If I lived there still I might get tired of it. Maybe. (If I lived there I’d do everything possible to be in the express lane passing through Whitewater Bay.) But if I’m down there and I have a free moment in the right place, it’s a safe bet to figure what’s lighting up my train of thought.
Posts tagged “adventures in ditch fishing”
As it swims closer along the bank it becomes apparent we are dealing with something of more substantial immensity than the chunky black bass standing sentinel over the drain pipe. It makes the heart skip a beat and the eyes move toward the bass bug tied to your tippet and the assorted others in your wallet, and you realize there’s a problem. It swims lazily by and pokes at things and it could be 20 pounds. The ficus aren’t blooming and the man told you to tie up a green san juan worm because if someone’s trimming grass nearby it becomes a chum situation. Or match the hatch, if you choose to look at it that way. But you didn’t. Then it swims away…
The whole thing started with the least of expectations. I had a rod and some time to kill due to a delayed appointment. I made some casts. I caught nothing. I drove to the appointment. Delayed again, for another hour. I google mapped. I found nearby water. I tried a new fly. On my first cast I caught a mayan cichlid. Sweet. Then I saw a dark swirling shape hanging out near a submerged drain pipe. I made a cast. A largemouth bass with a middling amount of heft liked my offering. OK, cool. I released the bass. Then I saw two bulbous fish cruising the shoreline at a fast clip. I made a lead cast. One charged like a mofo. It took off…
Makes sense about that pre-wiring for ambush.
Tagged: adventures in ditch fishing, peacock bass
I would never argue they’re the most challenging fish or that casting from a mowed patch of St. Augustine equates with an emerald bonefish flat, but it’s something I like to do. And on the technicolor scale they take a back seat to nothing.
Tagged: adventures in ditch fishing, peacock bass
Extreme couponers are stealing my recycling. Once I put it to the curb it’s in the public domain, I suppose, but when a black Ford Econoline creeps slowly in front of the house at 3am, it creates unease. Why was I up at that hour? Teething. I tried my first coupon at Costco over the weekend, to see what it’s like. I put it towards a 32-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper. In the days following I’ve had 13 of them, if for no other reason than they are dominating my refrigerator. I found the crumpled receipt from the trip in my pocket this morning; no discounts noted. After all my clipping efforts to arrive at that point, she didn’t even scan it . I feel…
My new gig takes me on the road with a Pelican case full of gear. Checked bag fees make it hard to swing packing extra and carrying on a rod tube is questionable some days. Still the rule is a rod always goes on the road, even if you don’t know if you can break it out, even when doing so calls for improvisation. That rod is now impervious to destruction.
The buoy data reads NNW 20 and that’s that, the salt is taken off the table, but the fishing option portfolio is strong to very strong if you make an effort.
“The pie and cake is mine to take,” –Don Edwards, Saddle Tramp There is irony in the fact that some of my best opportunities to catch native wild freshwater fish exist in manmade drainage canals designed in part to turn what is naturally a swamp into solid ground. A berm about a half mile away cordons off the real wild, the swamp water flowing southerly over limestone bedrock. But the wild creeps into the sanitized despite the best efforts of developers and trappers. Alligators show up uninvited in golf course ponds and largemouth bass make their way into every reasonably oxygenated patch of freshwater. Out in horse country, miles away from the coast, the bass are the game. In the small canals inaccessible by…
The fall didn’t end on such a hot note. The decent weather sandwiched between Noreasters left little windows of fishability. If you weren’t in a position to capitalize on those slots on the quick then, well, that was just too bad for you. Too bad for me for way too damn certain. [Exclamation point.] I’m off to Florida next week and I’m not so sure what I’m going to find. Some bad shit went down, man. I haven’t heard much about my ditches on the inside, but butterfly peacocks die when the water temps fall below 60 degrees. Usually not a problem in South Florida but this year…The only way to know for sure is to keep casting.
