After a week of ‘Disney Hell’ the view from the beach house was everything I could hope for. Seven days of getting up early, driving to the various parks, queuing, paying through the nose for everything then returning in the dark had taken its toll. Don’t get me wrong I had enjoyed myself and more importantly the kids (Karlie 13 and Amy 7) had loved it. But now was time to relax – and fish.
By arriving without any reservations and booking late we were able to secure a lovely beach house on Florida’s Gulf of Mexico at a fraction of its advertised cost. Just 50 yards down the beach was a fishing pier, aptly named ‘The Rod and Reel Pier’, complete with bar and restaurant – what more could a guy ask for?
First evening saw me down the beach in an area I’d earmarked earlier when collecting shells with the girls. At one point on the beach a deep channel of flowing water cut very close to the edge producing a very fishy looking drop off with a constant flow, regardless of the tide. Armed with a pike Jerkbait rod, ABU multiplier, 100lb braid and wire trace plus a small spinning outfit I was ready for anything. The plan was to catch some livebait with the lighter set-up then fish for skate or shark (the latter apparently being very plentiful) with the jerkbait set up. Did it go to plan? of course not. After about an hour all I had landed was three catfish of about two pounds each on strips of squid. Now there are not many fish that I actually dislike but these saltwater catfish fall into that category. The main reasons being they eat anything you cast out and they contain a vicious spike on both pectoral fins and on the dorsal fin, making unhooking an ordeal. The spike, when touched is so sharp that it will penetrate to the bone and although not poisonous gives a constant dull ache and causes the area to swell considerably – lovely!
Anyway, I digress. After about a couple of hours something picked up the squid giving a really slow take on my ‘bit’ rod. Upon striking something decided to make its way across to Tampa Bay slowly emptying the spool of 10lb mono in the process. I would love to say that I turned it but in truth it just decided to stop swimming away from me, turned around and came and back towards the beach. For about 30 minutes it swam around in front of me and in the end I don’t think it got tired, instead it just got bored of the game and swam ashore for me to unhook it. It turned out to be a stingray and was estimated at around 25lb and was apparently quite large for this area. Now it just sat in 2 inches of water staring me straight in the eye, daring me to pick it up. Amongst the crowd that had gathered on the beach was an American angler who told me how to do this.
“Just grab it behind the head in the gill holes just behind its eyes. You should be OK they don’t normally lash out”
“Err, SHOULD be OK” I asked.
“Yeah, about one in ten lash out and if they do make sure you get outta there buddy”
“What happens if it gets me ? ” I asked. My colour rapidly draining.
“The pain will be so bad you’ll ask me to cut your arm off, apparently the pain is unbelievable” he helpfully informed me.
“Bye, bye stinger” I said as I cut through the line, allowing him to swim away. I mean, I wouldn’t have minded a photo, but risking cutting my own arm off with a rusty penknife was a bit extreme.
At this point I set off back up the beach, the light was falling rapidly and I was ready for a beer or two to celebrate the capture (half capture?) of the stinger. In the sea adjacent to the drop off stood an angler. He was up to his thighs in the sea and was holding a small spinning rod in one hand. Occasionally he would flick the bait out (a small live fish) in the direction of something he could obviously see in the clear water. Fascinated I put my gear down and sat quietly on the sand behind him. After a while we struck up a conversation and he invited me to wade quietly out to join him in the surf.
He told me he was fishing for Snook and told me they were just about the most exiting fish that swam these waters. He was freelining small ‘pinfish’ and casting to individual fish that moved out of the deep channel attacking the small fish that bordered the beach. As I spoke to him a dark shape ghosted out of the depths slowly coming into focus and revealing a fish of around 10 or 12 pounds. He flicked the bait in front of it and it advanced forward sucking in the bait in one rapid movement. As he struck the water exploded, the snook broke the surface tailwalking spectacularly no more than 5 yards from where I stood, its bony mouth shedding both bait and hook in one movement. He laughed
“Happens all the time buddy.” He explained “These snook have real bony mouths and its real difficult to get a good hook up, but its fun trying though” he laughed.
I said my goodbyes and set off back down the beach, reliving that moment over and over again. I knew already that despite the large variety of much bigger fish that I could expect to catch the rest of the week would be spent trying to catch one of these marvellous fish – I was hooked!
Day two and disaster struck, Anna Marie Island was on the national news. A tropical storm had hit us overnight, ripping the roof off a nearby hotel and depositing as much rain as you would expect in a normal weekend in Manchester. It was actually quite worrying; the thunder in the night was so load that the house actually shook and in the morning the sight that greeted us was not a pleasant one. Palm branches were scattered everywhere and the roads were more akin to rivers than strips of tarmac. In fact we found to our dismay that this was to last 48 hours and that part of the island was already underwater. Great – I may as well have gone to Anglesey!
With nothing else to do we spent the couple of days drinking and eating and drinking and drinking. Well I was on holiday after all. Two days later however and everything was fine, the temperatures were back in the high nineties with just the usual torrential downpour during late afternoon. The worst part of the previous two days was unfortunately all too apparent. The sea instead of the usual crystal clear colour associated with the Gulf of Mexico was highly coloured. Would this affect the fishing? unfortunately the answer was yes. Not only did the coloured water mean that most of the fish I would like to catch tarpon, Dorado, jacks, redfish and of course snook would be well offshore swimming the bluewater line, it also meant the catfish really came on the feed.. arrggghhhhhh!
For the next few days I fished off the pier catching a variety of fish including small stingray, salt-water perch and spadefish. These were fun, especially as I could fish with a draught lager in my hand but I kept hearing the locals talking snook. These fish were obviously highly prized and a few enquiries showed that they were indeed right at the top of most Florida game fisherman’s ‘most wanted’ list. Apparently they hit baits hard are often impossible to hit, and even then they usually shed the hook. They fight dirty, leaping continuously whilst changing direction with every burst of speed. Unfortunately for them they tasted good as well but this was of little importance to me as I had repeatedly puzzled the local fishermen by returning everything I had caught.
The next part of this tale seems, I’m sure, far fetched. If the sequence of events leading to the capture of my first (and only) snook on the last night of my vacation (see, I’m even talking American now) had been told to me by someone else then I would have put it down to a colourful imagination. But I do assure you, the following events actually happened.
I gazed out over the sea, feeling slightly sad. Today was the last day of my holiday, I had spent the last couple of hours helping my two daughters to unhook a succession of fish they had landed between them off the Rod and Reel Pier it had been great fun. Both girls had caught a multitude of fish; Karlie even landing a three-foot bonnet shark took which had taken a live jumbo prawn. But I felt cheated, my chance of a snook had been cruelly snatched from me by the weather, the water had cleared somewhat now, not like it had been upon arrival but sufficient for the sport fish to be moving back inshore, I’d missed the best fishing by a week.
Suddenly it dawned on me, I was being defeatist, had I been at home after barbel or chub the conditions wouldn’t have stopped me, made it harder yes, but not prevented me from catching. Sod it, tonight was to be all or nothing I was after snook!
We left the pier early and I went back to the house to prepare. First of all I needed bait, and not just any bait, enquiries at the local tackle shop had confirmed that I needed live fish, prawn was okay but fish was best and it HAD to be live, no chance of a snook on a deadbait. Half an hour later I was fishing a little harbour with an 18’s hook tied to 1.5lbs hooklink, a bucketful of bait was now a mere formality. After 2 hours I was still biteless and it was late afternoon. If I wanted a snook peak time was dusk and time was running out, it was then that my first bit of luck happened.
A local angler, himself out baitfishing decided to show me how it was done. Two minutes later with a castnet he had a bucket of live sardine (not the ones we use for pike fishing this was a lot smaller and resembles a fat bleak!). I swallowed my pride and went over to him, offering to buy some of his catch. He declined to sell me some but kindly offered me a dozen for free as he had more than he needed anyway. To my relief twelve super livebaits were hastily placed in my little green bucket and I set off running for the pier. Once I arrived, the bucket, in which I had already drilled holes to allow water circulation was tied to one of the pier legs and placed in the water. Hopefully this would ensure the livebaits did not become deadbaits whilst I returned to the beach house to prepare my snook gear.
|
|
This consisted of a medium weight 11ft carbon spinning rod, small Shimano reel and 10lb Suffix Synergy mono. Due to the hard, abrasive outer lips and gill plates I had been told I needed a strong mono hooklength to prevent a break off. For this I used 24″ of 30lb Berkely Big Game attached via a swivel. To this a size 3/0 hook was tied using a 4 turn grinner. The plan was to freeline the livebait but I had a small box of swan shot with me should I need extra casting weight, or to get my bait down fast.
The weather was now starting to worry me; the sky across the bay was getting increasingly dark, with rumbles of thunder being heard across the bay. My eldest daughter Karlie had come along with me, she was getting caught up in the excitement and desperately wanted to see dad catch a snook (probably just so I’d shut up talking about them!). I arrived to find another angler already fishing the area I had earmarked. I put my gear down thirty yards down from him and checked the livebaits. Sh*t ! nearly all dead – I quickly removed the dead fish from the bucket to find just five livebaits remaining, the odds were narrowing by the minute.
I picked up my rod and lip hooked one of the sardines before casting into the surf, the rain started – marvellous! I held the line between the thumb and forefinger of my left hand this was just like chub fishing with cheesepaste, waiting for the electric feel of a pull on the line. I looked up to see the angler to my left lift a fish from the surf. In an instant my rod was dropped and I’m running down the beach, if I can’t catch one at least I want to see one. Unfortunately I’m too late and he has returned his catch just before I arrive.
“Was that a snook?” I asked gasping for breath.
“Yeah, they’re really having it tonight,” he says as he flicks out another livebait. Just looking at him tells me I’m talking to a guy who knows his stuff. His small fixed spool reel is fully loaded, the rod looks like a slim but powerful blank, on the beach his livebait bucket purrs away as an aerator ensures that unlike mine his livebaits stay live!
I decide to spend a few minutes chatting, apparently this is an excellent spot for snook and they are, in his opinion the greatest sporting fish in Florida. This bearing in mind the multitude of game fish that inhabit this coast is some endorsement. He talks of dorado and tarpon, I of barbel and chub. He enthuses about my river fishing tales and expresses a deep desire to feel the surge of a barbel. Still, I feel somewhat inadequate and envy greatly his way of life. Image having the option of an hour or two tarpon fishing after work.
As we speak he strikes, the small rod bucks violently before springing back. He laughs, I couldn’t believe it, I would have been mortified.
“Beeeeeeeg snook, that guy was,” he says before winding in his slack line. ” Snapped 25lb test clean through. Have a go here if you like, he says but be careful, the weathers lookin’ bad”
With that we said our goodbyes and he wandered off down the beach. I thought for a moment what a great sport this is. When two complete strangers meet and behave like they have known each other all their lives. I can’t think of any other pastime that brings people together so completely.
Back to the fishing, soon I’m in his spot (absolutely no scruples) and the livebait hooked earlier is still wriggling so out he goes. Throughout this time the sky was getting increasingly darker, the lightening strikes getting nearer and more frequent and the continuos thunder getting louder. Then the real rain started, I let out a groan. Please, please, just one fish, just one before the storm gets too bad or all my bait dies. Then it happened, exactly to script; a gentle tug on the line preceded a steady pull as the ‘snook’ moved off with the bait. I struck, yeeesss – I’m in. But it isn’t a great fight, I thought these guys were supposed to pull back. In the surf it soon became apparent. A bloody catfish had nicked one of my valuable baits. He was quickly unhooked with some ‘very’ long nosed pliers and released. Out goes another bait, by now the storm was upon us, I can honestly say I was getting scared, the lightening could be clearly seen arcing down across the bay and hitting the sea, the rain was getting heavier and slowly it dawned on me how stupid I was being.
I was stood up to my waist in salt water, water which I might add was full of both bull and hammerhead sharks, holding a 11ft carbon lightening conductor in the middle of a huge electrical storm. For what? A fish that I intended to put back immediately after capture!
I looked back to the beach, my daughter was sat on the sand looking at me “Do you want to go back love” I asked.
“No, I want to see a snook” she said ” Catch one then we’ll go” – Bless her!
Another good pull on the line and I’m in, this time it’s obvious what I’ve hooked as a snook of around 7-8lbs tailwalks before taking around 20 yards of line from the spool. He turns towards me and I crank like mad, keeping contact as he moves past and beyond me. It was at that point the hook lost its hold and the line fell slack. For some reason someone up there doesn’t like me.
Three livebaits left and one of them is taken on the next cast by a bloody catfish.I can’t believe this. I’m beginning to really hate the things now. Two baits, left out goes one and then the lightening strike that really shook me up happened. No more than a couple of hundred yards away (although it looked like 30) a bolt of lightening arced through a cloud and hit the water. I swear before my very eyes it vaporised the cloud, hissing loudly and causing a huge sheet of water to crash down into the sea – scary stuff! The rain got heavier and lightening was arcing down all around and I became very conscious that by holding the carbon rod I was putting my life at serious risk. I asked Karlie again if she wanted to go and she said no, she wasn’t going until she had seen a snook on the beach.
Incredibly another vicious take in the middle of all this saw me attached to another snook, this time he broke the surface three times on his first run before shedding the hook. N-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O. I wailed into the night throwing my rod up the beach in anguish. In the words of Victor Meldrew, ‘I just couldn’t believe it.’
A quick check of the rig showed the hook was still razor sharp but the 30lb mono was severely marked, with heavy abrasions along the last 6″ or so. Bad angling I know but I decided against tying a new rig, my last livebait was on borrowed time and to be honest I was pretty scared and just wanted to get the bait out and the ordeal over with.
So, picture the scene, the sky is black, rain is lashing down, bolts of lightening arcing down all around me, it’s the last day of my holiday, the last cast of the day, on the last livebait in the bucket. My daughter has already picked up the remaining gear and is stood, rucksack on back ready to go, I’m praying like I’ve never prayed before for the fishing gods to smile on me when I felt the line once again pull through my fingers. I had already decided what to do when or if I got my next take. I struck hard, really hard and played the fish like I would a 30lb pike heading for an anchor rope. Every time the snook changed direction I whipped the rod over pulling it off balance time and time again. Every time it jumped clear of the surf I though I would loose contact but this time the hook held firm. When it surged down the beach I applied the brakes, trying desperately not to think about the shredded leader and he turned. After about 5 minutes of this he was under the rod tip swimming back and forth, shaking his head like a terrier with a rat. I walked backwards up the beach and by using a wave pulled a bar of shimmering silver onto the sand. I dropped the rod and grabbed my prize, slicing the palm of my hand on his gill plates before running about 20 yards up the beach and laying him down on the wet sand.
It was a snook, a beautiful, powerful, magnificent snook. Karlie was dancing up and down punching the air and singing, I was on my knees, rain streaming down my face and back whilst crouched over a bar of silver in the middle of a tropical thunderstorm – what a moment.
I estimated his weight to be around 8 or 9 pounds but to be perfectly honest the size, really was unimportant at that point. I took a few moments to admire his beauty, he had a narrow, pointed jaw and his overall shape, complete with spined dorsal gave him more than just a passing resemblance to a zander. However the large, mirror like scales which covered his body and the bony gill plates gave an indication of his tropical origins. I returned him to the sea, the rain, relief and excitement combining to ensure I neglected to take a photograph.
That night in the bar, I relived my tale to all that would listen. And many did, unlike in England it seemed that everyone in America fished and everyone could relate to my experiences. Well into the early hours local anglers told me of mammoth battles with huge adversaries, enhanced I’m sure by the volume of Budweiser that was being consumed. Slowly, one by one the women folk retired leaving the guys drinking and telling stories of snook approaching 40lb through muddled brains. And, as a bona-fide snook angler I was allowed to take part. Angling had won again, the special bond produced by this sport of ours crossing the Atlantic and touching a group of kindred spirits as we sat in a small bar, on the end of a pier in the middle of a tropical storm.
