Back when I was in college, between studying and work, my fishing time and trips were limited, but this particular Saturday in mid June, my dad, Dub Middleton and I were cruising along the Houston Ship Channel, out in the middle of Galveston Bay, hoping to spot a flock of sea gulls hovering and splashing down into the water, a sure sign of speckled trout feeding on shrimp.  The specs push the shrimp toward the surface, the birds spot the shrimp dimpling the water and sweep in to pick up an easy meal and us fishermen, then cast into the feeding frenzy and tie into some monster specs.  Easy fishing if you can find the birds!

All of us saw this cabin cruiser wallowing along the ship channel, we hadn’t found any birds so far that morning, but we saw what looked like a flock hitting the water behind the far off boat.  Full speed ahead, we rushed toward the birds, and to our surprise, they were working right behind the cruiser and the occupants were thrashing the water with cane poles.  Funniest thing we ever saw, but we assumed they were fishing?

We didn’t see them catching any fish, so casting among the birds we tied into three nice ones.  After several waltzes around Dub’s boat, we iced them down, at least two pounders.  The folks fishing on the big boat never said a word to us, if it’d been me, I would’ve tried to run us off!  Casting back out, more strikes, until we boated eighteen, nice specs, almost filling our cooler!

This old picture shows the day’s catch of specs and is one of the first ever taken of fish we had caught.

With a good mess of fish, we moved on, the cruiser people were still thrashing away, fishing I guessed, but I never saw them catch a fish!

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 wouldn’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 we’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, “I didn’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.”

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, “Over the years I’ve fished here a lot, but never have caught a trout over two pounds and often, I’ve wondered why?” 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 “Intercoastal” 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, “Where’s that little cut, that channel leading back to the gas rig, The Tripod?” “Not there,” he answered. “A while back, that gas well blew up and rearranged everything. We call it the Blow Out Hole now. Good fishing in the winter!”

Now I found out why we never saw another boat there!

During the time we lived in the Atlanta area, two of the summers we met the Schroder family, Jake, Peg and their three children, in Galveston and rented a very large beach house.  The house we rented in 1978 was in Jamaica Beach and sported seven bedrooms, four baths and a large communal area, a true mansion!  We had met the Schroders when we lived in Arizona and both families being from Texas had hit it off from the start, enjoying many great quail and dove hunting trips and fishing excursions.  A couple of stories of interest are my posts, “[The Kamikaze Dove]”, September 7, 2010, and “[A Meeting With Senior Mal-De-Mere]”, August 24, 2009.

This particular trip, during the peak of the speckled trout, birding season was memorable because of the unusual way we found the day’s last bird school.  We had been fishing almost all of the morning east of Karankawa Reef, driving back and forth across the bay and only finding two bird schools.  The first we found was full of small trout, below keeper size, but they were fun to catch.  But in the second, Jake and I relieved the school of three nice trout, two plus, pounders, more fun to catch!

We decided to refresh our shrimp so we threw out the leftovers we had bought in the morning, and since mid day was nearing, we motored over to the Pleasure Island Bait Camp and acquired a fresh quart.  We took this opportunity to stretch our legs and buy us a Coke and some cheese crackers.  After the break we talked it over and thought we’d try the area east of the causeway and, showing off, as we entered the channel and I put the boat up on plane, I took a sharp right, to the uninitiated this looked like a turn into real shallow water, but knowing the bottom, we had a minimum of four feet below the hull.

As we sped toward the first of the two causeways, Jake said, “Beech, I shore hope you know where you’re goin’?”  I knew, but might as well have some fun.  Barely slowing down we scooted under the third hump in the first causeway and headed for the causeway for trains, where I did slow the boat down as we crept under the third arch.  And there, not fifty feet out from the causeway was a huge school of birds working over the shrimp driven to the surface, the trout were even splashing as they chased the bait!

Cutting back the motor and turning the boat to the right I managed not to run through the birds that would have surely scattered them and dispersed the fish!  Baiting up and casting out to the front of the birds we both had heavy hits and right away began the “West Bay Shuffle” around the boat.  These two were big, unyielding trout that finally succumbed to the rods pressure and the black, reels drag.  Netting both fish simultaneously in my one net, we admired them, three and a half pounders, into the cooler with them, we baited up and cast back out.  Two more strikes, two more specs, not quite as big as the first two and into the cooler with them.

We stayed with this school of trout for twenty minutes and when they dispersed we had boxed twenty-two, all over two and a half pounds!  We hunted and hunted for the fish, but with the tide coming in strong they had probably moved on into West Bay.  Thinking back, the trout had cornered the shrimp in shallow water, three feet plus, up against the berm of the railroad track and were feasting on them, the seagulls spotted this top water action and the feed was on!

Just think, if I’d gone blasting through the third arch, we’d run right through the birds and the fish school.  But in all of my fishing and the many times I’d gone through this way into the bay east of the causeway, I never found a school of birds and speckled trout at this spot.

As the sun just peaked over the horizon we spied a huge school of birds swarming over the water between us and the Pelican Island Bridge. This early in the morning, it was unusual for birds to be working and in twenty minutes we were supposed to meet Dewey Stringer at the end of the South Jetty for a trip out to the Buccaneer Rigs, what to do?

We, Norman Shelter, Jim Buck and I had bought bait and launched the boat at Pleasure Island Bait Camp and were heading out to meet Dewey for a day of offshore angling, but seeing the birds working, he’ll have to wait, as we cut the motors back and idled up to towards the big swarm. For our offshore trip we would be using standard trout gear with a wire leader, but without a popping cork. Our rods were six and half feet long, with red reels loaded with fifteen, pound line and as we eased up to the birds, we quickly removed the wire leaders and slipped on our trout rigs.

A lot of birds working shrimp in deeper water, ten to twelve feet, could mean one of two things, good size speckled trout or small bluefish. Our first casts toward the birds resulted in two good strikes and the fish fighting on the top of the water and circling the boat, confirmed that these were big, trout!

Not having baited up, I netted both fish for Jim and Norman, two nice four pounders! As they were removing the hooks and boxing their fish, I quickly baited up, cast out and as the bait hit the water, it was hit immediately, jerking the rod almost out of my hand. Big trout are fun, these summer fish will smash a lure or a shrimp with reckless abandon, fight all the way to the boat and are excellent table fare! My fish another 4 pounder, circled and as I reeled it in, beat the water around the boat to a froth. Jim netted it and as I slipped it into the cooler looked down at my watch, we were late to meet Dewey.

Trying to call him on the CB radio, with the distance and Galveston’s buildings blocking everything out, was useless, so we kept on fishing. Over an hour later, we had boxed twenty-five real nice specs, two to four pounds, so much for meeting Dewey. Calling him that night, they had caught several nice kingfish, some small dolphin (dorado) out of a weed line and tied up to an oilrig, loaded up on spadefish, so much for meeting him, but we both had good days!

It was still dark when I got up, ate breakfast, loaded up my 13, foot Whaler, drove from my house in Bayou Vista around to Louis’ Bait Camp And Café, launched the boat and bought me a pint of shrimp. By the light of the moon, I cruised slowly down Highlands Bayou, across Jones Lake and followed the channel to the flats on the north side of Tiechman Point, near the mouth of Offats Bayou. Fishing around this spot in West Galveston Bay for over 30 years, navigating over in the dark wasn’t a problem.

Anchoring the Whaler, I slipped into the water, it’s always cool even in early summer, I looped the stringer on to the catch on my fishing belt letting out a lot of line on the stringer so my bait box, tied at the end, wouldn’t wrap around me and cause me to lose a good fish. The bait box would drift to my left, with the tide, that at the time was strong enough to keep the fish on it well away from me too!

The sun wasn’t up and with the light southeast wind to my back, waist deep and sliding my feet along the sandy, shell bottom, I let fly with a long cast, using a standard popping cork rig, a live shrimp, a 7’ popping rod, with 15 pound, line on my new, green reel. As the cast settled in, I popped the cork once and was rewarded with a solid hit and the fight was on. The speckled trout wallowed at the surface, made several short runs and soon I grabbed it behind the gills, put my rod under my arm and added my first trout, a nice 3 pounder, to my stringer.

Before the sun was up and over the horizon, I had 5 specs strung, when I noticed a couple of young fishermen wading out close to me. They knew what they were doing and quickly caught a trout, but because the fish were keeping me busy, I didn’t pay much attention to them. My last fish, number 10, the limit at the time, was another 3 pounder and the splashing fight put on by the fish, caused the boys to stop and watch.

As I shuffled back to the Whaler and pulled the heavy stringer up into the boat, I heard one of them say, “That old guy can really catch specs!” Thinking to myself, That’s the second time someone has said that about me! Perhaps my work is getting in the way of a new opportunity?

On the outskirts of Freeport, Texas, before sun up, we stopped at the only open convenience store we could find and bought some ham, bread and snacks for our offshore trip that morning.  Bob Baugh and I had been planning this mid week trip for almost 2 weeks and finally caught some nice, calm weather; seas 1 to 2, with winds calm to 5 MPH all day.  It would be hot, but what’s new for summer along the Texas Gulf coast?

Bob had just bought a new 20, foot, deep vee, aluminum boat with a 60 horse engine and we were going to christen it for offshore.  It would scream in our bays, but we didn’t know how well it would handle in the Gulf’s swells.

We launched the boat, bought some cigar minnows and headed out of the channel, between the rock jetties and on into the Gulf of Mexico.  Our plan was to fish the near oil, rigs, 12 to 15 miles southwest out of Freeport and, hopefully, load up on some kingfish and maybe, catch a good size ling.

We were the only boat out that morning and the first rig we tied up to was covered up with 10 to 15 pound kings and, in short order, we had 5 in the over size, cooler.  Using speckled trout rigs; 7 foot, popping rods, with 15, pound line spooled on our wide, black reels, when we hooked a king, we would get a sizzling 50 to 75, yard, screaming run. The fights were fun, but Bob wanted to find a rig that held some big ling.

Unhooking from the rig, I asked Bob, “How about a sandwich, a ham, roll over sounds good to me?”  As Bob idled the boat away from the rig, I laid out the bread on top of the big cooler and opened the ham’s container.  Ugh!  What a rancid smell and I quickly threw the spoiled meat overboard!  However, the damage was done and within 5 minutes – mal de mere!  Bob jerked the boat up on top and sped toward the next rig as I held on and tried to concentrate on a rig along the horizon.  Some times this helps, but not this time as I held up a 5, gallon bucket and up came breakfast, I felt bad, as only one can when seasick!

Because I didn’t feel like moving or fishing, Bob hooked us up to the next rig and as I was checking out the horizon, he cast out, and right away, hooked into a nice king.  He subdued the 25, pounder and to get it into the boat, I had to move-move around and gaff it.  Performing my job to Bob’s minimum satisfaction, we iced the king and he said,  “We don’t need anymore of these, let’s go find a ling!”  Wanting to find the shore quickly, I could only reply a green, “OK.”

We pulled up to a nearby rig and Bob did something I’d never seen before, he raised the motor up and gunned it, the propeller made a huge splash and up popped 2 big, ling, probably 80 pounders, the biggest either of us had ever seen!  These fish are extremely curious and the noise and splashing of the motor will sometimes draw them up from within the rig.  When I saw these 2 big guys, lazily coming to the surface, I experienced a miraculous recovery, grabbed a rod and slipped a cigar minnow into the water.

A bruiser moved slowly over to the bait and promptly sucked it in, I set the hook and straight down the fish plowed, the 15 pound line was no match for this giant, and pop, the line snapped.  Bob also snapped, “I told you that light stuff is no match for these big fish!”   My only weak excuse was a claim of seasickness.

Going back to my seasickness, I watched the same splashing tactic at the next rig and sure enough, up floated another big, ling.  Bob said, “Watch this,” as he cast out a cigar minnow on a stout boat rod with, 80, pound line.  The ling slowly swam up to the bait and just hovered there.  Bob jerked the cigar minnow as the ling moved over and inhaled it.

Down, down, down, the line tearing off the heavy reel, the ling was trying to get into the rig and cut him off.  Tightening the drag, he stopped the ling cold and began pumping the rod, getting some line back.  The ling came up much easier than it went down and finished this fight churning the water around the boat.  Miraculously healed, I gaffed the big fish, Bob whacked it on the head and we lifted it up into the cooler.  It was quitting time so we headed on in, loaded up the boat that, by the way, handled very nicely out there and drove on over to Bayou Vista where we cleaned our cooler full of fish.

Not too far out in the Gulf of Mexico, Bob used an old trick to nail this 45 pounder.  The line cut on the fish’s back shows plainly.

We filleted the fish and made sure we gave some to my neighbor.  She was a WW II war bride from France and always made us the best fish soup anywhere!  She and her husband rode out Hurricane Alicia as it passed right over Bayou Vista.  They looked out during the fury of the storm and counted 5 tornados and her husband told me, “That was enough for me!  Right then, we decided that we’d move.”  A month later they moved to Alabama and we never got a chance to get her fish soup recipe.

Pulling the boat in close to the channel side of Galveston’s North Jetty, Jim Buck quietly dropped the anchor into the water, paying out the line slowly, it finally it caught in the rocks and the boat swung out toward the channel. If the specs are here, on an outgoing tide, this spot where the jetty takes an almost imperceptible direction change can be a “boat loader”. It requires the fish, of course, no one anchored on the spot, an outgoing tide, moderate to light wind and not to rough a wave action. Except for a chop in the waves, this morning met almost all the requirements.

The boat was bouncing in the chop as Jim and I baited up and cast out back toward the rocks, but our guest, Dave Adams looked a little green. With his green feeling, he didn’t want to look down and reach into the bait box for a shrimp. Obliging him, I procured a bait for him and hooked it just below the horn, as he cast out I thought, Uh-oh he won’t last in this chop.

Fittingly, Dave had the first hit and the fish took off down the jetty and out to sea, but the fish, my guess a 5 or 6 pound speckled trout, took a turn back toward the boat, wallowed and began a furious fight on the surface. Having reeled my shrimp in, I netted the fish for Dave, unhooked it and tossed the almost 6 pounder into the cooler. This considerably perked him up, but looking down and getting the shrimp, then threading it on to the hook, back came the green feeling. Gamely, he cast out toward the rocks, but as he rushed to put his rod in a holder he barely made it to the side, up came breakfast!

While Dave was contemplating his fate, Jim had a big strike, after a classic battle we boated the 6, pound spec. Telling Dave to concentrate on the old lighthouse on the end of the South Jetty, over 2 miles away, I went back to fishing.

All told we boxed 6 trout, 5 to 6 pounders, but Dave’s condition didn’t improve. Although he repeatedly told us to keep fishing, looking at the lighthouse didn’t help much, so the only thing left was to pick up the anchor and get underway, even though, leaving a fish producing spot was tough, nothing is worse than being sea sick!

We moved around the end of the rocks and close in, the Gulf side of the North Jetty was almost smooth. With the wind hitting his face, Dave was feeling better and by the time we reached the boat cut he was cured of his malady! All Jim and I could do was put the boat back on the trailer and wonder about the missed opportunity to fill the cooler with big specs?

It was a hot afternoon and Jim Buck and I were fishing in lower West Galveston Bay, having good luck on specs, with some five or six pound, gafftopsail catfish, or gafftops, thrown in. Gafftops are slimy, slimy, but offer an excellent fight, and when fried, offer excellent table fare. After each gafftop that we caught, we had to clean the slime off of our line and leader and if we kept one to eat, we ended up with a major chore cleaning our cooler.

Paying no attention to the storm forming west of us we continued fishing and continued catching fish. What’s a little storm if you’re catching fish? Soon, as the storm came closer, lightning popping along its front edge, the wind picking up, common sense overtook our desire to catch fish, and we headed back to the east and the safe harbor, at Jamaica Beach. We were making 35 in my boat, but it seemed, that the faster we went, the storm went faster and this storm turned out to be a bad one!

The storm caught up with us, the lightning scary, after we passed Snake Island and taking the sharp turn into the Jamaica Beach, channel, I cut the engines and coasted up to the dock. One boat was loading and we were next. The wind was blowing at least 60, slamming things around, but thank goodness, the loading ramp, at water level, offered about 4 feet of protection. If we raised our heads, the blowing sand and spray stung like needles.

Peeping over the edge of my boat’s deck, looking north toward the mainland, I saw a small boat, fighting the storm and heading our way. Nothing unusual, a small boat heading in, but as I looked closer, I saw a waterspout right behind it. He was going about 25 and the waterspout was keeping up with him, not catching him, but staying about a 100 yards to his rear.

The small boat cleared the north end of Karankawa Reef and at full speed, made a hard right, across the bay, toward the Jamaica Beach channel. Lucky for him the waterspout continued east towards Green’s Cut. Soon the back edge of the storm passed over us and we successfully loaded our boat on the trailer.

We then helped the lone fisherman in the small boat that the waterspout chased. He was wet, scared, glad to be ashore and away from the waterspout. He said, “I thought it had me and I was afraid to turn because I thought it would follow me.”

We never saw him again. I bet he took up a safer hobby!