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Well, I can't sugar coat it. The snook and red fishing, and for that matter trout fishing, just sucks in the southern half of the Sound. We were already at July water temperatures in May, and needless to say, so were the air temperatures. It's unseasonably hot. We're experiencing the slowest fishing in my sixty-five years. I've not run across anyone who's not baffled by what's going on. Thank God for mature, patient anglers who know that sometimes a great bite doesn't automatically come with the great outdoors.
First up on Tuesday was Arthur Harriott, from Miami, and his son Greg who was visiting from Texas. We had just finished the single busiest holiday of the year, in terms of boat traffic. With the weather unseasonably warm, there were record numbers of boaters and fishermen out thrashing the waters. And, here Art, Greg, and I were on Tuesday, hoping to catch some fish. Now, that's optimism if I ever saw it.
We left the dock at six o'clock, headed for Tarpon Bay for bait. That was the scene of the first ambush. I showed Greg what to do, and he quickly took over. There was very little water movement, and bait seemed to come and go. One throw of the net would give me a few baits, and the next would come up with little or nothing. But, with perseverance, we finally put enough bait in the well for a day of fishing.
I headed to an area that usually produces great trout action. But, we caught not a single fish. That seemed to set the tone for the day, and it was pretty much what I expected, but hoped would not be. At our next spot, we actually put a trout into the well, and backed it up with a catfish. We kept moving, as years of experience tell me that if there's going to be a bite, it will be shortly after you begin putting live baits in your hole.
We were looking for snook at our next stop, and the boys actually put a snook and a trout into the boat. We had some scaled baits, but that was it. We hit a number of other spots looking for a redfish or two, and although I did see fish, we weren't able to get a bite. I hopped across the Sound to North Captiva and went to work there, but with the same result. We couldn't buy a bite. Finally, we decided it was time for us to get out of the heat and eat.
After enjoying my favorite Bahamanian conch at the Waterfront, we were back at it for one last shot at some fish. We hit two more spots along the way, and put one more trout into the well. Man, that's some tough fishing, but we at ;east avoided the skunk, and put some food on Art's table. Art and Greg, being seasoned anglers, were very patient with the slow conditions, and we had a great morning on the water.
I was back out Thursday with Dr. Michael Goodwin, and his nine year old son, Joe. Mike had told me he was mainly interested in just getting Joe on some fish of some kind, like ladyfish or trout. He wanted him to catch something. Well, I was pretty confident I could keep him busy with ladyfish for several hours, anyway.
I picked Mike and Joe up at the Waterfront Restaurant in St. James City at 6:15, and we headed straight across to Tarpon Bay. We began the chumming routine, and after a few minutes the first toss of the net produced a couple dozen shiners. But, that was about the last ones we saw. The bait dried up. The water was laying still. I moved quite a ways to a different area, but it was too deep. I elected to go to Picnic Island, which my records indicated was the bait spot of choice this time last year.
Mike and I went to work again, and the first two throws gathered no bait. I was about ready to pack up and head somewhere else, when on the third throw I have a good strike. The bait was there, and we were loaded up in a few throws. As I cleaned up and prepared to leave, I thought it would be good to let Joe have a say about what we did. Of course, you understand that I thought surely he would say he wanted to go catch a lot of ladyfish, but when I gave him the choices he quickly said he wanted to try for snook. I knew right there I was in trouble.
With an almost non-existent outgoing tide, this meant fishing the pass. I headed to Redfish where you can almost always find snook laying up on the edges on either side on the outgoing. We had great bait, and being in the pass, there was at least moving water from what's known as the funnel effect. But, the snook weren't the least bit interested. They scaled a lot of our baits, and Mike had one hit he actually felt, but they just wouldn't eat. We moved on eventually.
I headed back to the east side of the Sound. I settled on a beautiful spot that has been full of all kinds of fish. But, we couldn't buy a bite, but did have a few baits scaled. I moved on to a spot in McKeever Keys where I've been catching redfish. The water was pretty high, although there was little movement. I chummed the shoreline and put baits in close. Joe's bait got smacked right up near the hang-downs, and the fish took off. It tried to jump, and what I saw of its back looked like snook. But, it wasn't long before Joe lost the fish in all the excitement. We couldn't get anything else to bite there, and moved on.
I headed north. We fished for grouper, redfish, snook, looking for something to pull on Joe's line. But, by now it was nearing the noon hour and we were also fighting the heat. I headed back south to hit a few more spots. As we rode along the Yamaha began giving me the familiar sputter of one that is running out of gas. Nope. Boat fuel gauges are nowhere near accurate. I still showed a little fuel left.
I stopped to switch tanks. I lifted out the port side rear storage box and reached under to the bronze handle and turned it. Something didn't feel right. It felt like something had sheared. I had a sick feeling in my gut right there. I tried priming the line and the primer bulb collapsed. That meant there was a blockage.
“OK! I can get through this.” I thought. “If I can just switch the hoses from the tank to the water separator filter where the switch is, I can get the full tank on the working side of the switch”.
But, I quit carrying tools in the boat long ago. I got tired of opening the box on the day I needed something to find everything unrecognizable. What could I use to loosen and tighten a couple of hose clamps? Ah, ha! My trusty old military can opener was the answer.
Well, it took some doing. Even as large as the opening into the bowels of the Talon is when the box is removed, I am a big large, half blind, and not as flexible as I once was. This would require basic standing on my head. By the time I got myself into working position there was no light left to see by. But, it didn't matter. I can't see anything ten inches from my eyes, anyway. So, I felt my way through it. After what seemed an hour, I'd gotten the hoses reversed and tightened. Hey. I was feeling pretty smug. But, when I reached down to prime the line my smugnest quickly disappeared, and I realized that the valving inside the switch must have fallen apart. I couldn't draw any vacuum at all. I couldn't primed the tank.
As soon as I realized we weren't going to fix it on the water, I told Mike and Joe to start flagging any boats that might happen by. Soon, we had visitor. It was a Captain I'd met a couple of times at the Circle K. His name is Capt. Bill McCullum, I believe. He asked how he could help and I asked him it he could get my guys back to the Waterfront, so they didn't have to endure hours of hear during a possible tow. He was happy to oblige, and said if wasn't far off his course. I was very grateful they were taken care of. Now, I had to figure out the best plan for me, and getting the boat to the shop without paying two grand for a tow.
I was maybe a mile from the Fishermans' Co-op, at this point. I figured I could get there on the trolling motor. I called my good friend Scott Covington, who thankfully answered the phone. I explained my predicament, and he said he'd be there as soon as possible. He would then drive me to Punta Rassa ramp, some30 miles through heavy traffic, and then I would drive all the way back with my trailer to get the boat.
That's where it got dicey. The ramp there is a single lane. I had never used it before. When I backed the trailer down to the water, I soon realized that the angle of the ramp is very shallow. I had to put the van into the water to get the trailer covered enough to get the boat on it. And, of course, with no engine, I had to wench it all the way on. Not so bad, usually. But, with almost all of the bunks dry, it was what I imagine dragging stones to build the pyramids must have been like. I had to get wait nearly to my waist to get that done. Not exactly how I wanted to get back into my van. But, whatcha gonna do?
Back in the van I looked down to see my temperature gauge dangerously close to overheat! I prayed I wouldn't blow a water hose before I could get the van moving enough to cool it down. Once it did get back to normal, I pulled off the dirt road to secure the boat with the bow strap. Then it was off to Fowler Marine, where I left her. I don't know what the temperature was out there Thursday afternoon, but the van was not happy, and was wanting to overheat at each of the long traffic lights. Once I had dropped off the boat, the temperature stayed normal for the ride home.
It's bad enough drawing a skunk on a trip, but it's a guide's worse nightmare breaking down on a trip. The two events together, are about as embarrassing an ordeal as I can imagine. Figuring Mike would be home, I called him Saturday evening to apologize to him for the day gone wrong. He was six miles from home! Mike assured me that in spite of the breakdown and lack of fish, they had enjoyed the day. He said Joe was still talking about the little live seahorse I'd handed him, and that he'd seen lots of things he hadn't seen before. He assured me they would be back on their next trip to the area, and I promised to give him a generous discount on his next trip. Seems only right to me.
Hopefully, the repair will be confined to the tank switch/water separator, and I won't get any more surprises. It could have been a lot worse, though.
Be sure to check out www.BestFishingBooks.com, Books and gifts for fishermen from my friend Jim Dicken!
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