In early May of 1968, my dad and I took off work early one afternoon and towed the boat down to Galveston Island, bought a quart of shrimp for $4.00, launched it and headed out into west bay on the east side of the causeway. Our objective for the day was to find a school of birds, sea gulls, working over shrimp that the speckled trout were driving towards the surface. Today we’d be using live shrimp and our tackle was 6-1/2 foot popping rods, Dad had a red reel and I had a direct drive model, both spooled with 15, pound line, popping corks, a 2 to 3 foot leader with small treble hooks.

We headed out to the Intercoastal Waterway where the channels split, turned right along the Pelican Island channel, cut the motor down and started looking. Not 400 yards ahead, there was a big bird school and with no other boats in sight, we’d have this one to ourselves. Positioning our boat down wind from the birds, we drifted up and at 40 yards, made our first casts. Dad sailed his cast right in front of the birds and before he could turn the reel handle had a big strike and me, trying to hard to make a long cast, had a wonderful backlash!

While I picked at the backlash, Dad was in a big fight with the spec that later proved just under 5 pounds, but soon he wore it down and as I slid the net under it, Dad unhooked it and put it in the cooler, rebaited and cast back out. Finally proving victorious over the backlash, I cast out and we both had big strikes, good fish that circled us around the boat, wallowed on top and we finally tired out both specs and netted the almost 5 pounders. Having only one net on board, I netted my dad’s fish, then he netted mine and, while we were wasting precious fishing time with this school of big trout, it fell to me to untangle the mess.

Untangling us, we baited up and cast out, had simultaneous strikes, 2 more nice fish, but mine slipped the hook and Dad brought his spec in, I netted it and added another to the box. Baiting up and casting out, Dad was immediately into another nice spec, while I had the Mother of all backlashes. This one shut down my fishing for the afternoon, Dad added 2 more almost 5 pounders giving us a total of 6, almost 30 pounds of speckled trout!

The birds finally dissipated, Dad cast out several times with no strikes, so we drifted for almost 15 minutes hoping the specs would gather back up, they didn’t, so we headed back in, filleted the fish and drove back to our southwest Houston homes, all the while me thinking, I’ll have to get me one of those smooth casting, red reels.

The next day I stopped by Oshman’s and picked me up a brand spankin’ new red reel!

Reading the title, you’d think that somehow I’d gotten my line stripped by a monster fish, but read on and you’ll see it was something completely different.

After, as it turned out, a very eventful trip off shore, see my post of  May 25, 2010, “[Honey Hole]”, with Bobby Baldwin, his brother and father-in-law, I was to meet Bobby and one of his friends from Beaumont at their boat shed on Bolivar peninsula and head back out with them for another go at some kingfish.  To top it all off, my ex-wife and I were to spend the weekend at their family’s beach house.

When I arrived at the boat shed, no Bobby.  His friend, Joe, was waiting for me and said, “Bobby was purty sick, but he told me to tell you to take the boat on out and catch some fish.”   What a surprise to me because I’d never taken a big, boat out anywhere, let alone, offshore, but the Fishing God’s were kind, a slight southeast wind and the forecast was for it to be calm all day!  Well there has to be a first time for everything so out we went!

Joe and I cranked it up, it started and purred as we backed out of the shed and putted out into the Intercoastal Waterway.  Trying to remember everything Tom had said coming in from my last trip with them, I opened up the big engine and we cruised on out into Galveston Channel and around the South Jetty.  We agreed that we’d stop at the special place and try for some speckled trout.  Fiddling around there for an hour, we caught 2, 2 pounders, then pulled up the anchor and headed south, out toward the 12 mile, oil rig.

Really being ciceros and having no experience with a big boat or offshore fishing, just as we left the spot on the jetty, we put out 2 lines for trolling, one with a green feather jig and another with a blue.  Unknown to me at the time, there’s a small hump on the Gulf’s bottom, probably an old wreck or some other type of structure, 6 miles of the end of the jetty.  Trolling over the hump, both lines were hit and two kings took off.  We did our best and finally gaffed both fish, by our estimate, 15, pound, kings.

Not even knowing to turn around and troll back across the hump, that we didn’t even know was there, we doggedly kept trolling south, toward the rig now visible just over the horizon.  We trolled around the rig for an hour with no luck and since it was past time for lunch, I told Joe that we were heading back in.

We must have trolled back across the hump, because one of lines was smashed by something big!  Putting the engine in neutral, I grabbed the rod this big fish took line out like there was no drag on the reel!  The fish continued the battle, but stayed deep, taking more line.  Finally I started gaining on it, and as it wallowed on the surface, we both gawked at the biggest red snapper we’d ever seen!  Gaffing it, hauling it aboard, it was huge and we guessed it weighed at least 20, pounds.

We iced the snapper in our cooler and headed in, past the end of the South Jetty, up the Galveston Channel and turned into the Intercoastal Waterway.  The engine had been running for almost 7 hours and, when we left this morning, we’d never thought to fill the gas tank, luckily for us we didn’t run out!  But misfortune reared its ugly head as I was putting the boat into the slip.  Turning off the engine, our drift, that I thought would take us on into the slip, stopped cold.  The tide was going out, back then I didn’t even know about tides!

Trying to start the engine, all I got was one click.  The engine that had been running for almost 7 hours wouldn’t start.  The starter chose this time to quit working.  Luckily, a man outside of the shed threw us a line and we tugged the big 23, footer boat back into the stall.  What if we’d gotten the click when we were offshore?  I didn’t even know how to use the ship to shore radio!

On meat market scales the snapper weighed 22, pounds!

“Unkie”, G.A. Pyland, of course my uncle, had been telling me about this new “super” place for speckled trout and redfish, not 2 hours from our homes in southwest Houston. Taking the short drive down to the coast, gas was only $.30 a gallon then, we, my dad and Dub Middleton, met “Unkie” and my cousin George at the specified bait camp in Port O’Conner. It was still dark and we’d have a 20, minute boat ride to our destination, a place Unkie called the fish trap.

With the tide coming in all morning, we cranked up our boats and headed down Matagorda Bay towards Pass Cavallo, the fish trap was located just north of the pass, with a small channel leading into a hundred acre lake, the trap. Arriving, we anchored the boats, jumped into the water and started casting. Our lures of choice were silver spoons with a treble hook, with a pink attractor attached to the hook. Each of us was using a black, Ambassaduer reel, with a 7, foot, popping rod.

Bump, bump, “Fish on”, I yelled out, as the rod bent with the strike, soon, not using a net, I grabbed the small red behind the gills, not big enough to keep, unhooked and released it. First fish of the day, but soon we were all catching small reds and if we’d kept them all, we’d had a good mess! The small reds finally quit hitting and we remarked that funny, no big reds and no speckled trout either.

After almost 2 hours of this fun, we told Unkie and George that we were going to try our hand in Espiritu Santo Bay and see if any birds were working. Knowing that late spring was a little bit soon for bird action, but these little reds weren’t putting any fish on the stringer! We pulled the anchor, and since Unkie and George were still fishing, we crept out of the fish trap and once in Matagorda Bay, headed north. Rather than going all the way back to Port O’Conner, we took a short cut into Espiritu Santo, a small pass that led into the east end of the bay.

Not 2 miles into the bay, we saw a bunch of birds hovering over the water, a sign that something had driven the shrimp to the surface. After changing to do nothing, slow sinking lures, we coasted up to within casting distance of the birds and Dub was the first to let fly and he immediately had a hard hit. What was it, spec, gafftop cat or ladyfish, but circling the boat the fish soon identified itself as a nice trout and when we netted it, a 3 pounder.

Dad and I cast out below the birds and both had hard strikes that proved to be identical fish to Dubs. The birds would break up and 5 minutes later, here came the shrimp back up to the top, we could see them hopping about evading the trout below, but the birds would converge on the hapless shrimp and what the specs missed, the birds would get.

We stayed with this school of fish for almost 30 minutes and boxed a dozen then they quit. For a while we stayed around, but we noticed the tide had changed and was going out, probably the reasons for the fish’s lockjaw. No more bird schools that day and we headed home around noon. It was a fun trip and we caught 12 nice specs, along with a lot of small reds (that we didn’t keep).

The fish trap is no more because several years later a hurricane rearranged the coastal area around Pass Cavallo!

April 1970 offered some beautiful Gulf coast weather, light winds and warm days that had raised the water temperature to over 70, the speckled trout had spawned and now had moved onto the sand/shell flats prowling for food.  It was mine and Jim Buck, my brother-in-laws plan to intercept some of these monsters on the sand flats, on the south side of the spoil banks of the Intercoastal Waterway, just west of Greens Cut, but not as far as Karankawa Reef where the sand flats turned into mud/shell.  Two months earlier, on a warm February afternoon, the mud had offered us some good fishing, but now the specs had changed to their spring and early summer pattern.

Jim and I were using live shrimp under a popping cork, but weren’t blind casting and drifting. Our targets were the slicks made by the specs gorging and regurgitating bits of their prey. The oil released will pop to the surface as a pail or washtub size, shiny, oily slick and the trout will be under the slicks. A telltale sign produced by the slicks is a distinctive watermelon smell and many times we’d pick up the odor before we found the slick.

We were idling along in my new 17 foot, deep vee, cross wind to a light southeast breeze, and sure enough, Jim said, “I smell ‘em” and I also picked up the unmistakable scent. Scanning the immediate area, we both saw slicks popping to the surface less than a hundred feet to our left and cutting the outboard, we looped short casts between 2 of them and were both rewarded with solid strikes. After a few short runs, a boat circling battle ensued and we let the specs tire before slipping nets under them and claiming a brace of fine 3 pound, trout!

Restarting the motor, we continued looking and sniffing and came upon a tub size slick to our front.  Jim shot a cast toward it, popped his cork once and a spec smashed the shrimp and headed off across the bay. Rod tip held high, Jim’s fish began the first of 3 circles of the boat, each being closer, until laying on its side, I easily slipped the net under it and hefted a nice 5 pounder aboard. Jim had been fishing for specs for the past 4 years and this was his best one to date. He was happy and, smiling, told me, “I’ll drive the boat and you catch the next one!”

Within 15 minutes we both caught the scent and as I cast toward the emerging slick, I remarked to Jim, “I’ll bet this’l be a nice one.”  No sooner as the shrimp hit the water, there was a smashing strike! The fish headed “south” and all I could do was hold on. Finally, stopping the run, I was surprised when the fish headed back towards the boat. Most times a good spec will begin circling, conserving its energy, then really put up a scrap beside the boat, but not this one.

Reeling madly and barely keeping pressure on the fish, it rolled a short distance from the boat, revealing a flash of silver and we both remarked, “That’s some spec!” It made several short runs and stirred the water to “a froth” around the boat, but finally tired as Jim netted it and held it up for both of us to admire. We guessed that it weighed over six pounds.

We had already filleted the other three fish and belatedly decided to, at least, take a picture of the big ‘un!

We had four very nice specs in the cooler and called it a day. We loaded the boat and drove down to Red’s, 7 Seas Grocery, to weigh the big fish. Red, the owner, was holding court with several of his friends, and even though it was before lunch, he and his pals were well into the sauce. Declining his offer to join into the festivities, I asked if we could weigh a big trout that I had just caught? “By all means,” he replied.

Showing off the big fish, it brought “ooohs and ahs” from the group and placing it on to his meat scales, the meter stopped at 7 pounds, 2 ounces. This was a “best trout” for me for the next 21 years!

Because of the late hour, we had braved a huge storm in the early hours of the morning, we launched my 24 footer at the Galveston Yacht Basin, rather than making the 10 mile trip from Bayou Vista, by water. In and out launching was $3.00 and gasoline was still less than $1.00 per gallon, (the good ‘ole days).

The weather still looked a little “iffy” so we decided to buy some shrimp and fish around the Pelican Island Flats, near the old, sunken concrete ship, a good spot for spring time speckled trout. We drifted for about 45 minutes and caught a few small specs, then the tide started out, and of all things, the wind laid. I told my crew, Suzanne, Mike and his friend, Dick “Get your lines in, we’re going to the Gulf side of the South Jetty.”

Seven-miles out, there was no wind blowing as we rounded the end of the jetty and headed for my favorite spot, and since the tide was going out, the water on the Gulf side was moving toward the beach. As we anchored I noticed small fish hanging close to the rocks. A real good sign!

Changing from the popping corks we’d used when we were drifting, to a split shot 10 inches above a small hook, we baited up and cast toward the rocks. Dick got hung on a rock and had to break off and while he was re-rigging Mike had a big strike and was fast into a nice red fish, catch the conditions right at this spot and it always paid off.

We had been fishing for about an hour and had 5 nice reds and 2 trout, 4 pounders, when I heard a “Hmmpf” from Suzanne and saw her rod nearly bend double. A big red and he was moving down the rocks to our right, out to sea, as Suz held her rod up high and hung on. Soon we boated a very nice 28, inch, red, that she fought perfectly.

For a day that started as a washout, literally, we now had nice mess of fish, spanish mackerel, red fish, trout and a couple of big sheepshead. Our big cooler was close to half full of fish, so as the tide changed, we headed back to the Yacht Basin. We were 4 grubby, stinky, fisher persons with a box of fish to clean!

This particular day, we were the only boat that had gone out, so as we loaded the boat on to the trailer, we drew a nice crowd of onlookers who, when we got the cooler down and opened it, they appropriately “oohed and aaahd” over our catch. Mike, Dick and I were kidding around, chewing tobacco and spitting, and cleaning the fish when a well to do appearing lady came up to Suz and asked her, “Did you catch any of these fish?” and Suz replied, “Yes Mam, I caught the big red.” The lady replied “Good for you!”

We finished cleaning the fish and iced them down. Then, as Dick and I were lifting the big cooler up to Mike, he leaned over to grab it and, by accident, belched. We paid no attention and just kept loading the heavy cooler. The well to do lady turned to Suz and asked her, “Young lady, just who are those men?” Suzanne replied, “The big guy over there with gray hair is my dad and the big guy in the boat is my brother in law and the other big guy is Dick, a friend.” “Hmmpf, they’re gross!” the well to do lady said, as she turned and scurried off.

Even though Suzanne is a graduate from and former Texas Aggie, she has been fishing with me since she was 11 years old. She can bait her own hook, cast the bait out, land the fish with a net and take the hook out, all of this even though she is an Aggie!

My barber, Joe Riley, kept telling me about this great fishing place where he always caught (according to him) a bunch of fish. A trip was set up and we met at his Sugar Land, Texas home, we drove on down to the San Barnard River, actually where the Barnard crosses the Intercoastal Waterway. 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 2 mile run, west on the Intercoastal, there we would turn into a little cut, not 50 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 tripod 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 3 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 left of the cut and, keeping the line tight, let the current drift our rigs back over the fishing area, a reef along the left side. Today we’d be using standard popping gear, 6-1/2 foot rods, 15, pound line wrapped on red reels and a popping cork, but today was a little different, instead of using a 3 foot leaders under the corks, our leader was only 15 or 18 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 3, 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, 14, 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 2 pounds and often, I’ve wondered why?” Having fished the same spot for almost 5 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 the reel. After a grudging fight, Joe slipped the net under a big flounder that on my hand held scale was just over 4 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 8 pounds, whoppers! We ended the day with 32 fish in the cooler, flounder, reds and specs! Not bad for a new to me spot and I certainly would 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, 5 or 6 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!

No, not a 12 pounder, smooth bore cannon, but a big bass.  The story of our quest for the big fish follows.

As I was languishing in a staff job in Atlanta, an old friend from my neighborhood, Bill Priddy, had just been promoted in, he had worked for me in Houston, but now had a marketing job with the big computer company we both worked for.  Best for me though, I now had a bass fishing partner.

We decided that since we were both in Georgia, where a 22 pound, bass, the world record, had been caught years earlier, to go after a really big one.  Our choice was a pay to fish spot, Horseshoe Lake, just outside of Tifton, a few miles from the world record catch.  Tifton was a good 4 hours away from our homes in Sandy Springs so we planned an overnight trip to the lake.

Even in March winter still had its grips on Atlanta, but the dogwoods were starting to bloom. What a sight, white blooms covering the hills and hollows, the first sign that spring was near. As we drove south toward Tifton, which is within 5 miles of the Florida line, we met spring just past Columbus and everything turned green.  We spent the night in my camper and planned to fish all day Saturday. We were up early, ate a quick breakfast, Twinkies and OJ and launched the boat in the first of 3 lakes where we would fish. This place had 10 lakes all stocked, supposedly, with Florida strain, largemouth bass.

We hadn’t been fishing ten minutes when, “Whamo”, Bill has a tremendous strike on a yellow, Piggy Boat. The fish took line, shaking its head like a redfish and we couldn’t figure what he had tied into.  Then, a roll by the boat told us, the high fin giving it away, a channel catfish, of at least 10 pounds. Not the wall hanger bass we were looking for, but it would look good in the skillet!

We fished the first lake hard with spinners, worms and rat-l-traps, but only had the catfish to show for it, so far, not worth $5.00 fee. We moved on to the second lake, by unceremoniously carrying my 12, foot, aluminum boat and trolling motor over the levee. A feature I had added to the aluminum boat was three coats of rubberized paint applied to the insides, a liner that I painted on, for an aluminum boat it was nearly soundproof.

The second lake, almost 50 acres, was much like a rice field reservoir along the Texas coast. A deep channel was cut all around a square impoundment with about ten feet of shallow water along the sides before the channel dropped off into about 6 feet of water. The channel, the only structure in the lake, was approximately 30 feet wide, sloping up to a large, shallow flat covering the center of the lake.

We choose to cast, me a six inch, motor oil colored, worm, rigged Texas style, and Bill, back to his trusty yellow, Piggy Boat, toward the center of the lake and drag our baits over the shallow water and across, or down, in my case, the drop-off. We had not seen any bass on their spawning beds, but if not today they should start within the week.  Finally, we caught two, 3 pound, bass, and quickly put both back into the water to grow up. Well, we thought out loud, we may be onto something, casting toward the middle and working the baits back over the drop-off.

About 5 minutes after putting the last bass back in the water, I had a jarring strike on my worm. The fish didn’t gently tap-tap-tap, the worm, but picked it up and “headed south” at full speed. I was using a solid spinning reel with 10 pound line and a fairly stiff, 6-1/2 foot spinning rod and I exclaimed to Bill, “I got a big hit, Bill, I guess this is another cat.” Thinking back, I have fished for and hooked a big, blue marlin of five or six hundred pounds, caught a 120 pound Pacific sailfish, a 60 pound Amberjack and a 60 plus pound, possibly a State record in Texas, but we cut it up and ate it, kingfish, all on light tackle, and in comparison, this fish jolted me as hard as any of the bigger ones!

The fish took line and then came to the top and wallowed up, almost into the air and we saw the big mouth. Good heavens, a big, big bass and all I could do was hang on and hope the hook was set securely in its jaw. Another wallow/jump, the fish was too big to get out of the water all the way, but we could see it more clearly and it was a whopper! Another short run and my line stopped, it seemed to be hung up, I guessed the bass had wrapped me around a log or something.

We turned on the electric motor and inched toward the point where my line entered into the water, and Bill saw motion, a swirl and the bass had wrapped the line around a snag of some kind.  All in one motion, I cut off the motor, told Bill to stick a paddle into the bottom to hold the boat and flopped into the 2-1/2 foot, cold, water with my rod held high. Running my hand down the line until I felt the snag, I inched my hand around until I felt the bass and hoping that I didn’t hook myself, tried to grab the fish. No luck, so I got a good hold of the snag and pulled it to the surface and Bill netted the bass.

Back into the boat, we didn’t have a scale, but we estimated the bass weighed over 10 pounds, so I told Bill, “I felt like I was harvesting rice, reaching down and bringing up the snag, moss and bass, all in one handful. This one is going on the wall.” This was years before “Share the Lunker”, or, you could get a plastic replica of your fish, so we put her on a stringer and kept fishing. We caught some more bass, but none even close to the big one, so we decide to find a scale and weigh the fish and head back to Atlanta.

The owner of the lakes was as proud as if he had caught the fish himself and his certified scale showed 12 pounds! I couldn’t imagine catching a 12 pounder. Pictures were taken, congratulations accepted, the fish was packed in ice and we loaded the boat on top of the camper and headed back to Atlanta.

Back in Atlanta, it seemed like the whole neighborhood came over and the viewing turned into a party. Keeping the fish on ice, on Monday, I took it to the best taxidermist in the Atlanta area. He was in Duluth and within a month, my fish was ready and today, it has a place of honor in the hall of my ranch house, next to a picture box display of my dad’s old fishing plugs and a replica mount of a 9 pound plus, speckled trout, but that’s another story.

The 12, foot aluminum boat is still providing yoeman service to my son, Randy. He uses it to take his kids bass fishing and maybe someday one of them will surpass my record!

After the move to Phoenix, Arizona, it wasn’t long until we found the perfect place for a weekend getaway, Rocky Point, Mexico, back then, 1971, no drugs, no shootings, just good ol’ saltwater fishing, eating, margaritas and lounging around!

On our first trip down as we were driving around, I noticed a mountain, really just a high hill, more like the flat hills in central Texas. The interesting thing about this one was it had a trail, like 2 ruts, running from the ground to it’s top. Thinking to myself, “Someone, more likely a lot of “someones”, has used this trail to drive up the mountain.”
Putting this in my “something neat to do file”, I continued to drive on.

A couple of years later, back in Rocky Point, we had just come back from fishing and were driving around (again), we curled around the mountain, there was the road/trail going up to the top. Having to try it, I mistakenly said to my family, “Why don’t we try and go up it?” Resounding “Yeses” from my family was my answer, so here we go! At the time I had all the confidence in my new 4 wheel drive, Power Wagon, complete with a hemi engine and a camper on the back. Thinking to myself the added weight of the camper with 3 kids, will help to get traction and keep us rolling on up.

But, on my way to approach the road/ trail, thoughts were popping into my mind. If the truck didn’t make it up, how would I get the family down safely? How would I get the new truck down? Back it down was the only solution.

Confidence abounding and in 4 wheel low, I started up the road/trail, hmmm, a tad steeper that it looked, but we powered on towards the top. Half way up, the engine straining, all 4 wheels kicking up sand, this wasn’t as easy as it looked from down below. Almost to the top, roughly 75 feet to go and the new truck just bogged down and wouldn’t go up any more. My back wheels were spinning, the front ones couldn’t get traction and the truck was going nowhere! It appeared that a mix of gravity, weight in the back of the truck, and basically street tires, did us in.

Putting the parking brake on, everyone, but me, got out, then putting the new truck in reverse and giving the engine gas, it didn’t move! Duh, I hadn’t taken off the parking brake. The “back” down wasn’t hard or difficult, just line up, tap the brakes occasionally and hold on. Down it went and this wasn’t as hard as backing down the real curvy street in San Francisco, many years ago, with many, many crooks and turns in it. I’ll mention that it also was one way going up.

The walk down was tougher on the family, but if it hadn’t been for that one spot, I believe we’d made it!

Starting off with a little history, the Houston Ship Channel, all 50 miles of it, was begun in 1875 and not really completed until 1914.  In the late 1990’s and early 2000’s it was widened to over 500 feet, with a depth of 45.  Even for Texas, it is an engineering feat!

The month of August is probably the hottest one along the upper Texas coast with the water in the shallow bays, East and West Galveston Bay and Christmas Bay, heating up to the mid 80’s causing the big trout and redfish to seek cooler water.  The cooler water we were heading out to this mid August morning in 1968 was along the Houston Ship Channel.  The weather forecast was good light winds with the tide coming in, scattered thunder storms, in the afternoon, but our plan was to finish up by lunch, so we didn’t anticipate any bad weather or problems.

In my 17 foot, deep vee, pictured above, we, my dad and uncle, Alvin Pyland, better known as Unkie, launched at the bait camp at San Leon and made the short run out to the ship channel.   We went about 200 yards on the Smith’s Point side of the ship channel and started our drift.

Our tackle was 6-1/2 foot popping rods, red, Ambassaduer reels filled with 15 pound, mono line.  We used a popping cork with a 3, foot, leader, a light weight and a small treble hook.  Our bait was live shrimp.  We’d cast out, pop the cork, reel up the slack, repeat the process until we either had a strike or we retrieved the rig back to the boat, then, if no hit, cast back out and repeat the process.

Unkie and Dad cast out and hadn’t made one or two “pops” 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 dad’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 “bam” 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.

We were probably 15 or 20 miles up from the mouth of the Houston Ship Channel, the Galveston Jetties, and in the distance, south of us, the morning’s first big tanker was heading our way.  My dad said, “Boy, you’ve never seen the wake these big ships throw up, have you?”  “What wakes?” was my answer, then Unkie chimed in, “Six or 7 footers, that’s what and we’d better get everything in the boat squared away!”  This got my attention quick.  We quit fishing and knowing that if you’re in heavy seas, you head into them and don’t get caught broad side, I started the engine and here the came the wake.

Looking at the wake, it came toward us, obliquely, in a long line, soon it was only 50 feet from us then, here it was!  The deep vee in my boat’s hull cut smoothly through the 7, foot wake, rode up and down it and it would have swamped us if we’d been broadside to.

Encouraged by our recent success at catching over a dozen large speckled trout along the Channel, we decided to try our luck at the same approximate spot the following Monday. Before sun up, with a light wind blowing out of the southeast and the tide forecast was for it to be coming in all morning, we left Unkie’s house, near Hobby Airport, maybe another “haul”?  By the time we drove down to San Leon and got the boat ready for launching, the wind had shifted to the south and was blowing near 15 MPH, not the light breeze that we woke up to!  Our memory of the ideal conditions of the past week faded as the bay was already showing scattered white caps as Unkie, the eternal optimist, said, “Maybe it will smooth out before too long?”

The boat handled the cross chop very well as we sped across the ship channel, slowed down and started to literally bounce across the waves. To slow our drift, I deployed a 3, foot drag sleeve that smoothed us out a lot and made it possible for us to cast and keep our balance.  Baiting up we cast out and began our popping routine, pop the cork, reel up the slack, pop and repeat the process.  Our corks would get behind a wave and we’d loose sight of them and have to fish by feel, no problem if we kept our lines tight.

Several casts later, Dad had a good strike and as the fish took off he said, “Whoa big fella!”, he exclaimed.  “This is a good one and it’s not fighting like a spec!”  Good one it was, after 2 big runs against the light tackle and several wallows around the boat, I slipped the net under a nice redfish that weighed, on the bait camp scales, over 8 pounds!

More casts, more popping and as Unkie’s cork slipped behind a wave he reared back, setting the hook in a good fish.  Not the fight of a big red, but a determined pull and soon the fish started circling the boat, a sure sign of a good spec.  Netting the trout, a 6 pounder, I looked up and coming up the ship channel was our first tanker of the morning, pushing out a big wake.

We got the drag sleeve in, getting wet in the process, cranked up the boat’s engine and headed towards the wake.  This one looked huge, but probably was another 7 footer.  It seemed to be going faster that the one last week soon it was on us and up and over the boat handled it perfectly.  No other tankers were in sight so we putted back to our approximate location, deployed the drag sleeve, baited up and started casting out again.

Adding another 5 pounder, I looked up and on the horizon, could see 3 more tankers coming up the channel, probably heading up to the big refineries of Shell and Humble Oil, (in 1972 Humble’s name was changed to Exon.)  We couldn’t beat the first one across the channel so we rode over its wake without a problem, safely getting to the west side of the channel.   The second one presented us a much different situation we couldn’t beat it to the launch ramp so we had to turn around and head into it, slide over, then follow the wake up towards the ramp.

After filleting the fish, as we stowed everything in the boat and my dad remarked, “Not a bad day considering the heavy south wind.  You know, if every time we had a meat haul like last week, this would be called catching, instead of fishing!”

The sun was almost up as Bill Priddy cast the silver Rebel fishing plug about 36 inches out from the bank and was greeted by a solid strike, with the bass immediately taking to the air.  Looks like this stock tank had been stocked with bass before, the rancher didn’t know for sure and Bill and I were checking it out.  Bill slid the 3, pounder on to the sandy bank, unhooked it and slid it back into the water, commenting, “What a way to answer the rancher’s question.”

This trip to our newly acquired McCulloch County hunting lease was set up to scout for dove, the season opened in 2 weeks, but the rancher “insisted” that we check out this 2 acre stock tank, so mixing scouting and fishing, we “killed 2 birds with one stone”!

My bait of choice was a yellow Piggy Boat, pictured to the left, an early “safety pin” spinning bait, almost snag less if the hooks were installed properly, almost weed less and a proven “killer” for small lake and stock tank fishing, but his success cast a knawing doubt, if this was the right choice of baits.   Several casts later my doubts increased, so I thought Four more casts and I’ll switch to a Rebel.

At the same time, in my peripheral vision, I noticed movement to my left.  Turning toward the movement, along came this brightly colored snake, a big one, almost 5 foot long, dark, red bands, with black, yellow and black rings.  First thing that came to my mind was the old saying “Red and yellow kills a fellow. Red and black is safe for Jack.” Letting it slide on past, I thought it was some kind of a king snake, but later after consulting “Bing”, I determined that it was a Mexican milk snake, pictured below from Wikipedia.

More casts, no hits, as Bill plugged away, out scoring me with his Rebel.  Casting down, parallel to the bank, about 2 feet out from the shore, my Piggy Boat stopped, thinking I was fouled on some unseen, underwater obstruction, pulled on the object until the reel clicked as the drag paid out, but this wasn’t a “foul up”, it was a fish!

The fish headed away from the shore for deep water, taking line, more like a redfish, then it came to the surface clearing the water and I saw it was a big, big bass.  More runs, more jumps, the splashes attracting Bill as he walked over to me, but I was winning this “fight” and soon I slipped the big, bass up onto the bank.  Lipping it, unhooking the plug from the corner of its mouth, I held it up for us to admire.  He had a Deliar in his pocket and we weighed the bass, 8 pounds, 12 ounces, not a 12 pounder, my personal best, Bill was with me when I caught that one too, see my August 6, 2007 post, [“A Really Big Bass”], but still, this was a nice one too!

Keeping on fishing, we didn’t notice any doves coming into this tank and as the morning heated up, still no doves, the bass stopped too.  It turned out, the doves weren’t watering at this tank, but we found 2 more that afternoon that they were using and had wonderful shooting, 2 weeks later.

Years later, my son’s and I went up to the lease to fill our corn feeders, after this chore was taken care of, we had some time, the boys choose to go after some bull frogs and I opted for bass. I drove up along side of Hwy. 190 and with my spinning rod and trusty Piggy Boat spinner bait, climbed out of my Suburban, went through the fence, walked over the tank damn and began casting out into the 2 acre tank.  Years earlier, before dove season, Bill Priddy and I had scouted out this tank and enjoyed some good fishing, catching several almost whoppers, me adding an 8 plus pounder, but didn’t see any doves that morning.

Catching and throwing back several 2 pounders, I worked my way around the tank and along the shore, not 50 feet in front of me, on its side, was a big fish.  Walking up to it, it turned out to be a bass, a big one, its gills were barely moving and made no effort to escape to deeper water.

Never having seen this before and putting my rod down, I knelt beside the fish.  The fish made no effort to escape my grasp as I turned it over.  There was no sign of injury on either side, so I edged out into the water and tried to resuscitate the bass by moving it forward, forcing water over its gills.  No luck with that try, so I replaced it on its side stepped out of the water and the bass had stopped moving its gills!   It was gone and loosing heart for fishing, I left the bass on the edge of the water.  The next morning, no bass, I bet it fed some turtles?

If predators don’t get ‘em, bass have the ability to live a long time, 16-20 years.  My best guess was that central Texas’ hot weather and low oxygen content of the water could have combined to kill it.  For sure, extreme cold didn’t cause this one’s death.

I’ve always wondered if this was the big bass that I had caught several years before?