no matter which direction we go in our fishing pursuits, or how far we take it, let's remember that whether it is sweat, tears or the ocean, all things can be cured by saltwater. I'm ready for tomorrow's dose. It's just fishin'.