Lessons Gleaned (Part 2)

In last month's piece, I acknowledged how competing against others in tournaments can accelerate an angler's learning curve, by forcing a comparison of results. Over time, this process clarifies the quality of outcomes and provides clues which can enhance one's ability to make better decisions about locations to fish and strategies to deploy. Of course, all angling efforts begin with a basic choice of where exactly to fish. My competitive angling experiences revealed some truths about this decision.

Certainly, one should consider the long-term productivity rate of a place when thinking about where to start fishing when a tournament begins. With conditions conducive to catching in play, wise anglers often choose the place known to produce the desired fish at the highest average rate, if they can. On the other hand, when negative conditions reduce the chances of catching in some parts of the area, the same anglers prioritize fishing in places best buffered from the effects of the conditions, sometimes ignoring their long-term productivity rates.

So far, this discussion has revolved around deciding where to fish at the start of a day or event. Because many anglers, especially fishing guides, fish frequently in their home waters, the mechanics by which they choose the place to start a day differ from those used by people less familiar with an area. In many cases, the choice of where to fish on a given day becomes simple, because it's based on an obvious truth―the place with the highest potential to produce the desired fish is likely the last place some of them were caught.

This truth first became crystal clear to me during the years I fished against many of the top trout anglers in the state during Troutmasters events. Significantly, these events took place over two days. In many cases, the anglers who made big catches on day one decided to start off day two fishing where they'd caught their best fish on day one. This makes perfect sense to anyone with even a small amount of salt pulsing through their veins.

We can all agree on the wisdom of returning to the scene of a good catch within 24 hours of making the catch, and many guides do this on a daily basis. But wise anglers avoid a pitfall often associated with making such a clear choice. In many instances, certainly in lots of events in which I participated all those years ago, anglers who did well on day one crashed and burned on day two, because the good first-day catch blinded them to the truth about the next day's situation.

If the weather and other celestial conditions remain much the same from day one to day two, standing and grinding in a spot, hoping for a repeat of the previous day's events does make sense, to a point, especially if multiple signs indicate some of the right fish remain present and might well take a bite. But when weather conditions, tide cycles and signs change, smart anglers resist the urge to try and force events to repeat themselves, choosing instead to abandon the place in favor of one which makes better sense, given the evolving situation.

Analyzing the choices I made in competitive events helps clarify these concepts further. Take the March 2001 Rockport Troutmasters tournament, for instance. I did well in an established, productive part of Estes Flats on day one, placing third with a modest stringer of three solid fish on a tough day of fishing when cool northeast winds in the wake of a recent front created a difficult bite, and most of the contestants weighed just one or two fish. Showing commitment, determination and persistence, I used my Fat Boys to coax about a dozen fish to take a swipe in moderately clear water.

Sadly, while sitting in the truck at the boat ramp the next morning, I talked myself out of returning to the spot to start day two. Winds had increased overnight, and I figured they'd muddy the water in the place where I'd made the catch on day one. So, I chose to run around looking for a better place to try and win the event, without ever even checking the condition of the water on the flat, despite the fact it lay within less than a mile of the boat ramp I used to launch my boat. After I found a skunk in every spot I tried, a haunting hunch suddenly occupied my mind.

Realizing I should have at least tried the day-one spot for a little while to start day two, I raced back to it, arriving about 11 a.m.. The brisk winds had indeed negatively altered the water quality, but it still looked barely good enough to allow me to make things work and catch a fish. I hopped out and started trying desperately to earn some strikes, using the same lures and techniques I'd deployed successfully on day one. But within half an hour, the water quality went from marginal to royally wrecked, killing what little confidence I had left. I walked to the weigh station with an empty bag a few hours later and the magnitude of my mistake revealed itself.

The line at the scales was about as short as any I saw during my career fishing those events. The cratering conditions made catching a fish nearly impossible. If I'd headed directly to the spot on Estes Flats first thing on day two, I might well have caught and weighed one or more fish. Given the fact I fell just three places on the board despite the stink of the skunk, this really stung. Driving home, I promised myself I'd never make the mistake of abandoning a productive place on day two without at least giving it some chance to reproduce a good catch.

This scenario came up again at least two more times later the same year. In the August event, held in Matagorda, I made an excellent catch on day one and saw my name atop the leaderboard, weighing one trout close to seven pounds and losing her twin after she cut my monofilament main line on some sharp oyster shells in shin-deep water. Remembering what happened in Rockport, I knew I had to go back to the spot the second day and give it a chance to produce another big bite or two. I also had the good sense to realize two significant facts which would likely prevent such a thing from happening.

First of all, the weather changed dramatically overnight. Strong onshore winds replaced calm conditions, sending waves across the wide body of West Matagorda Bay, crashing onto the shoreline at Sand Point, where I'd caught my fish on day one. Secondly, the reef tight to the shore where I'd made my catch, not much bigger than a school bus, wouldn't likely hold more than a few big trout, and I'd killed one and hooked another on Saturday. When my eyes confirmed my fears about ugly water quality and a few dozen empty casts further diminished my confidence, I abandoned the little reef and spent the remainder of Sunday fishing in a corner of Keller Bay protected from the strong winds.

I caught just one trout big enough to take to the scales and fell to third place, but I also realized I'd have fallen even farther if I'd refused to see the truth inherent to the situation after the weather changed, and given the diminutive size of the spot where I'd caught the big trout. I stand by my decision to at least check the reef on day two, also my choice to leave it fairly quickly, given the conditions. Similar events unfolded at the end of the next month, in another event held in Rockport.

In that one, I and four partners coaxed about 25 bites from handsome trout weighing between four and seven pounds in a tiny corner of a small cove. I beat all the anglers in the event outside our group by at least four pounds with my 16.5-pound stringer, and two others with me managed to weigh at least 15 pounds. But, we all knew we likely had few fish left to target in the spot on day two.

I told the pair of partners riding in my boat to remain ready to find somewhere else to fish if we didn't have what we wanted by about 10 o'clock. Predictably, the five of us managed to land just one four-pounder by that time on Sunday morning, and we headed elsewhere to try and find three fish to bring to the scales. I did weigh three, but lost all my lead and fell to third. I believe the result would almost certainly have been worse if I'd stubbornly stood in the corner of that cove hoping Saturday's fish would reappear with eager appetites.

In total, these experiences helped me draw several important conclusions about how best to choose a place to fish and how to adjust if and when, almost always when, things don't go exactly as planned. First of all, it's important to remember this―yesterday's fish cannot be caught today. Each day puts its own unique set of variables in play. That said, the best place to start fishing today is often the last place a number of the right fish were recently caught. This is especially true with steady, predictable weather and celestial conditions in play.

In truth, most anglers who fish on a regular basis within a somewhat limited area make the decision of where to start a day of fishing by thinking about where they last experienced a hot, satisfying bite. They also realize the need to adjust plans thoughtfully when the bite at a spot becomes compromised either because the number of fish in it diminishes or because weather and other factors negatively alter its potential. In the end, the best anglers display a combination of skills when choosing locations, relying upon recent results appropriately without becoming stubbornly committed to trying to force events to repeat themselves.