Late evening memories

I often go out onto the bay in the late evening, on the day before I guide. It's a private moment in an otherwise pretty public life. So Rosie and I headed out on Thursday before three days of guiding, just to enjoy our home waters. I went to one place only, and noticed birds working in very shallow water, so I pulled over and watched them. Wow, suddenly, redfish were ripping through the shallow

water, throwing water and bait in the air. I took my rod and walked a few yards from the boat, and stood upwind of the melee. I didn't really have any ambitions, but when some wakes started heading my way, I thought, Why not? The first red that came upwind took my fly like a hungry bass, with an audible suck. It was "only" 24 inches long, and after a pretty good fight, I released it and looked downwind. A larger wake approached, so I tried to put the Clouser ahead of it. It was windy, though, and the fly flopped 18" to the side of the moving wake. There was an explosion, and the fish literally came out of the water. I thought that I'd spooked it, but apparently, it had felt the fly on its lateral line, even in the wind-churned, murky water. Suddenly, I was hooked up to a living freight train. A few minutes later, I landed a redfish that was 28+ inches long. I went back to the boat, and enjoyed watching the redfish feeding. They are hammered so much by boats running back and forth over most of the bay. It's nice to see them relatively untroubled in a back lagoon where few anglers every think of going because only a very few boats will take you there, and back home again.

Extreme Flyfishing

Wow, what an amazing two days with my old client and friend, Henry Bone, from Austin. We went way north yesterday (80 mile round trip!), and then way beyond the usual limits of angling to the east this morning, and we enjoyed phenomenal fly fishing. Words fail me. We lost count of how many fish we landed. 

It's hard to believe how shallow the reds were feeding this morning. The nearest boat was over a mile away, and we had to walk 200 yards into shallower water than even the Stilt would go. That's shallow! I got lots of video, and I will be editing it into a finished video in the next day or two. Rosie starred as the second mate. She's bone tired after all of the wading, though. Let's have a hand for great dogs and faithful lovers.

Intense angling, and intense weather

I spent four days last week on the water, and was supposed to spend four more days this week. But my clients opted to reschedule to do a combination of weather and inexperience. I always prefer to reschedule novice flyfishers if it looks like the forecast is iffy. An experienced flyfisher can deal with strong wind, and has learned to see fish in challenging conditions; but to put a novice on the water in such weather is a form of cruel and unusual punishment. The money does not compensate for the sick feeling of watching someone struggle unnecessarily.

That being said, the bay has settled down somewhat, in spite of the unstable weather of this past week. I guided my old clients Bob Buchman and Rich Bemm for four days last week. While we didn't land many fish, we saw a ton of reds and large trout in a variety of locales. Bob and Rich had some pretty challenging wind conditions to deal with. Fortunately, or not, they have had stellar results in previous years. Indeed, one of my favorite YouTube videos was one that I did of their last trip. I just discovered, in fact, that I haven't posted it on the Kingfisher site. I will remedy that now, but here's the video in case you haven't seen it:

A Very Challenging May

I am not one of those anglers who says, “It’s not the way it used to be.” I tend to see the changes on the bay as natural rhythms that a master angler needs to adjust to, rather than complaining that the bay has deteriorated just because the old tactics no longer work. With that in mind, let me say that this May was the most difficult May I’ve ever seen on the LLM. Not because the fish aren’t there, or because the estuary is degraded, but because the weather was so extreme that sight casting was exceedingly difficult. Indeed, except for the earliest part of the month, when we had low winds and full sun, May was characterized by cloudy, unstable weather, with winds in excess of 30 mph by afternoon on most days. 

To add insult to injury, “birding” was almost nonexistent, as far as I could tell. True, I tended to fish south of the mouth of the Arroyo, simply because water clarity was better down there, but I was able to compare notes with guides fishing north, and there was a general consensus that birding never “arrived.” 

This is not to say there weren’t memorable windows of opportunity. My days with Ted Ruffler from Florida were superb examples of what can happen when low winds, cloudless skies, and expert casting come together. We had two consecutive afternoons of finding fish in the shallowest water on the east side, where single large reds could be seen 100 yards away. Since Ted had an 80+ foot cast, he could get the fly out in front of the fish, even after they’d turned from the sight of the Stilt. It was amazing action.

When a new client, Amir, came down from Maryland a couple of days later, he faced a completely changed situation. I had seen the forecast in time to warn him not to come, but his travel plans were locked in, so he had no choice. Anyway, he was a seasoned saltwater angler who knew that weather was king, but an experienced angler could still prevail under poor conditions. I was not optimistic when we left the dock on our first morning out. The US flag in the RV park was at attention in 25 mph wind, and the condition worsened through the day. I headed for the only place on the bay where I thought we might conceivably see tailing reds, and after a 30 minute ride, we came off plane, pleased to see that the water was still clear. In less than a minute, Amir had stepped onto the bow and hooked up on his first redfish. I breathed a sigh of relief, but knew that we couldn’t count on miracles. Amir got off the boat and began stalking tailing pods that were barely discernible on the windswept surface, and managed to catch two more reds before the podding evaporated. I thought to myself, secretly, “We could probably go home now, and count our blessings.” But, of course, we spent the next seven hours visiting a variety of locales, struggling to see fish beneath the low tumbling clouds in murky water.

On our second day out, I went right back to our starting point, hoping for a repeat of day one. The fish were there, but not as many as the day before. Amir caught only two before we headed north and east, finding nothing for hours. Finally, I realized that his only hope was to do something we rarely do with our clients—have them blind cast. Since Amir was an excellent caster, and could drive the fly 70-80 feet under windy conditions, I suggested that he wade through an area where we’d seen a lot of reds, but could not cast quickly enough to them in the low-light conditions. Amir gladly got off the boat, and waded for about an hour downwind, casting a Kingfisher spoon as he went. Sitting on the boat, and bringing it slowly down behind Amir, I felt pretty useless, knowing that it was all up to chance—not my eyesight, or poling skill—but the sheer luck that most fly fishers loathe to depend on. I was relieved when I saw Amir suddenly hook up on what was clearly a sizable fish. It ran without turning, and finally threw the fly. I was disappointed, of course, but Amir waded back to the boat with a smile on his face. It had made his day.

Most people show you their true colors when they face difficult days on the water. As for Amir, he showed Julie and me the “stuff he was made of” when he had dinner with us on the first night. I was concerned that he’d seen the bay at its worst, and I wanted to show him how good it could be. I took out my laptop, and opened up a video clip I’d taken of Ted just a couple of days earlier. The scene was a golden dawn, with redfish tails waving against a dead calm surface. Ted casted again and again into the tails until the feeding reds spotted his spoon fly and fought over it. I thought Amir would express some envy at Ted’s good fortune, but he only smiled and said, “But that would be too easy.” I laughed and put the laptop away, knowing that there was nothing more he needed to know.

Guiding so much that there's been no time to do fishing reports

Hi friends, I apologize for not updating this report! I have been on the water 15 days during May, and unable to do much else than fish and counsel (my other job when I'm not teaching, too) but I will getting around to the fishing report later today. For now, suffice to say that May has been pretty tough due to the unstable weather north of us. It's been more like March than a typical May. But there have been some good days amidst the unstable conditions, and June is looking much better (lower winds and more stable weather). Look for a lengthy summary of May later today!

Scott

Stellar Flyfishing Giving Way to Winds and Clouds

This is not a lengthy post, given that I simply don't have time to write down my reflections of the past five days on the water. But suffice to say, it was the best of times and the most challenging of times. It's almost never a bad experience to be on the Laguna Madre unless your motor quits, but it can be challenging.

My client, Ted Ruffler, from Florida arrived last Thursday night for three days on the water. We had perfect conditions for the first day, near-perfect for the second, and downright abysmal on the third.  He caught 14, 13, and 1 reds during the three days, revealing the simple formula for success on the Lower Laguna, which is "Choose a day with mild winds and full sun." But who can do that with regularity when you have to plan your fishing trip at least a month in advance? It boils down to making the most of the hand that Nature deals us.

Here's some photos from Ted's three days. I don't have time for a blow-by-blow account, but I think you can see from the photos that we had a very good time.

After Ted left, I had the pleasure of co-guiding with Randy a group of four anglers from Austin. It was tough fishing, with high winds from dawn to dusk, and mostly clouds. It was the kind of days that locals stay home. But our clients were game, so we showed up and did our best. A couple of photos attest to the minimal, but significant catches of the two days. Again, if you can choose your travel, and reschedule as needed, Randy and I are always happy to accommodate you.

Catching Fish when Everyone's Home

The other day, Julie, Rosie (our dog) and I headed out late in the afternoon. The wind was at 22+ mph, and straight out of the south, which is not ordinarily a "good" wind, because it blows straight down the Lower Laguna, without anything to break it. Normally, the wind is from the southeast, which makes all of the difference in the world on a windy day, when just a few degrees to the east means that the wind blows across Padre Island, leaving the easternmost areas of the LLM clear, even in 20+ mph afternoon wind.

We'd brought the kayak strapped to the foredeck of the Stilt, but we left it on the deck, because it was simply too windy and shallow for Julie to take off to the north. I might have been unable to get the boat up on plane without her weight in the front of the boat, so she contented herself with the single bottle of bear that she'd brought along.

The sun was low--it was about 4:30--but there were no clouds, so I could tell that there was no clear water on the east side. The way you can tell is to scan the horizon with your polaroids on. If you can see a dark line just where the water meets the sky, then you know that there's clear water ahead. This time, there was no dark line, so I leaned over and shouted to Julie, "There won't be clear water unless it's in the last couple of hundred yards."

Two boats drift-fished nearby, but I passed them both heading for shallower water. Watching my prop wash for that alarming gray-black color that meant I'd gone too far shallow, I finally shut down in about 9 inches of water. I could barely see the bottom, but I knew that clearer water awaited me to the east, and that the reds would probably be visible, even in these conditions, because they would be in 6-7 inches of water, just west of the "shelf" where the water goes from 6 inches to 2.

Rosie took up her customary position just behind me, and licked my calf from time to time as I waded further east, leaving Julie sitting on the Stilt in the late afternoon, golden light.

No one I know flyfishes under these conditions. By 3 or 4:00, the guides are in, and what's more, everyone laments the strength and the direction of the wind on a day like this one. But the fish were there in a classic setting, and visible from 60 yards away, heading unwind singly, swimming quickly and darting from one side to the other. Doing what, you might say? Feeding on mullet or anything else they could flush by swimming fast through almost terminally shallow water.

I only stayed about 30 minutes, since Julie was with me. But in that time, I had three shots at incoming redfish. They appeared clearly visible over 50 yards away, as pinkish-dark forms against a uniformly brown bottom, but they also showed themselves as wave forms that interfered with the down-wind waves. I blew the casts at the first two fish,which is easy to do under these conditions. Not only is the water so shallow that the reds are on high alert from anything out of the ordinary, but they are constantly moving, making yesterday's good cast fall on the wrong side of today. The third red--the big one--rushed the Clouser, and and mouthed it; but the tiny hooked failed to connect when I stripped hard. It was then that I turned around and began my hike back to the Stilt, which was a tiny dark sillouette against the bright western sky.

If you can put this kind of flyfishing into your repertoire, you will have covered the "third base" of the angling day on the Lower Laguna, and you can slide into home knowing that you've done something that most people never dream of.

What a strange early season! First a wet and cold winter, and now thunderstorms just about every day. There have been good days, of course, but the weather has been unusual and unstable. Just take a look at today's forecast. Here's an image from Weatherunderground, that shows the next week's forecast.

Due to these conditions, almost everyone has shifted their fishing trips to May and beyond. Indeed, I'm so booked in May that I'm turning away requests. Randy has openings, if you're interested in that time frame.

Finding Fish on a Windy Day

I went out with my guide friend John Pilmer this past Sunday. I may have stayed in port if I'd been able to access the forecast, which called for 20-30 mph winds; but all I had to go by was the flag that flies at Channelview RV Park, which was barely erect at daylight.  Wind doesn't bother me much anyway, and the gentle breeze suggested a pretty fine day on the sand, at least. John joined me on the dock at 6:30, and we took off heading for some westside venues, in search of gulls working over podding reds. Alas the birding was not "on," so we ended up on the sand two hours before the sun would give us sufficient visibility for sight casting.

Even though we arrived on the sand too early for sight casting, it was clear that the fish were there from the blow-ups that we saw as the boat drifted north with the 15 mph wind in 8 inches of water. We poled along the edge of prohibitively shallow water in order to see whatever was there. Slowly, the sun rose in the cloudless sky, giving us progressively better viewing until the fish began showing up 30 feet, then 50 feet ahead of us. Unfortunately, just as the conditions reached "acceptable viewing," the fish seemed to disappear, and we found ourselves encountering fewer and fewer reds on  the sand. John pulled a great cast out of his hat, and hooked up on the first red of the day. After landing it, we drifted for another 20 minutes before I blew my first decent shot of the day.

We ran up to the East Cut and had some good shots near the channel before heading back south onto the sand, where the reds were gathering in greater numbers. We had several shots, and John landed a second red while I hooked up and lost one. The fishing was getting better and better, but we decided to go in, given that Julie was at the trailer, and John's new dog Danny was probably missing him. It was a great early season outing, and we could have caught many more fish. But neither of us need to catch many before we're happy.

Big Reds in February

I had the privilege of guiding Dennis Kreutz from Denver a few days ago, and thought I'd already posted something about our trip. We'd already cancelled two planned days of flyfishing about a month ago due to weather. Cancelling due to weather is typical in February: too many cold fronts, and not enough sunny days to justify getting out on the bay, where the water temps are still so low that the air is 10 degrees colder than over land, and the fish are still in slow motion.

The tides had risen considerably since January, which did not please me. I love the super low tides of January and February, and can depend on seeing fish on a sunny day under such low-water conditions. But alas, there was 6 inches of fresh water in the way, foreshadowing the influx of seawater characteristic of early March. So I adjusted my plans and targeted some back lagoons where the water was only a foot or less deep.

We poled into a back lagoon that I hadn't visited in half a year, so I felt totally ignorant of what we'd find. It was too shallow for any other skiffs to be poling in the 7 inches of water, so I felt pretty confident that the water was "virgin" and likely to host some feeding fish that were beyond the usual margins of anglers. Sure enough, as we poled into the 10 acre lagoon, we started hearing blow-ups along the shorelines, and could spot an occasional back popping above the surface, or snaking through the shallows. The wind was about 12 mph, but I was able to pole the Stilt a full 360 degrees, so I headed down one shoreline and planned to pole back out along the far shoreline.

The action was intense. Each fish was big, and except for one 7-8 lb trout that Dennis casted to, all of the fish were 26-28 inch reds that were feeding alone and spaced out along the shoreline. Dennis was an excellent fly caster, but the fish were in such shallow water that Dennis faced the catch-22 that anyone would have faced: If he casted the fly close enough for the fish to see, it usually spooked, and anything more than a foot from the fish would go unnoticed. Still, Dennis masterfully placed the Kingfisher spoon within inches of several fish, and the fish seemed uninterested. I think we had one fish follow the fly, but otherwise, they seemed somnambulistic. Why? A cold front was fast approaching, and the fish are often very skittish or unresponsive just before the frontal boundary passes through.

We headed north by late morning, and found an abundance of large redfish feeding in pairs and threesomes along a shoreline. By the time we'd reached the area, however, clouds had come up, and were making it difficult to see the fish soon enough to make a decent presentation. Still, the sun would peek out every once in a while, or the clouds would become thinner for a while, enabling Dennis to spot reds 20 feet from the boat, and try to make a clutch cast. He did remarkably well--a testimony to his experience--and placed the fly perfectly in front of a dozen fish. But again, they were touchy and so Dennis landed only one redfish in that venue.

My latest article in Tide magazine was "Don't Blame the Fish." While I embrace the philosoply that all fish are catchable, and it's up to you to close the deal, I have to confess that some fish are far less catchable than others, as Dennis and I discovered on a warm February morning ahead of a cold front.

Caught some reds in super skinny conditions yesterday

My brother Chip and I went down to the Arroyo on Friday night, and stopped on the way in to have dinner at Chili Willis. When we walked in, the karaoke was in full swing, and there wasn't a single open table in the place. So we went on to Channelview RV Park where we have our trailers, and sipped a beer and snacked while we waited for Chili Willis to clear of some of its clientele. When we returned an hour later, there was a single card table by the door--not my favorite place in the joint. But we saw our friends Richard and Susie Weldon sitting under the row of deer heads, and they invited us to join them with Don Shumacher and his wife. We visited with them as best we could while one singer after the other belted out their favorite country songs. It was a vintage Arroyo City scene, and lots of fun.

We got up at daybreak, not concerned so much about arriving at our fishing destination much earlier than 7:30, given the time of year. During the summer, the fish will often tail early, then vacate the warming water by mid-morning; but in the winter, rising water temps only improve your chances.

So we pulled into south Cullens Bay as the sun was starting to warm the water. The forecast had called for cloudy conditions, but the weatherman was wrong, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Planing into the westside venue, we immediately started moving big single fish, most of which were trophy trout. We stopped briefly, but realized they were in a bit deeper water than we needed, and that the bottom literally sucked for wading. So we got up again and headed further west where we started seeing a mixture of big trout and small pods of reds fleeing ahead of us.

We shut down, donned our waders even though they proved to be wholly unnecessary on the sunny 75 degree day, and proceeded to wade west and north of the Stilt. Chip missed an opportunity at a giant trout. His fly wrapped around his rod as she was approaching him head to head. I, too, missed a chance at an approaching trout because my line was tangled. I have always said that trout always know when your pants are down! Meanwhile I started to see tailing reds in the glassy conditions to the west. So I hiked in that direction, and soon spotted a couple of pods cruising and tailing intermittently. Interestingly, this is about the only place where I see this particular action, where reds (and big trout) will snake around on warm winter days in very shallow conditions. They tend to appear as they swim over areas that are full of turtle grass, and then disappear again as they enter grass-free areas, which provide slightly deeper water.

I managed to hook up and land my first red from a pod of four cruising reds. The water was so shallow that the fish could not fight very adequately, so I landed it and released it much more quickly than if I'd hooked it on the sand, just three miles to the east. Indeed, a 24-25 inch red can feel like a bonefish on the sand, taking the angler into his backing almost instantly. But where I stood yesterday morning was so shallow that the reds struggled to stay submerged, much less put on a blistering fight.

I saw a couple of big trout. One was "asleep" and unresponsive to 40 casts. Another was cruising, but clearly uninterested in my presentation, if not also my fly. Overall, the fish seemed a bit lethargic--I saw two reds "sleeping," too--so I knew that the tide was not quite right for full-on feeding behavior. Later, we figured out that the outgoing tide had paused, so there no current to stimulate their feeding behavior. That's no excuse--reds and trout will still take a fly during slack tide--but it does make for more challenging angling. I managed to catch another 25-inch red,and miss two other strikes before I went back to the boat. But I have to confess that I casted to a dozen groups of 2-4 fish, and generally  blew the cast. Either they didn't see the fly because of the shallow, grassy conditions; or the cast was far too aggressive. Regardless, I really enjoyed the highly technical fly fishing on my home waters, where a couple of good reds can warm the heart on a late winter day.

Sorry, no photos. Chip and I were too far away from each other to photograph our catch.

Come See Me at the San Antonio Boat Show

I will be heading up to San Antonio tomorrow am with Randy Cawlfield and my son Ryan, to attend the San Antonio Boat Show at the Alamodome. We will be helping Tim and Leslie Clancey with the Proline--NewWater Boatworks display (next to the escalator at the entrance). Randy and I will be speaking twice on "Flyfishing the Lower Laguna Madre" at 6 pm Friday and 1 pm Saturday. We will be leaving Saturday night, so if you want to see us, please drop by Friday afternoon through Saturday evening. I hope to see you there!

Getting Ready for the Spring and a New Video

Julie and I took advantage of a warm sunny day yesterday by going to the Arroyo and getting the boat and trailer ready for the upcoming fishing season. It's been so cold and wet that I haven't been on the water in weeks, nor has anyone else I know. But I could feel the juices flowing as I cleaned up the boat and checked out the motor while Julie got the trailer all fixed up. I may be guiding this week, but another cold front is predicted, so it's likely we'll have to postpone the trip.
Meanwhile, while sitting by the fire last week, I finally edited some video clips that I took while guiding Nature Conservancy biologist John Karges this past fall. I hope you enjoy it!