Lessons Gleaned (Part 1)

Fishing in competitive events can accelerate the learning curve for astute anglers who properly evaluate the successes and failures of their methods and strategies. A simple principle serves as the foundation for this truth―measuring one's catch against others clarifies the quality of the outcome. Over time, the clarity refines one's expectations in various places with disparate environmental conditions in play and facilitates the generation of better plans. Now, I can look back on lessons I gleaned a quarter-century ago when I fished against many of the top trout hunters in the state and recall specific details about events which helped formulate the principles I employ today.

In a series of related features, I'll contemplate the salient decisions I made in Troutmasters events and generate a list of truths revealed by the ways those decisions either helped me succeed or caused me to fail. I hope to make this more than a trip down nostalgia lane, one in which I pat myself on the back for jobs well done. Instead, I intend to make this an honest evaluation of the important choices I made and how I either built on them because they turned out great, or learned to avoid repeating them, because they sabotaged my chances for success. In this first piece, I'll examine how several tournaments, spread out over a span of years, helped reveal some significant truths related to the primary initial decision all anglers must make―the choice of where to fish.

Recalling the details of the first event in which I made a big splash in the Texas coastal fishing scene begins to cast light on my perception of the most important facts related to this basic angling decision. Held on the last day of October and the first of November, 1998, the tournament had a unique format and set of rules. Anglers could fish anywhere they wanted within our state, but were required to weigh their catch each afternoon at the harbor in Matagorda. We fished for a total of ten trout, weighing up to five each day.

Our boats weren't super-fast back then, so the requirement to weigh fish both days restricted where people could fish, at least somewhat. On the days prior to the start of the first Troutmasters Classic, relatively calm winds in the wake of a weak front allowed the water in East Matagorda Bay to turn emerald green, and gulls started hovering and squawking over trout chasing shrimp. At least that's what I heard from the guys who fished there, many of whom intended to try their luck in those waters during the hours of the Classic. "We're catchin' five pounders under the birds over here," one said. "It's gonna take at least a five-pound average to win."

I doubted what he said. Not the part about catching a few five pounders under birds in East Matty, the part about the likely dimensions of the winning weights. Normally, we fished for three fish per day in our events, and stringers of six fish averaging just four pounds won many of those. When the weather turned sketchy, and during the summer heat wave, winning weights often fell to lower levels. I didn't think anyone would be able to maintain a five-pound average for ten fish, despite the shining reports of easy catching in the waters closest to Matagorda Harbor.

For good reasons, many of us considered East Matagorda the best big trout bay in Texas north of the JFK Causeway. After experiencing such a hot bite on the days leading into the Classic, lots of guys launched their boats at the harbor and fished close to the weigh station during the event. The decision, on paper, appeared to make good sense, despite weather forecasts calling for onshore winds to pick up significantly on Saturday, with a front expected to pass over the coast on Sunday.

The forecast made no difference to me; I fished far from the madding crowd, in a place without people. Early in October of '98, a massive flood event in the Texas Hill Country sent copious amounts of freshwater down both the San Antonio and Guadalupe rivers, filling San Antonio Bay with dirty water and wrecking the fishing for trout and redfish. At least that's what most people believed. "The fish are flushed outta there right now," folks said. I knew better. Not because I'm smarter than other people, but because I chose to go and check it out myself, just after the historic floodwaters reached the coast.

Two weeks prior to the tournament, I barely succeeded in launching my boat at Charlie's Baiit Camp, nearly filling my Suburban with bay water in the process. The raging bull of a flood tide obscured the south shorelines of Espiritu Santo and San Antonio bays under an orange-brown layer of river water and forced me to use duck blinds to find my way into one of the Twin Lakes. When I made it to the back shoreline of the cove, I found a distinct line separating clear, salty water from the ugly fresh. The ridiculous heft of the tide necessitated standing in waist-deep water on what was normally dry land in order to cast into the lake. From there, I caught a few trout, proving some still lingered in the area.

By the next weekend, the one prior to the tournament, the tide had fallen somewhat, mixing the saltwater with the fresh in the back of the lake, and the catching improved dramatically. So, knowing I'd have a good chance of weighing ten keepers over two days, and hoping the winds would sabotage the efforts of all the guys fishing in East Matagorda Bay, I decided to try and beat all the hot shots who could fish anywhere in the Lone Star State by fishing in a place largely considered mediocre in terms of producing big trout. The weather helped my strategy produce a satisfying result.

I weighed the biggest trout in the '98 Classic and my stringer of ten trout fell just .05 pounds shy of the winner's stringer of six fish. Neither of us managed to tally thirty pounds, which would represent a three-pound average for ten fish. Most of the contestants who fished East Matty failed to weigh their five fish either day. The gusty south winds muddied the water in the middle, forcing the guys into the coves, where they spread out and made lots of casts for few bites. Over time, the recollection of all these details helped me glean valuable lessons about how best to decide where to fish on any given day.

When trying to figure out exactly where to fish, one should certainly consider the long-term track record of the waters lying within reach, how regularly they produce the desired fish, considering both species and size. Clearly, East Matagorda Bay had (and still has) a better record of producing big trout than San Antonio Bay. So, given benign conditions conducive to catching, trying to win an event like the Classic in San Antonio Bay would make little or no sense. But on the last day of October and first of November 1998, tough conditions reduced the acreage of useful waters in both bays significantly.

I had my own little protected corner, one to which an unusually large number of trout and redfish had retreated, while running from the freshwater gushing into the other end of the bay. Anglers in East Matagorda couldn't effectively target the fish they'd been catching on the days prior to the Classic. Given those facts, my decision turned out almost perfect.

Just as it did some years later, the first time Troutmasters held a tournament in Baffin Bay. In that case, organizers of the event did put limits on where contestants could fish. They placed the southern boundary at the southern entrance of the Land Cut; the south side of the La Quinta Channel, which separates Corpus Christi Bay from Redfish Bay, provided the northern boundary.

Predictably, when Troutmasters held an event in and around Baffin for the very first time, most of the contestants chose to fish within the boundaries of the most highly regarded big trout bay in Texas. From a long-term production standpoint, this certainly made sense. However, spring winds had howled for days leading into the event, mucking up the already brown-tide stained waters in the rock-studded hypersaline estuary. Catching a fish that May weekend proved challenging in Baffin; catching big trout proved nearly impossible.

I chose to fish in a place which actually produces best when the strong hands of steady onshore spring winds push against the Texas coast. Working the protected coves and pockets of Shamrock Cove, in the eastern corner of Corpus Christi Bay, I finished in third place, despite the fact I only weighed four of my allowed six fish. If I'd managed to land any of the three four-pounders I lost near me in the last thirty minutes of fishing time, I'd have won outright. Significantly, others who finished near the top of the leaderboard did so without fishing in the waters of the most famous bay within the allowed boundaries.

Years later, I used this knowledge to help a customer decide where to fish in a different Corpus Christi tournament. With windy conditions mucking up Baffin, he caught the biggest trout in the event while fishing in East Flats, in Corpus Bay. Nearly all his competitors raced south from Flour Bluff, thinking they "had to fish Baffin" to have any chance of winning. Most returned with long faces and light stringers.

Thinking only of these examples, it's easy to draw the following conclusion―fishing in the place with the most famous name isn't always the best idea. But, the opposite can also be true, as I learned in other events. Sometimes, fishing in the bay with the significantly better reputation is the only pathway to any chance for success. I learned this the hard way during a February Troutmasters event held in Matagorda. My partner Ari Schwartz and I decided to go against the grain and fish the coves on the south shoreline of West Bay, while almost all the other contestants tried their luck in East Bay. We fished well, and caught plenty of fish. But with conditions conducive to catching in East Bay, our names did not find their way onto the leaderboard.

Sometimes, fishing in a place with a famous name is the only way, even when that place is packed with people. Weather affects this decision more than any other factor. Conditions conducive to easy catching increase average weights and elevate the importance of using long-term productivity to decide where to fish. Conversely, harsh conditions reduce average weights and limit where one can effectively fish, elevating the potential in places best buffered from the effects of the conditions.