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Saturday, August 11. 2012
Unkie and Dad cast out and hadnâ€™t made one or two â€œpopsâ€ when they both had big strikes, both fish were good ones, taking line and circling the boat, a sure sign of a big trout! Netting Unkies fish first, a real nice 5 pounder, my dadâ€™s fish put on a show around the boat for us and we could see that is was a little bigger than Unkies. Finally I cast out, popped the cork once and â€œbamâ€ had a big strike. A 20, yard, first run, highlighted this fight, along with two circles of the boat, with a lot of wallows on top before Dad slipped the net under the spec, a twin of his.
Posted by Jon Bryan in Fishing at 08:05 | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0)
Wednesday, June 27. 2012
The summer of 1957 found me still boatless and awaiting a 6, week stint at ROTC Camp at Ft. Hood. The fishing around Galveston Islandâ€™s East Beach Flats was still good for small to medium speckled trout, but my fishing buddy, Richard Foster and I had been hearing stories about the fabulous catches behind Earl Galceranâ€™s camp near the old coast Guard Station at the far end of West Galveston Island. At the time we didnâ€™t have a boat and we couldnâ€™t figure out how to get there. Earlâ€™s camp was really several thousand acres leased by the high rollers in Houston for dove, quail and duck hunting, plus it had access to some of the best trout water in the state. No bait was used here, only Dixie Jet silver spoons, with a yellow buck tail attached, my old scared up, spoon, over 50 years old, is pictured below
Like the Rockport and Port Oâ€™Conner area today, grass grew in abundance and the holes in the grass reminded me of holes in the moss in fresh water lakes. Still, how do we get to it?
My fishing buddy, Richard, came up with a good idea, why didnâ€™t he and I go ask Earl Galceran, at the time already a fishing legend, if we could fish behind his place. We could sight our lack of funds, honesty and Ralphâ€™s newly commissioned status as reasons we could be trusted not to do any damage to his property or equipment, or, we could just go down there and act like members and wave and smile and just wade out and start fishing. We choose the latter approach, correctly thinking, â€œAlways beg for forgiveness and never ask for permission.â€ We would plead ignorance of the private property and say we were just following the road to West Galveston Bay.
Arriving at the open gate to Earlâ€™s place we drove to a parking area, parked, grabbed our rods and stringers and headed for the bay. Out came Earl Galceran, we smiled and waved, he smiled and waved and went back into his trailer. Whew! We must have looked like members.
Reaching the edge of the bay, at our backs a light southeast wind was blowing as we looked out over trout paradise. With a slight ripple on green, clear water with grass growing and swirling right up to the surface, no hesitation as we headed right in.
There was a hard sand/shell bottom and I couldnâ€™t believe the grass, but on my first cast, the spoon landed silently past a hole in the grass. Beginning a rapid retrieve, whamo, a 3, pound, spec nailed the spoon and the fight was on! When a big trout hits, you know it, a jarring, pounding, rod bending hit, not the sideways, slow hit of a big red picking up a shrimp. Landing the trout bare handed, getting a firm grip behind its gills, I slid him on the stringer and looked over at Richard who was in the middle of a fight with a nice fish too.
â€œThis is some place,â€ exclaiming as I sailed another cast past a likely looking hole in the grass, another hard hit, but the hook pulled out, no fish. What I didnâ€™t know then, but have since learned, the trout lurk in the grass beside the holes and ambush baitfish as they swim through the open area.
Another cast, another jarring hit, this oneâ€™s hooked solid and I was soon stringing another 3 pounder. Several of my casts caught grass, then, whamo, another fine fish, this spec rolled around on the surface, but soon I was adding it to my stringer. Not 30 minutes of fishing, wonderful conditions, bait in the water, trout all around and Richard and I had a half dozen fine trout, solid 3 pounders.
Wait a minute my stringer was caught on something. That something hits my leg. That something was a shark! â€œShark,â€ I yelled, stepping back and looking down at my stringer, which was tied, not looped, onto a belt loop of my jeans. Another lesson learned, â€œNever tie always loop.â€ Two bites and the shark, a 4 foot plus black tip, clipped off the last 2 trout on my stringer, swirled around me, brushed my leg again, and came up to the surface and grabbed the last trout, all of this right by my right hand that was futilely trying to pull the fish away from the shark.
Hearing Richard laughing, I didnâ€™t think this was funny at all being left with 3 trout heads on my stringer, heart racing and he was laughing. Earl Galceran must have kept these sharks around as pets to feed on his â€œguestâ€™sâ€ fish. Quickly getting out of the water, I sat on the bank for a while cooling off and by that time Richard, still laughing, came out of the water with 5 nice ones on his stringer. He said â€œYou ready to call it a day.â€ Not replying, I just turned around and started back to the car.
In 1970 I went back to this place by boat, a big chemical plant had been built in the mid â€˜60â€™s, on Chocolate Bayou which feeds into Lower West Galveston Bay above Earlâ€™s old place and the grass was gone, trout fishing had changed in Lower West Bay to anchoring on reefs, fishing under the birds or drifting, very little wading. Earl Galceran moved to a houseboat set up in the Chandleur Islands off of the Louisiana/Mississippi coasts. From what I have heard, he took some of his sharks with him.
That summer, Richard Foster went on active duty at Ft. Hood as a Platoon Leader in a basic training company. One of his recruits was Elvis Pressley, but thatâ€™s another story.
Posted by Jon Bryan in Fishing at 08:05 | Comments (2) | Trackbacks (0)
Sunday, February 12. 2012
Then, last Saturday afternoon, sitting in MaMawâ€™s blind a good number of dove came into the feeder. The second â€œshotâ€ shows 2 of them picking up the corn and I guess the protein pellets too. Of course with all of this dove activity, the season ended in mid January!
Posted by Jon Bryan in Pictures at 08:05 | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0)
Monday, October 10. 2011
During the spring of 1970, drifting around Greens Cut in Galveston West Bay, I caught, at the time, a personal record, 29, inch, 7-1/4 pound, speckled trout. In the late fall of 1991, just before deer and quail season opener, I tied, or maybe surpassed this feat.
We wouldnâ€™t be deer hunting that year because our rancher had hired a ramrod for his ranch who would be using the house that weâ€™d used for the past 10 years. The end result of the rancherâ€™s decision and my frustration was that on opening day of quail season, I didnâ€™t have a place to hunt. Solving the problem was easy Iâ€™d just go fishing!
The last weekend in October, the quail opener, just after sun up, found my son, Randy, his friend, Doug and I drifting toward a shell island in Jones Lake, with a light wind blowing from the north and the tide, that just changed, was rushing in. This morningâ€™s tide wouldnâ€™t be high until well past mid morning and as Randy spotted a shrimp hopping on the top of the water, he looped a cast, a shrimp under a weighted popping cork and was rewarded with a solid strike, a nice specâ€™ and the fight was on.
Many times, foraging fish will drive shrimp to the surface, causing the shrimp to hop around trying to escape the hungry predators. When sea gulls, always on the lookout for an easy meal, spot these tell tale dimples in the water they rush over to inhale the hapless shrimp. A well placed, cast usually results in a savage strike from a specâ€™ or a red.
Randyâ€™s fish was netted and put in the cooler and Doug and I, both with fish on, soon boxed our own specsâ€™. The action slowed and we moved out into the lake to start a new drift and about 200 yards ahead Randy spotted 3 gulls circling what must be fish â€˜onâ€™ shrimp and a closer inspection showed 2 birds floating on the water, another sure sign of fish.
Cutting back the throttle, we eased toward the birds and Randy and Doug let go with two long casts and started vigorously popping and retrieving their baits, and bam, bam, two hard hits. Under these birds there was a nice school of specsâ€™ and for the next few minutes we thinned their numbers. The fast and furious action ended and admiring our almost full cooler we decided weâ€™d try one more spot and maybe pick up a couple of reds.
Easing several hundred yards towards a channel marker, we started our drift over a hard shell bottom. If a red or a trout were around, the shrimp couldnâ€™t burrow in the mud and would be inhaled by the predators. Casting toward the channel marker, and only keeping my line tight, I let my rig sit for several minutes and didnâ€™t pop it. Then one pop of the cork and it disappeared and I felt the weight of a very nice fish. The fish made a long run and I couldnâ€™t tell what it was, until, a long way out from the boat, it started to circle us. While a red will burrow his nose in the bottom and grudgingly fight a fisherman all the way to the boat, this tactic, circling, is reserved for big trout and after a long, spirited fight, Randy slipped the net under the monster specâ€™.
The trout was shining, the black spots seemed as big as dimes, it was a beauty laying in the net on the bottom of the boat. The big fish was spent from its loosing fight, then I noticed one egg had slipped out of the fishâ€™s vent and right away, as I carefully measured her, 29-1/2, inches, a new record for me, I told Randy, â€œSlip the net and fish back into the water. Weâ€™re letting her go!â€
It wasnâ€™t long before I gently removed the fish from the net and it swam off. In our cooler we had enough fish for several messes and we were happy that this big one, that measured over 29 inches and probably weighed nearly 8 pounds, would be free to spawn for the second time that year!
More on Jones Lake, Randy and I had been fishing in Jones Lake, the shallow 4 to 5 foot estuary of Highlands Bayou, for almost 12 years and were familiar with the reefs and underwater structure. It was a year around, except for very cold fronts, fishing place and I have caught nice fish, specsâ€™ or reds, in every month of the year. Adding to this, in 1988 Layla and I bought a canal home in Bayou Vista on Highlands Bayou, just a mile by water from Jones Lake. We sold the home in 2005, retired and moved to our ranch in Mills County, Texas, so for 26 years we hammered the fish in Jones Lake!
P.S. It was just as good on my last trip as it was on my first one, see my post â€œA Hot New Spotâ€, May 14, 2007!
Posted by Jon Bryan in Fishing at 08:26 | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0)
Monday, August 29. 2011
During the summer of 1954, speckled trout fishing had been excellent along the broad sand flats from Galvestonâ€™s East Beach Lagoon around to the base of the South Jetties, a curving distance of approximately two miles that was protected from any wind except north or northeast. This area, at the far eastern tip of Galveston Island and the western side of Bolivar Channel, between the Island and Bolivar Peninsula, is also the mouth of the Galveston and Houston Ship Channels. It was good fishing and just plain fun to go down there and watch the ships and the girls.
The week before this dayâ€™s events, my cousin and fishing buddy, George Pyland, and I had made a killinâ€™ on school trout on the north side of the flats. The fish were everywhere, plugs or live shrimp, even a bare hook. We spread the news among our fishing group and everyone eagerly awaited a break in the weather.
The break in the weather came the following Saturday morning when another fishing buddy, Bobby Baldwin, called saying, â€œFishing look good around the flats this afternoonâ€. My reply, totally unacceptable to him was, â€œI canâ€™t go fishing this afternoon because I have a dateâ€. His girl friend, out of town for the weekend, didnâ€™t like fishing anyway, so he was free all day and tonight. However, my girl friend was game for anything, she wasnâ€™t a fisherman (back then gender wasnâ€™t a problem), but liked to wade out and watch us fish. After tempting me with, â€œIâ€™ll buy the gasâ€, all of $.18 a gallon, I called my girl and told her of the change in plans and she reluctantly agreed to go with us.
The tide was running in and the wind was light as we bought shrimp at Bobby Wilsonâ€™s East Beach Bait Camp and headed for the flats. Bobby, to my right, and I were about 30 feet apart and girl friend was behind me, my stringer floating off to my left with the breeze and incoming tide as we waded out about 75 yards into waist deep water. The fish were there and we started catching some nice specs, up to two pounds, that we strung on my stringer, still floating away from us.
With 7 or 8 specs already caught, my cork went under and as I set the hook I remarked, â€œHey, this is a real nice fish probably a big redâ€. My companions watched intently as I struggled to keep the line tight as the fish bored towards me. Ten feet in front of me a beautiful five foot long, black tip shark cleared the water, mouth open, the teeth getting my attention and hit the water, splashing some on me. My question was, what do you do when a big shark hits your speckled trout outfit, then runs 15 yards towards you, and all the while I was thinking that it was a big red, until it jumped out of the water in front of me and then stripped off all of my line?
The shark headed off to my right towards where I thought Bobby was located, but my valiant fishing partner and girl friend had already halved the distance to shore, leaving me alone to battle this denizen. Not much of a battle, 15 pound braided line on a Shakespeare Direct Drive reel and a fiber glass popping rod, all being no match for an 80 pound shark. The line was tied on the spool of the reel and popped as the shark stripped it, then I headed straight for the shore where my stalwart friends were awaiting me.
That area, the East Beach Flats including Bobby Wilsonâ€™s Bait Camp no longer exists. Natural erosion assisted by a small hurricane that came up the channel in the mid 70â€™s, complete with north and northwest winds, changed the landscape, eliminating one good fishing spot.
At least the shark didnâ€™t get the fish on my stringer, but my girl friend never went wade fishing with me again.
Posted by Jon Bryan in Fishing at 08:05 | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0)
Thursday, August 11. 2011
Even though we were both past retirement age our jobs required our presence on site so days off were scarce, so Jimmy Buck and I jumped at the chance of a hastily organized fishing trip. Hastily organized because Brad had just returned from a tour in Korea and had been transferred into the First Cavalry Division, at Ft. Hood and they were currently training for a bout with the aggressors at Ft. Irwin. It also happened that at the time Iraq was being fumbled by the U.N. Inspectors.
Brad had called and said that he had this coming Friday off and so did his kids and he would like to take his son, Bradley, salt water fishing. Bradley, at the time was thirteen and had been fishing with me several times, so I quickly said OK and called Jim and he said that since his nephew and great nephew would be there, he would make time to go, so the trip was on!
The night before Brad and his family drove down from Copperas Cove and when Jim drove down we were almost ready to shove off. Months before, Layla and I had moved full time to Bayou Vista and I had my twenty-two footer in the boat stall on the canal, so all we had to do was load up the ice, water, food and Jimâ€™s tackle.
Brad and Bradley were using my tackle and shrimp were no problem since I had bought some the night before and kept them alive in a specially remanufactured, plastic, garbage can tied to the boat stall. Transferring them, using a long handled net only took a short time and then we were off.
My â€œpartyâ€ wanted to fish Jones Lake to see if my bragging was correct and the fishing was as really as good as I had been saying. Since it was Friday, as we glided under the railroad bridge, boat traffic was almost non-existent. At mid tide the bridgeâ€™s clearance was almost seven feet and the distance between the bridge supports was about eight feet, with signs clearly marking both channels. Several years before, a new bridge had been built that really opened up Bayou Vistaâ€™s access to West Galveston Bay.
This is a picture of Highlands Bayou flowing under the new, Bayou Vista bridge. The old bridge had half the clearance of the new one. The Bayou empties into Jones Lake and then on into West Galveston Bay. When I took this shot, the tide was high, it was cloudy and threatening rain, the precursor of Tropical Storm Erin, that one week later caused serious flooding in Illinois, Wisconsin and Minnesota.
Sometimes you get lucky and today was one of those days with the tide flowing in all morning, light winds from the southeast and nice, green, clear water. All we had to do now was find signs of baitfish or shrimp popping out of the water as the predators chased them.
As we cruised slowly towards Tiki Island, the boat seemed to handle a little sluggish, but I thought it was just the load of our food, water and equipment, plus the four big guys. There were bait fish in the water as we started our drift and began casting out our shrimp, under rattling popping corks and soon, whamo, Jim was into a nice fish, a speckled trout, definitely a keeper, that when netted it was unceremoniously pitched into the big cooler. Shortly Brad connected and we iced down another trout. Bradley had a solid strike, a spec that he landed, but it proved to be below the minimum length so back into the water with it. We iced down another and seemed to have drifted out of the fish, so we made a slow circle back, near to our original starting point.
During this move the boat was still sluggish, so I gave it more gas and as we started our drift, Bradley cast out and was rewarded by his cork slowly going under. â€œBradley, let it go under, slowly take up your slack, now hit him,â€ I instructed, and his bowed rod and line peeling off his reel, gave tentative identification to the fish, probably a nice red. Several years before when Bradley hooked his first big red, he was afraid it was going to pull him into the water, but not this time because he successfully brought the fish, a keeper red, to the boat and it was added to the cooler. This spot slowed so we prepared to move to another proven spot about a half mile away.
Bringing the boat to plane, I was now certain something was wrong with the motor, it bogged down and barely got the boat up on top, but reaching the new spot OK, we started our drift. Soon we had boated 3 more keepers and as the fishing slowed we decided to circle back and drift through this spot again.
Attempting to start the motor, grind, grind, nothing happened. No ignition. Grind, grind again, nothing as Jim said, â€œIt seems like itâ€™s broke. You have plenty of gas?â€ Looking at the gauge, I replied, â€œThree fourths.â€ Brad added, â€œDad, does this boat always ride so low in the water?â€ â€œNo,â€ I exclaimed, kneeling down and opening an inspection plate, I spied our problem. The entire bilge area was full of water, thatâ€™s why it was sluggish. Obviously the bilge pumps had shorted out but the motor should have started. Trying again, grind, grind, nothing.
Facing my â€œpartyâ€ I told them, â€œBoys, it looks like were stuck. Get on the life jackets and Bradley tie a rag onto the end of your rod and put it into the rear rod holder,â€ and the â€œcrewâ€ complied with the orders. We were less than 2 miles from my canal house, but the channels had some 10, foot plus holes, so wading and pulling the boat back was out of the question and swimming the boat through and under the railroad bridge was virtually impossible so weâ€™ll have to sit and await a rescuer.
Now the story gets real strange. We had been the only boat in Jones Lake, but in the distance there was one boat heading our way. It turned out to be a nice, bay/offshore fishing boat, 23, feet long with a 225 on the back end, a nice rig, and nice to see him! Pulling up beside us, the driver said, not even asking if we need help, â€œIâ€™m here to pull you all in.â€ â€œThat is fine with me.â€ I replied, as I tossed him a line, then adding, â€œGetting under the bridge is going to present us some problems.â€ He said, â€œIf all of you all can keep it from banging into the supports, I believe we can sneak through OK.â€ Never having seen this man or his boat before, I wondered how he knew about the bridge?
We putted up Highlands Bayou and, with no damage, manhandled the boat, riding low in the water, through the bridge, the flotation keeping it up. Asking the Good Samaritan if he would tow us on to Louisâ€™ Bait Camp to use the ramp and load up there, he gladly complied. Calling Layla on my cell phone, I told her we had a problem and asked her to hook up the trailer to the Suburban and come on down to Louisâ€™.
Once we were tied up to a pier at Louisâ€™, I offered to pay the man for his help, â€œNo,â€ he replied, â€œI broke down a couple of weeks ago and was pulled in from 20 miles offshore, and Iâ€™m returning the favor. I knew someone needed help and Iâ€™m more than glad to offer it.â€ Wow! How did he know we needed help, kindaâ€™ spooky wasnâ€™t it?
We loaded the boat onto the trailer, took it to the local boat shop, and two weeks and $720.00 later, it ran like new. The leak in the bilge area was caused by a worn water line going into the live well and a loose fitting had allowed the water into the gas tank. From then on I used the live well for storage and closed the valve to its water intake.
Having pulled in several boats, once finding an empty boat and even saving 3 men from drowning in a sinking fishing boat, this was different, me getting pulled in, but it all ended well because we did have enough fish for a big fish fry that night! However, it has passed through my mind that I never saw the man or his boat again!
Posted by Jon Bryan in Fishing at 08:05 | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0)
Wednesday, July 20. 2011
Being in college, this was way before the time we even thought about owning a boat, in fact, fishing boats back then, were few and far between. Our choices were wading, renting a skiff, but we didnâ€™t even have an outboard motor, or rock hopping on the Galveston Jetties. The following is a story about one of the rock hopping days.
It was a beautiful summer day on the beach in Galveston, the girls out in force with their 1950â€™s, â€œskimpyâ€ bathing suits, nothing like now a days Bikinis, light wind from the southeast and no waves crashing on or over Galvestonâ€™s South Jetty. However, this trip, Bobby Baldwin and I didnâ€™t have eyes for the girls, but we had walked out the concrete walkway then, holding on to our rod and reels and carrying our live shrimp in a bait bucket along with one tackle box, literally climbed out on the slick, rocks of the jetty, ending up a hundred yards past the topping.
This was to be our fishing spot and our target for the morning would be speckled trout. Both of us were armed with six foot, popping rods, direct drive reels spooled with fifteen pound braided line, both reels having the luxury of a star drag system and later in the morning, mine would be tested severely! We were both using popping corks with a two to three foot, leader, the bait of choice was live shrimp. Weâ€™d cast along the rocks and slowly reel in while popping the corks, the pop simulating the sound a trout makes while feeding on the surface, hopefully attracting other fish to the shrimp.
Casting our baits out, it was no time until both corks went under, setting the hooks, mine came back hookless, but Bobby was fast into a Spanish mackerel and obviously, my leader was cut by anotherâ€™s sharp teeth! Swinging his mackerel up on to the rocks, in our haste to get to fishing, we both remembered weâ€™d left the net in the car, so for the morning we practiced swing and catch the fish. This proved much easier said then done, since a three, pound trout doesnâ€™t swing very good, let alone theyâ€™re slimy and hard to hold on to!
Threading the mackerel on to the stringer, it dawned on us there was no place to tie it off, our choices being a cleft between two of the massive stones used to construct the jetty, or loop it around the tackle box that was wedged in securely, we chose the tackle box. Wouldnâ€™t you know it, after I rehooked and cast out, I had a big strike, with the fish wallowing and splashing on the surface, quickly identifying it as a big trout, I tried my best to land it, but as I swung it up out of the water, it didnâ€™t swing very good, the hook dislodged and, plop, back into the deep with it. Smaller trout, along with the occasional mackerel, were no problem, but how do you tell a big fish not to eat your shrimp?
Weâ€™d caught maybe a dozen trout and two mackerel, when I cast out and had a huge strike, really a pole bender! All I could do was hold on as the reelâ€™s star drag was zinging as the unknown fish took out line. Zzzz, zzzz, zzzz, the star drag was singing as the fish headed down the jetty for parts unknown. Finally the end of my line was reached, pop, it gave way, leaving me with an empty reel and unbowed rod. That was some fish!
With me with no line and since I drove, I called it a day and Bobby followed suit. The fishing and catching was fun, the rock hopping proved to be dangerous because a friend, not two weeks later, slipped and fell, cut his leg, that required ten stitches to close. This one event brought our rock hopping to an early end!
Years later, I finally figured out what kind of fish was probably on the end of my line. After catching many kingfish on light tackle, I bet it was a fifteen pounder that stripped me. It was too fast for a shark, they fight more doggedly; not a tarpon, no jumps; not a big redfish, no head shaking and not a king size speckled trout, no wallowing; had to be a king!
Posted by Jon Bryan in Fishing at 08:05 | Comments (2) | Trackbacks (0)
Wednesday, June 15. 2011
Meeting my barber, Joe Riley, at his Sugar Land, Texas home, we drove on down to the San Barnard River, actually where it crosses the Intercoastal Waterway, to have a go at some trout and redfish. We were going to fish in a new spot for me a place Joe called The Tripod. He said it was a good spot and we wouldnâ€™t be troubled with other folks fishing there.
From the bait camp we bought live shrimp, ice, drinks, snacks and launched my boat for the two mile run, west on the Intercoastal, there we would turn into a little cut, not fifty yards wide, that opened up in a small, shallow bay. In the middle of the bay, I found out a few minutes later, was a gas well with a triangle shaped sign, hence, The Tripod.
As we entered the cut, Joe guided me to the left where he quietly slipped the anchor into the shallow, barely three foot, water. The tide was coming in toward us, bringing in green, fishy looking, water and, just perfect, the wind was at out backs, making casting easy! Cast toward the right of the cut and, keeping the line tight, let the current drift our rigs back over the fishing area, a reef along the right side. Today weâ€™d be using standard popping gear, six and a half foot rods, fifteen, pound line wrapped on red reels and a popping cork, but today was a little different. Instead of using a three to four foot leader under the corks, our leader was only fifteen or eighteen inches and no popping either.
Getting the feel of this new style of fishing, I cast out and began the drift with no results, but Joe, having cast out before me, was fast into a nice something that was stripping line from his reel. That something turned out to be a three, pound redfish that I netted, Joe took out the hook and boxed it, remarking, â€œI didnâ€™t tell you the secret. When your cork stops and acts hung up, set the hook because a fish has just picked up the shrimp.â€
The secret being out, my next cast scored, the cork stopped, I set the hook and was into something that was splashing at the surface, probably a trout that turned out to be barely a keeper, fourteen, inches then. Swinging the trout into the boat, I grabbed it, took out the hook and boxed it too. We kept catching small trout and Joe mentioned, â€œOver the years Iâ€™ve fished here a lot, but never have caught a trout over two pounds and often, Iâ€™ve wondered why?â€ Having fished the same spot for almost five years, we never caught a big trout there either!
Later in the morning I cast out, drifted my shrimp above the reef, my cork stopped and I reared back, setting the hook and the fish took off, stripping line off my reel. After a grudging fight, Joe slipped the net under a big flounder that on my hand held scale was just over four pounds, a new record for flatfish for me! This was a real bonus, a big flounder that would be delicious baked. For me, this spot turned out to be a flounder haven where I boxed several that were over eight pounds, whoppers! We ended the day with thirty-two fish in the cooler, flounder, reds and specs! Not bad for a new to me spot and I certainly will come back.
Over the years we had some excellent catches from The Tripod, but moving away and on our trips back I never had time to try it out, but after I returned to Houston, one afternoon, with the tide coming in Mac Windsor and I decided to check it out. Motoring west of the San Bernard River on the â€œIntercoastalâ€ we started looking to our left for the channel leading to The Tripod. Not there and no Tripod either. We came about and began searching back toward the river and it was still not there.
Motoring all the way to Karancuha Bay, five or six miles, still no channel. All we saw was a spot on the south side of the Intercoastal where it was extra wide. We came about again and motored to the bait camp where the river and Intercoastal crossed and asked the owner, â€œWhereâ€™s that little cut, that channel leading back to the gas rig, The Tripod?â€ â€œNot there,â€ he answered. â€œA while back, that gas well blew up and rearranged everything. We call it the Blow Out Hole now. Good fishing in the winter!â€
Now I found out why we never saw another boat there!
Posted by Jon Bryan in Fishing at 10:05 | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0)
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