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Just When You Think You Know It All
Fishing is an amazing pastime and to prove it I want to relate a recent fishing adventure.
For nearly two decades I have been almost totally focused on the pursuit of speckled trout, redfish and snook. I am a wade-fisherman foremost and I use lures. I only occasionally give in to the "scented soft bait" sirens unlike my GULP-aholic wife who will whip those things out in a heartbeat but that's where I draw the line.
It's not that I have not or might never again enjoy other types of fishing. I was once upon a time obsessed with colorful little fish in tumbling brooks and head-over-heels for bluewater.
I have occasionally been labeled a trout snob but I will only admit to latent tendencies.
So a couple of weeks ago a friend inquired whether Pam and I might like to accompany him and his wife for some bull red and jack crevalle action at Port O'Connor's big jetty.
"You mean jetty-jerkingwith bait?" I snapped, almost incredulously.
"Yeah I guess you could call it that. It's fun," he replied.
Know this; I had never been there or done that, despite having been through that channel at least a hundred times. I have seen all the people having fun in boats and walking the rocks, but it never was my cup of tea. Or so I thought.
Anyway, come dawn the next morning, we joined the armada. Boats nearly bumping gunnels, fighting huge reds and jacks, cameras flashing and high-fives all around. You may have even been one of the happily waving anglers.
Now, know this also; Mr. Trout Snob ate crow and had an absolute ball!
We started with frozen sardines until a friend happened by and loaned us a large, pink jig shaped like the handle of a butter knife.
That was it for me. Lowering to bottom and coming back up a few feet as instructed, that jig got nailed before I could jig it. Biggest jack I ever caught and I have landed a few!
Every pass, idling back up the incoming current and drifting toward Bird Island, produced a huge bull red or another hard-fighting jack, most too heavy for a 30-pound Boga Grip.
I have no clue who was first to use the phrase, "Never say never," or the one about old dogs and new tricks but, they sure fit. We have heavier tackle on order and a pile of big, pink jigs. When the trout fishing is slow you might find me at the jetty.
I cannot wait to take my grandkids.
For nearly two decades I have been almost totally focused on the pursuit of speckled trout, redfish and snook. I am a wade-fisherman foremost and I use lures. I only occasionally give in to the "scented soft bait" sirens unlike my GULP-aholic wife who will whip those things out in a heartbeat but that's where I draw the line.
It's not that I have not or might never again enjoy other types of fishing. I was once upon a time obsessed with colorful little fish in tumbling brooks and head-over-heels for bluewater.
I have occasionally been labeled a trout snob but I will only admit to latent tendencies.
So a couple of weeks ago a friend inquired whether Pam and I might like to accompany him and his wife for some bull red and jack crevalle action at Port O'Connor's big jetty.
"You mean jetty-jerkingwith bait?" I snapped, almost incredulously.
"Yeah I guess you could call it that. It's fun," he replied.
Know this; I had never been there or done that, despite having been through that channel at least a hundred times. I have seen all the people having fun in boats and walking the rocks, but it never was my cup of tea. Or so I thought.
Anyway, come dawn the next morning, we joined the armada. Boats nearly bumping gunnels, fighting huge reds and jacks, cameras flashing and high-fives all around. You may have even been one of the happily waving anglers.
Now, know this also; Mr. Trout Snob ate crow and had an absolute ball!
We started with frozen sardines until a friend happened by and loaned us a large, pink jig shaped like the handle of a butter knife.
That was it for me. Lowering to bottom and coming back up a few feet as instructed, that jig got nailed before I could jig it. Biggest jack I ever caught and I have landed a few!
Every pass, idling back up the incoming current and drifting toward Bird Island, produced a huge bull red or another hard-fighting jack, most too heavy for a 30-pound Boga Grip.
I have no clue who was first to use the phrase, "Never say never," or the one about old dogs and new tricks but, they sure fit. We have heavier tackle on order and a pile of big, pink jigs. When the trout fishing is slow you might find me at the jetty.
I cannot wait to take my grandkids.