Dealing with the Dearth

When signs of life indicating the presence of fish fall to zero, savvy anglers recognize the need to grind for bites in relatively small spaces. They often choose to fish microspots with excellent long-term records of production. When fishing these small-scale spots, planting the feet and repeatedly casting at and around some specific feature usually provides the best results. In essence, this works because making lots of casts in a known productive place increases the chances of presenting lures close to the faces of inactive fish. 

Signs of life dwindle partly because inactive fish don't aggressively chase after their prey. Fish unwilling to chase prey certainly won't readily attack lures, so catching them requires provoking reaction strikes. Generally, soft plastics work best to urge disinterested fish to take a bite. Slow-sinking twitchbaits work well less often, and topwaters usually prove nearly useless in such situations.

As a trophy trout guide who has spent many days on the water in the colder half of the year, I've found myself dealing with a dearth of signs many times. On one well-documented occasion, we left the dock in darkness and began fishing under a bright moon. On the back side of a cold front, water temperatures had plummeted into the high 50s, after rising above 70 before the front hit.

Soon after we started fishing, I could tell we'd probably have a tough time getting bites. Bright moonlight glinting off the waves provided plenty of light, but we neither saw nor heard any signs of life, and Fat Boys and topwaters failed to produce strikes like they had on multiple outings made in the days prior to this one. Eventually, one of my customers caught a six-pound trout on a soft plastic, verifying what I hoped―some of the big trout I'd been catching on this shoreline remained present, though no jumping mullet, swirls or wakes provided evidence of the fact.

The excruciatingly slow bite perked up a smidgen as the moon settled closer to the horizon and the sun began to rise behind us, so I committed to fishing the place until after the moon had set and the sun rose higher in the sky. We made all our casts at potholes lying close to grass mats on the bank, managing to catch three more trout, all but one of which measured more than 22 inches.  Eventually, I decided to move to a nearby location, one with nearly identical features and a recent record of productivity, where we scratched out two more trout, both of which measured about 23 inches.

A thick cloud bank rolled in about then, and we all committed to throwing soft plastics exclusively. I wound up making three more moves to stretches of the shoreline where I'd experienced recent success, fishing small-scale spots with bare, sandy patches on the bottom, lying close to thick grass mats. Significantly, the gray canopy facilitated our attempts to coax strikes in the shallow, clear water. On a sunny day, none of this would likely have worked. In total, we wound up catching twelve trout between 22 and 29 inches, and we shook off four other big ones after hooking them.

The catch was not a ten out of ten for March, to be sure, but it provided a satisfying outcome for a day on which I never saw a single mullet jump. When no visible signs of life indicate the locations of active trout, fishing small, proven spots with a patient and persistent mindset makes good sense. The previous statement probably rings most true in the first month of the calendar year.

In the Lone Star State, the average temperatures in January historically run colder than in all other months. Typically, the mercury rides low in the glass when signs of life reduce to nil in the New Year's month. Dealing with the dearth in really cold water presents a stout challenge to any angler hoping to catch trout on artificial lures. Relying on several related strategies can help one turn a potentially dead day into a lively one.

When fishing on a January day when signs of life like swirls, wakes, mud stirs, jumping mullet and slicks become nearly or entirely impossible to find, anglers possessing the most detailed knowledge of the layout of areas with relatively deep water where fish ride out cold snaps stand the best chance for success.  The most productive small-scale spots in a situation with scant signs of life in cold weather lie in close proximity to basins, channels and holes where fish sit on the bottom while water temperatures decline after the passage of fronts. In a place like Baffin Bay, many of these areas include sand bars and related rock formations lying tight to the north shoreline.

In other bays, places close to north shorelines, which offer protection against the chilling effects of brisk winter winds, offer excellent potential when the bite gets tough in the heart of winter. Areas like Live Oak Bay in East Matagorda, the North Ridge in Trinity Bay, flats around Stewt's and Sydney islands in Sabine Lake, and Gladys Hole in the Lower Laguna Madre jump instantly to mind. In all these places, structural elements covered by shallow water lie close to deeper water which stays slightly warmer than the water farther away from the buffering effects of the shorelines.

This truth helps one identify general areas to try, but success in the most negative situations relies on more detailed knowledge of sweet spots within these areas. In a bay like Baffin, such spots include specific clusters of rocks with bare, sandy bottom lying close to them, silty potholes on flats, close to drop-offs into the basin, and grassbeds growing on the outer edges of shallow flats. In other bays, where oyster reefs replace serpulid rocks as the primary structural elements, the sweet spots often lie adjacent to shell ridges, in places with silty mud on the bottom, where inactive fish sit on the bottom when not feeding.

Other factors come into play for anglers hoping to identify specific small spaces in which to stand and grind for bites in such negative situations. One of those factors relates to the water clarity. Generally, the water in Texas' bays runs more clear in winter than in other seasons, since some of the life forms creating murky conditions diminish or disappear at low temperatures. Certainly, a consistently productive grinding spot would include water clear enough to allow anglers to see any of the primary structure and cover elements present, to facilitate precise casting. Casts presenting lures along edges and seams work better in general than casts made more randomly, for two related reasons.

First, casts made around the edges of structure and cover elements more often place lures within close proximity of targeted fish. Second, casts made at visible objects in the water provide anglers more hope for a positive outcome; consequently, anglers who can see the structures and cover elements within reach have more patience and persistence. Making dozens or hundreds of casts into water murky enough to prevent seeing any of the layout of the bottom requires a brand of mental toughness most anglers don't possess.

And, water clear enough to allow anglers to see the layout of the place also facilitates the ability of fish to see the lures anglers present to them. These facts provide positive potential, to a point. Certainly, in ultra-clear water, anglers can probe parts of a place precisely and more quickly predict its potential for productivity. But earning reaction strikes in stupid clear water often proves more difficult than earning them in water with decent, though not ridiculously high, levels of clarity. In general, water with low to medium levels of turbidity provides the best chances for turning a tough bite into something more tender. Brighter skies elevate the potential for catching in places with higher turbidity levels, on average.

Once anglers find a microspot known or suspected to offer high potential in January, the focus of the quest shifts to the physical execution of a strategy. In most cases, the best strategy starts with the deployment of a soft plastic lure, either a paddletail or a rattail, rigged on a light jighead, either eighth or sixteenth-ounce. In clear water, the erratic movement patterns of a rattail make more sense, while the straight-line movements and vibrations created by paddletails produce better results in murkier water. Colder water, below about 53°, generally elevates the potential utility of the lighter jigheads.

Using a light jighead to present a soft plastic on or near the bottom requires the angler to exercise patience during the retrieve, allowing the lure to sink after it lands, then using subtle movements of the rod tip and turning the reel handle slowly. In water of marginal clarity, the best plan involves dragging a paddletail slowly along the bottom, hopping it up slightly with gentle twitches, every few feet or so. In clear water, working a rattail close to the bottom, occasionally making contact with the sand or mud, while hopping it around slightly more forcefully makes better sense.

In limited cases, working a slow-sinking twitchbait low and slow, basically reeling it straight in and occasionally causing its head to gently wobble from side to side works well in this situation, especially when the angler has caught lots of fish on these types of lures on recent occasions, or on the same day, before signs of life dissipated. Any angler committing to use a twitchbait instead of a soft plastic in a super negative situation during January should do so with a legitimately high level of confidence. Experimenting with lures (and colors) in such a scenario usually results in diminished chances for success.

Certainly, anglers should methodically experiment with subtle variations in retrieve style while thoroughly probing sweet spots. This experimentation in a place known for its potential to hold fish accomplishes the most important goal of the strategy, allowing the angler to determine which specific type of presentation provides the potential to earn strikes from inactive fish. In contrast, wandering around over long distances and changing lures regularly when dealing with the dearth of signs usually invites a skunk along for the walk.