Casual to a Fault

Julie and I headed for the bay on Friday afternoon with our friends Alex and Bethany following behind us. Our goal was to be on the sand by 5:30, enjoying wine and cheese as the sun made its way home. We launched the Stilt, gathered Rosie's requisite treats, and headed east about 10 miles. Two men were hanging out at the launch grousing about the Easter holiday boat traffic, but they rarely go out, and they never go to where we go, where virtually no other boats can go. By the time we arrived at the eastmost Leaning Towers spoil banks, about 2 miles from the Padre Island dunes glowing golden to the east, there were no boats within site. No buildings, no people, either, except us. It was, in today's world, a rare experience. Nothing except dunes to the east, and the sliver of the western shoreline beneath the setting sun.

Rosie and I went wading for a few minutes, and located a couple of reds that were feeding in about six inches of water, with backs breaking the surface. My unpracticed cast was less than perfect, and the reds fled to deeper water. I didn't care, because catching fish wasn't my goal. I headed back to the boat and joined our guests, who were eating all kinds of delectable finger foods on the front deck of the Stilt, and sipping drinks in the low, dramatic sunlight.

We headed in before the sun actually set, and tugged on Swisher Sweets and Cuban cigars for a while before Alex and Bethany headed back to Reynosa, where Alex works as an orthodontist.

The next morning Julie, Rosie and I left the dock before sunrise. For all of the times Julie and I had been out on the bay together, we'd never gone out at daybreak together. We headed for a place I often  go at daybreak to see if the reds are gathered and tailing beneath gulls and terns. The breeze was low enough to see tails if the fish were inclined to pod up. We ran into the shallowest areas of the lagoon, and shut down when I saw gulls and terns diving and hovering above the water ahead of us. Then I realized that not only had I left the push pole back at the trailer (on purpose), I'd forgotten my booties, as well (not on purpose). So my goals were necessarily limited due to my casual preparation. A week before, I'd been similarly non vigilant, and had forgotten to bring extra gas for the boat. These are early spring phenomena; that is, I often mess up before I get my equipment in place, and my honed-in guide mentality up and running.

But I wasn't going to be deterred from casting to the giant red that I immediately spotted heading our way, about 200 yards north of us. I had just enough time to remove my rod from the holder, slip into the water, and wade through the yucky mud far enough from the boat not to catch the poling platform or Julie with my back cast. Armed with a size 8 Clouser, I thought, "What are the chances the red will perceive this fly in this off-colored water?" Then again, I recalled many occasions when I'd been in the same lagoon on windy days, when fast-cruising reds would perceive the fly when it was fully five feet away in rough water. Sure enough, when the wake approached, and I put the tiny fly about three feet to the front of the red, it shot forward and took the fly. Since my line was slack, and the red was barreling down on me, I couldn't get a good hookup. Finally I got tight to the fly, and the red--probably 30 inches in length--porpoised in the 8-inch water, and showed me most of his huge body before plowing by me and throwing the fly.

I don't need much more than that to be happy, so I stood in one spot for a while and made a few casts at nervous water before wading back to the boat.

We spent a while watching the birds working over the feeding reds, and then headed east for a boat ride. Julie was so happy to see the Laguna Madre at dawn, and wants to go out with me before sunrise more often. That was the biggest "catch" of the day.

I know you want something more than casual fishing stories. More serious tales will soon follow, because I can assure you that the Laguna Madre is going to fish very well this year. All of the signs are in place: low algae on the west side, a comparatively cold and wet winter, and several "turned on" days on the east side already documented by the usual suspects. You should consider coming down.