Good story on beach snook from Terry Tomalin of the Tampa Bay Times. I've been wanting to get out the long rod and sight fish, but the conditions haven't been consistently good enough for me to head over to Honeymoon beach. Maybe things will improve after Chantal moves on. I hope so.
Mike Barrett was convinced the approaching storm had shut down the
snook bite. But sometimes all it takes is a little sunshine to turn a
day around.
"It seems like these waves are getting bigger," he said as we worked
our baits on an outgoing tide on Honeymoon Island in Dunedin. "I don't
know how long we can last."
Showing posts with label sight fish. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sight fish. Show all posts
Friday, July 12, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Finding the Fish
I now have the utmost respect for those who sight fish. It's easier --- and more efficient --- to throw a spinning rod with an artificial lure --- or dare I say --- a piece of bait.
But to sight fish, you have to know where the fish and how to find them when the planets don't align. So it was last week at Fort Desoto during a late-evening, new moon flood tide. I went two days. Back to back. Missed my chances on both. Slow learner, I guess.
Day one, I was place conscious. Fished the same flat that yielded fish on the same exact tide a month ago. A stiff northwest wind made for an exceptionally low tide. I sought protection near any lee island I could find. Of course, that strategy didn't help much, because the wind blew hard no matter where I fished. I gave into the elements pretty quickly and chalked it up to one of those things you can't control.
A couple of my buddies, however, were a little more persevering and pushed the deeper on to the flat in deeper, but unprotected water. They found fish. I worked on my casting.
Lesson learned, right? So I thought.I fished the next day determined not to repeat my mistakes. I strayed deeper on to the flat, even though the northwest wind continued to blow. The water level was low, so low that the tips of the turtle grass poked above the surface. That was a telling sign, but I was confident that the incoming --- and the fish --- would find me, if I stayed positive.
A few fish tailed on the outgoing, not long mind you, but enough to keep me interested. So I waited and reminded myself to be patient, that the fish would come to me. An hour passed, then another 10 minutes and the afternoon sun descended below the horizon.
I had about 10 minutes of light left. Not much time to fish, but just enough time to make a run past the tips of the grass to even deeper water. I paddled for a few minutes, much farther than I had before.
The tips of the grass began to fade as I found knee-deep water and I found the fish, tailing away. Moral of the story. If the tide doesn't come in, you have to find enough water to keep the fish happy. The fish won't come to you; you have to go to the fish.
With evening tailers, the window for quality fishing is narrow. Exploring isn't an option. One miscalculation and you're probably done. That's why it's important to invest time on the water. The more experience you have, the better decisions you make on the fly.
But to sight fish, you have to know where the fish and how to find them when the planets don't align. So it was last week at Fort Desoto during a late-evening, new moon flood tide. I went two days. Back to back. Missed my chances on both. Slow learner, I guess.
Day one, I was place conscious. Fished the same flat that yielded fish on the same exact tide a month ago. A stiff northwest wind made for an exceptionally low tide. I sought protection near any lee island I could find. Of course, that strategy didn't help much, because the wind blew hard no matter where I fished. I gave into the elements pretty quickly and chalked it up to one of those things you can't control.
A couple of my buddies, however, were a little more persevering and pushed the deeper on to the flat in deeper, but unprotected water. They found fish. I worked on my casting.
Lesson learned, right? So I thought.I fished the next day determined not to repeat my mistakes. I strayed deeper on to the flat, even though the northwest wind continued to blow. The water level was low, so low that the tips of the turtle grass poked above the surface. That was a telling sign, but I was confident that the incoming --- and the fish --- would find me, if I stayed positive.
A few fish tailed on the outgoing, not long mind you, but enough to keep me interested. So I waited and reminded myself to be patient, that the fish would come to me. An hour passed, then another 10 minutes and the afternoon sun descended below the horizon.
I had about 10 minutes of light left. Not much time to fish, but just enough time to make a run past the tips of the grass to even deeper water. I paddled for a few minutes, much farther than I had before.
The tips of the grass began to fade as I found knee-deep water and I found the fish, tailing away. Moral of the story. If the tide doesn't come in, you have to find enough water to keep the fish happy. The fish won't come to you; you have to go to the fish.
With evening tailers, the window for quality fishing is narrow. Exploring isn't an option. One miscalculation and you're probably done. That's why it's important to invest time on the water. The more experience you have, the better decisions you make on the fly.
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