The Spring Run

Winter was loosening its grip on the mid Georgia area, the dogwood trees were blooming, a sure sign of spring, and farther south, along the Florida coast, the fishing was warming up too! Stories of some fantastic catches had reached us all the way up in Atlanta and one of my friends, Jerry O’Neil, owned a condo in Destin, Florida and he invited me to bring my boat, a 18, footer, down and we’d try and get in on the early run of king mackerel.

We left Atlanta early in the morning and driving south we ran into spring just before we crossed under I-10 and everything really greened up the closer we got to Destin. We arrived, unloaded the truck at the condo and drove to the launch ramp. There we launched the boat, bought some bait, cigar minnows, and cruised out under the bridge, into the Gulf of Mexico. After about 2 miles, we put out 3 lines. Our baits were colored jigs, because these fish had teeth they were attached to wire leaders with good sized, hooks, with a cigar minnow threaded on to the hook. Our tackle was medium weight, rods, Ambasseduer 6000 reels, loaded with 20, pound line.

Trolling at 1,000 RPM’s, not over 30 minutes after we had started, simultaneously we had strikes. Each of us grabbed a rod, set to enjoy the kings first blazing run, but as the king struck Jerry’s bait, before it took off, it arced up out of the water. Kings jump like this occasionally, their eyes being above their mid line, they lay in wait for prey, looking up, many feet below the surface, then attack the bait with force on an upward angle and their momentum carries them above the surface in spectacular leaps, but once they have the bait, off they go!

Both fish, 12 pounders, quickly succumbed to the rods pressure, we gaffed and boxed them, rebaited and resumed trolling. Another strike, this time no acrobatics, just a long run, then a couple of short ones, then into the box. We caught 2 more kings all were smokers, not over 15 pounds and as the sun was going down, the wind, now cooler, started blowing a little harder. Our jackets felt good as we picked up the lines and headed back in.

Not a bad haul for just under 3 hours of fishing and once ashore, I cleaned the kings, filleting one and taking care to completely cut out the blood line. We cooked the fillets that night with crab boil and surprisingly they tasted like lobster. Jerry had never heard about balling kingfish so I showed him how and we ended up with 5 bags of kingfish balls.

We went to bed thinking that according to tomorrow’s weather forecast, Saturday would be a great day to fish, but, when we got up the next morning, we were greeted by winds howling over 20 and white caps stretching out to the horizon. Unfavorable conditions for an 18, foot boat, our fishing day was cut short, so we headed back north, but, at least, we caught some fish.

High Seas

Quota achievement with my company was rewarded each year with an event at a very fashionable location and this quota year’s was in Miami Beach.  Ample free time allowed us to choose from several prepaid options, offshore fishing, sightseeing, golf, tennis and, of course, I picked fishing, however there was one drawback.

High pressure was dominating the area causing the wind to really be blowing in from the ocean, 30steady gusting to 40.  This, in turn, built up the normally moderate seas to 8 to 10 feet and most charter Captains were reluctant to even venture out, citing boat safety.  One Captain finally agreed to take his boat out, but he said to us, “If anyone gets seasick, don’t blame me”.

The 4 of us on the charter loaded up our gear on the, 36 footer and the Captain took the boat down the channel, turned left (to port) and headed toward the ocean.  Before we cleared the jetties the seas were already building and once we cleared them, the seas were almost monstrous.  Up, down, the boat was shuddering, we were already wet from the wind and spray and, frankly, I was concerned for our safety and how the Captain was going to come about and head back in.

We hadn’t even covered a mile, a mile of a lot of ups and downs, when the first case of seasickness hit us.  A female salesman from Chicago rushed to the side, then a salesman from Oklahoma City followed suit, but both of them, even though they were sick, soldiered on.  Both my friend from Houston and I, being experienced boaters, were starting to get a little “green” feeling, even the mate was turning pale and the Captain laughed and looked down at all of us and said, “You all asked for it!”

The Mate said to me, “We’re less than 2 miles out and I hate to think about putting the lines out and I’m even getting sick.”  Hearing that, I climbed up to the upper cockpit and sat down beside the Captain, leaned over and said, “Calf rope, we’ve had enough!  Take us back in.”  The Captain replied, “Me Too”, skillfully topped a wave, cut the wheel to the right, powered up, slid into the trough, and climbed up the backside of the next wave!  My earlier worries were unfounded.

At a faster clip, we rode the waves back in, cleared the jetties, picked up speed and turned to starboard (right) back up the channel to the marina.  With the seas smoothing out and our boat picking up speed, everyone was feeling better.  By the time we docked the boat and the saleslady from Chicago and the salesman from Ok City, touched the dock, they we’re miraculously healed!  As we got out of the boat, both of the guy’s from Houston, and all of us, of us felt much better too!

More Outdoors Pictures, March 7, 2011

Last Thursday morning I was driving to town because Mickey Donahoo and I were having early softball practice and glancing over to my left, in a small roadside stock tank, swimming around were two ducks, a widgeon drake and a hen.  They are mid sized, puddle ducks, good table fare and these two sat still long enough for me to get this “shot”.

Thinking to myself, maybe all of the big ducks haven’t gone back north yet, so I made arrangements to go Friday on a “Picture Safari” to a large ranch here in Mills County.  My objective was to scout a number of small stock tanks and one 40 acre, lake to try and get a few up close pictures of some ducks.

Slowly driving around the ranch, the scenery was picturesque, the views seemed to go on forever, but there was one problem, no ducks!  My guess was that last weeks unseasonably warm weather had sent them flying back to more northern climes.  However, all wasn’t lost, I saw a lot of deer, no horns of course, because they’ve already shed them, but I did see two groups of turkeys!

Along a ridge line, one group was all hens and once they saw my truck, they hightailed it out of there.  The other group was toms, two strutters among ‘em, but both groups were too far for a pic.  Same for a bobcat that wasn’t expecting the truck to come creeping around a corner, but like a flash, it was long gone into the thick stuff!

On State Highway 16, driving back home, before I turned right on to my County road, I glanced over toward the small, roadside stock tank and swimming around were 5 ducks, that turned out to be 2 widgeon drakes and 3 hens.  One of the drakes was eying me suspiciously, but I bet that within a week, they’ll be long gone outa’ here too.

Business And Pleasure

In March of 1970, my company sent me to their plant in Boca Raton, Florida to work with the developers of a new product for small business. The product turned out to be a hit, but while over there, I let it be known that a fishing trip would suit my fancy. It wasn’t 2 days until I met up with Jerry Rodgers, who owned a 32, foot offshore, fishing boat and arrangements were made for me to take an afternoon off and accompany him on a fishing trip.

He kept his boat covered in a marina two miles away form Jupiter Inlet and leaving work, we drove the 40 odd miles up to his marina, stopping along the way and picking up food and drink. His tackle was onboard and we’d be using a medium action rod, with a gold reel spooled with 30 pound line, good equipment! We’d be using sardines, sardeneros where I came from, with a weight and fish off, or near, the bottom.

We loafed up the Intercoastal Waterway until we turned into the inlet and taking another turn we proceeded on out into the ocean. Our goal was a wreck that Jerry knew of, five miles out, on the west wall of the Gulf Stream. This area was under serious attack in WWII from German U-boats. Maybe this was one of old ships? Jerry quickly found the wreck, we baited up and let our lines down until they touched the bottom, or something else, then reeled up a couple of turns and waited.

Our wait wasn’t long when I had a rod bending strike, my drag was set too loose, the fish ran and cut me off on the wreck I guessed. Jerry then had a rod bender, he set the hook and with his drag a little tighter almost horsed the 15 pound amberjack to the surface. Gaffing it, I swung it into the cooler, then tightened my drag, “rerigged” and let my bait down.

Another big strike and I could feel the power of the fish! This one was bigger and really pulled, but my tighter drag and the rod’s pressure finally forced the 20 pound amberjack to the surface, where Jerry gaffed and boxed it. This was my first try at catching amberjack and they really pulled hard. Thinking that if I could tie a kingfish tail to tail with one of these bruisers the amberjack would drown the king!

We caught several more 15-20 pound, amberjack, then I had the idea to simply take the weight off of the sardine and drift it with the current. This was a winning strategy and not 10 minutes had passed when I had a big strike, the fish, a barracuda, ran and fought on the surface, finally throwing the hook. Jerry, who was watching with interest, said, “There’s a lot of those on the wreck out here, but we don’t keep barracuda, so it’s good he threw the hook.” On that note, we upped the anchor and started trolling.

We had caught a couple of small kings, or smokers as the locals called them, but they were really no match for the mid weight tackle, but we trolled on anyway. Not using the outriggers, we were surprised when a lightning bolt, a sailfish, smacked one of the lines. Grabbing the rod, I tried to set the hook, the sail jumped, the hook went sailing and I reeled in a slack line.

Time to go in, so as Jerry piloted the boat, I filleted the amberjacks. When I got to the kings, I volunteered to “ball” them. Jerry didn’t know anything about “balling” so I explained; in the sides of the kingfish, from top to bottom, cut one inch slices all the way down the fish, starting at the first slice near the gills run your index and middle fingers into the slice and push the meat out and upward. This pushes the meat out and leaves the bloodline, that tastes yucky, along the skin. Move to the next slice and continue pushing out the meat and by the time you finish that side you have a pile of kingfish balls. Flip the fish over and repeat the process. Kingfish balls are best fried, but also can be grilled or boiled. Eliminating the bloodline vastly improves the flavor of the kings.

We docked and cleaned up the boat, then he returned me to my hotel and thanking Jerry for the hospitality, he told me that he and his wife would try the kings that night. He came by the next day and told me that last nights fried kingfish balls were much better than smoking them and that he would start “balling” all the kings that he caught.

Returning to Houston, overall it was a good trip, the product was successfully launched and I even caught some fish. Talk about mixing business and pleasure!

Caney Creek

Along the upper Texas coast, late winter with its wind and cold fronts is the most difficult time to catch speckled trout. If you wade a combination of mud and shell flats that hold the sun’s warmth are probably the best since the big sows like to loaf around the warmer water. Wading in this stuff is tough going, bordering on hard, but a slow sinking mullet imitation plug is hard to beat!

Next best is free shrimping a live shrimp over hard shell in deeper water, 10 –15 feet. At low tide, in the many creeks and rivers along the coast, oyster reefs can be found and appropriately marked. All it takes is a little scouting. This particular trip, friends passed on to us just where to locate the reef.

They had told us that on an incoming tide some real nice speckled trout were being caught in Caney Creek, so the next day we, my dad, “Unkie”, Alvin Pyland, my uncle and I arranged to be off from work. The next morning, bright and almost cold, found us, heading toward Sargent, Texas, the kickoff point for Caney Creek. Arriving at our destination with the tide slack, we hooked Unkie’s 7.5 HP motor on to a rental 14 foot, skiff and putted up the creek, looking for the tell tale signs of the fence.

Our instructions from the bait camp were to motor about one mile up the creek, then look for a barb wire fence angling down from the east bank into the water. The reef would be directly across the creek from the fence with a few oyster shells scattered along the bank. The reef in question was about 40 yards long and stopped in the middle of the creek. Our tackle for this trip was 6-1/2 foot popping rods, red, Ambasseduer reels, loaded with 15 pound mono and small treble hooks tied 6 inches below a crimped on, 00 buckshot.

According to the tide charts the current would start moving in soon, we found the fence in question and anchored within casting distance of the reef. Just like clockwork the tide started in and not 15 minutes later my dad had a soft strike, not a bone jarring strike of a summer, yellow mouth, spec, but more of a tap, tap. Setting the hook, the spec responded with a deep, surging fight. Soon, Unkie slipped the net under the 3, pounder, the first trout on our stringer.

Unkie was next and his spec took out line, zzzp, zzzp and put up a grudging battle and soon Dad netted the fish. This one, the second and a nice fish, was about a pound bigger that my dads. Then it was my turn to catch one and we added the 3, pounder to the stringer. All told we had 5 nice specs for about 2 hours fishing. This sure beat wading in the mud!

Fog!

In early March of 2005, several months before I retired, I had planned to get an early start on a Saturday morning and drive to Goldthwaite and arrive before lunch. Living in Bayou Vista, Texas, right on the Gulf Coast, I had a 4 plus, hour drive awaiting me.

Setting my clock for 5:30 AM, I awoke with a start at 6:00 AM. I hadn’t turned “on” the alarm. So much for a real early start! Rushing and getting dressed I looked outside toward my boat dock and noticed that it was foggy, not unusual for this time of the year. Nothing to load up so I climbed into my 4WD, Suburban and headed out, but there was only about 200 yards visibility, not strange for this time of year. Figuring that the farther I went inland, the lighter the fog would be, so I pressed on.

Heading north on I-45 the traffic, yes traffic at 6:20 AM on a Saturday was moving along about 45 MPH and the farther inland I drove, it seemed that the fog was getting thicker. Seventeen miles from downtown Houston, Beltway 8, a toll road, exits east and west. It is a high, elevated, curving, exit to the west and the fog almost, it seemed, enveloped the exit.
Clicking on my blinkers, the traffic report that came on, every 20 minutes on weekends, instead of the 10 minutes on work days, reported heavy fog on Beltway 8 around Texas 288, The Nolan Ryan Expressway, 5 miles ahead. Slow going for a ways!

On the “Raceway”, or Beltway, posted speed is 65 MPH, which is ignored by most of the drivers. Most motorist clip along at 75 or 80, but today, caution prevailed and we were down to 40 and nearing 288, traffic slowed dramatically, red lights glaring, hazard lights blinking and we entered a white world! The radio blared, “There has been a series of major accident on Beltway 8 between Hillcroft and Cullen, and reports from the scene say the Beltway is closed.”

Closed it was and the fog was so thick that I could barely make out the reflections of the taillights to my front. I have never seen, or even imagined, that fog could be so heavy! Behind me I heard a grinding CRASH, and braced for a hit that never came.

The sounds of more crashes echoed behind me, everything was stopped, so there was nothing to do but listen to the radio, that was now getting better reports from the authorities. The Beltway was closed both ways and at least 100 cars had been involved in a chain reaction accident on the inbound side and at least 1,000 cars were stuck and fogged in. Deaths and injuries were reported and the sight of the original crashes was still over a mile away!
Sirens were blaring from every direction as police and sheriff’s officers begin to arrive all along the Beltway. They begin moving cars off of the Beltway and soon I was on the access road, still heading west, but stopped. We crept along enshrouded in fog and in some places it was so thick that it looked to be impenetrable.

After about an hour, the fog was lifting and we began to creep along side the scene of the most deadly accidents. Then, just like that, the fog lifted! Cars were piled into each other and resembled accordions, reminding me of scenes from “The Highway Of Death” in Kuwait; some cars were upside down on the grades leading up the overpasses, with radiator fluid, gasoline and oil pooled on the road surface, people were milling around stunned and law officers were everywhere. We continued our creep for 600 or 700 yards and up ahead, in bright sunshine, I saw a DPS trooper directing us back on to the Beltway!

Since we were being herded along, we couldn’t get out of our vehicles to help. All I could do was say a prayer for those involved and thank the Lord that I was 15 minutes late. If I had been on time, I would have been right in the middle of it!

Final tally was 110, cars and trucks involved, with 7 deaths and a myriad of injured. Skid marks still remain on the road surface and median attesting to the speed and violence of the crashes!