Springtime in the Marsh

Here we go. The last of the serious cold fronts have passed and by the time you read this we'll be well into my favorite time of year for kayak fishing. I've had a good winter, but standing chest deep in cold water dredging the depths with a slow retrieve has lost its charm. I know the big trout guys are going strong and they'll probably laugh at me for this, but I'm ready to go mud wrestling with some big ol' marsh reds!

The opening of baseball season seems to coincide with the time that marsh fishing bursts wide open. And just like spring training, I've been warming up and pushing for the season to start. Year in and year out we get those early teasing warm days that call me into the marsh searching for the reds that I just know will be there. And I'll usually find a few, but not in the numbers we'll see during late April, May and June.

Why is it that March in the marsh isn't better? The water is plenty warm enough and the reds are there, but the catching doesn't come so easy. It has to do with the natural cycle of the marsh and estuaries. The bait is just hatching out and the fish tend to get a single-minded purpose in searching out and eating those midget shrimp and baitfish. Throughout most of the year reds are the shop vacs of the marsh ponds. They'll eat most anything they run across and lure selection becomes a matter of throwing your favorite confidence lure. A stomach check will often reveal a seafood buffet of crab parts, shrimp, and various baitfish. But the early spring can be frustrating. You either match the hatch by throwing tiny flies or you get to watch the action from a front row seat. I've cleaned March reds and found them absolutely full of hundreds of what I call "micro" shrimp. I'm talking about shrimp that are nothing more than eyeballs and whiskers.

Such was the case on a recent trip to the Port O'Connor area with Dad and my buddy Jason. We arrived late in the afternoon and decided to make a quick trip out to the grass flats of Shoalwater Bay. The wind was up a bit, but tolerable. As we paddled along a protected shoreline there were signs of reds in the flooded cord grass and once in a while you could hear the crash of a feeding red. Every so often a red or two would scoot out from under the kayak. It didn't take much of this to get the blood pumping and escalate the expectations. Ten empty casts turned into a hundred and anticipation turned into doubt. We saw a good many fish, had decent conditions, and nothing to show for it. We ended the session with a handful of half-hearted strikes and two or three reds. Not exactly setting the world afire.

Throughout the night the winds picked up and by morning we had decided to duck off into the deep marsh to avoid the rough conditions on the open flats. The barometer was falling ahead of an approaching front, the tides were pushing higher than normal, and we had a major moon-under period approaching. All we needed now was a bunch of hungry redfish to cooperate. We launched into a stiff wind and paddled towards a shallow flat that narrowed into a winding marsh entrance. The plan was to spread out and march towards the entrance hoping to intercept a school or two. I dismounted the kayak and fired my first cast of the day. The topwater no sooner landed than it was slapped back into the air. The second landing was again met with a splash, but this time the lure found a lip. Cool. One cast, two strikes, and a solid pull. I landed the red and held it up for my partners. I should know better.

Three hundred yards later we made it to the mouth of the bayou leading into the marsh without another strike. I'm not really superstitious, but I know better than to catch a fish on the first cast. From there we worked our way deeper into the sprawling marsh complex. Every few minutes a red would boil up on the shoreline leaving behind a few bubbles to show where he had just eaten. A dozen casts into the strike zone would go unanswered. It didn't make sense–until we checked a little closer. Stabbing a paddle into the mud up against the grass sent a shower of quarter inch-long shrimp popping above the surface. This was familiar. I remember it from the same time last year didn't catch much then either. And so it went. Deeper into the marsh we found more finicky feeding reds. But as frustrating as it was, it was still great to hear the splashing and crashing because I know the time is coming when the shrimp will grow up and the catching will be easy again.

The next trip was a week later. A solo paddle in my home waters of Galveston. As I headed out from the launch across a fairly large marsh lake I watched a scattering of terns picking at the surface. Closer inspection revealed a swirling, popping school of feeding activity. The baitfish were so small they were almost invisible. Nothing in my box could match the hatch and the school moved on. I went into the marsh.

The tide was standing high, but due to start falling hard. I've been in this place many times under similar circumstances and knew just where to settle in. Sure enough the water started moving and the marsh came alive. The funnel I'd chosen drains hundreds of acres of prime marsh through a twenty foot wide pass. It is one of those places where predator meets prey and the cycle of life goes 'round. And it's the perfect place for the stealth of a kayak. Too deep to wade effectively and a power boat would be too intrusive. Walking the banks might work, but you'd better bring plenty of DEET.

So there I sat. The right place, the right time, and it was on. Schools of small baitfish were being swept out of the marsh and the gamefish were there waiting for them just the way it's supposed to be. The next hour was what we look forward to in every trip. Cast after cast met with sharp thumps. No trophies were caught, but it sure was fun.

An hour into it the current had picked up and the bite turned off. Some of you marsh rats probably already know this, but I'm going to share my theory as to why that happens with those who want to better understand marsh fishing. While I can't prove it with any certainty, I know it happens. As the tide starts flowing there is always a bite at the tightest funnel where the flow is greatest. The bait in the immediate vicinity of the marsh being drained gets sucked out and the feeding begins. At some point all of that bait is depleted. The remaining bait flees further into the marsh and the feeding fish follow it. Quite often you'll find reds in the farthest reaches of the marsh at the lowest of tides. It seems illogical, but tends to happen more often than not. I've heard it many times from anglers that they start in the back of the marsh on the highest point of the tide and then work their way out as it falls. Try doing the opposite sometime and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by what you find.

On this day I was out of time and couldn't follow the bite, but just knowing that the time is here for marsh fishing is good enough for now.