One of the most iconic opening lines from all of world literature comes from Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” The British author was comparing and contrasting life in London and Paris, but he might as well have been discussing inshore fishing during the month of December in south Louisiana. This is either the best month of the year, or the absolute worst, and sometimes it’s both. It all depends on the weather.

December is the most bipolar of the months. It can’t decide if it wants to be the most docile of falls or harshest of winters. Many years, local residents wear shorts to Christmas gatherings. Other Decembers are legendarily bitter. Take 1989, for instance. An Arctic blast steamrolled the area that year on Dec. 22, bringing snow and freezing local lakes and bays. Baton Rouge didn’t get above freezing for three days, and recorded a low temperature of 8 degrees F on Dec. 23.

Not exactly prime conditions for throwing soft-plastic baits over grass flats. Fortunately, events like that are the exception, but still, December is an enigmatic month, and local anglers can use its ebbs and flows to follow the fish.

Although the extremes can occur, the more general pattern is for cold fronts to push through once every five days or so, with nighttime lows kissing freezing on the second night after the front. For a day or two, winds will be out of the north, barometric pressure will rise and cold-blooded speckled trout will have the mental capacity of a can of spray cheese. Their brains just don’t work properly in cold conditions, and their bodies barely obey their brains, anyway. They’re like the iguanas in South Florida that fall from trees during cold snaps.

In these conditions, the fish stack up in deep-water thermoclines, and if the water there is warm enough, and you get a bait directly in front of their noses, you might get a bite every single cast. But many times, even if you stumble on a massive school, they’ll be physically incapable of biting a bait. That lasts for two or three days following the front, and then winds gain a southerly component, bringing air up from the warmer Gulf and driving daytime highs into the 60s and sometimes 70s. That’s when fishing can get really fun.

As soon as waters start to warm, the fish get frisky. Nature has taught them they have a limited window to get something in their bellies before the next front once again turns them into blithering idiots. Although deep thermoclines held the warmest of the water during the harshest of the cold, that’s no longer true. Flats exposed to the warming air, particularly on sunny days, heat up quickly, and the fish fan out over them searching for bait, mostly glass minnows and remaining white shrimp.

Fish in this mode are more aggressive and far less school-oriented, so the best way to target them is to repeatedly drift productive flats, throwing jerkbaits , soft-plastic paddletails on light jigheads, and shrimp-imitations under popping corks. And actually, if the warming trend is a little longer in duration and water temps on the flats reach the 60s, topwaters can become more productive than any other style of lure, particularly for big speckled trout.

That’s especially true on flats that feature scattered grass, pretty water and even just a few jumping mullet. It’s one of the most consistent patterns of the year, and is the main reason December rates so highly among hardcore anglers who ignore the hunting seasons to focus on the fish. For them, it’s mostly just the best of times.

The post Gulf Coast Wintertime Fishing appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

The water along the upper Texas coast usually stays too murky for sight fishing, but on this particular late fall day, it looked crystal clear in the tiny canal that runs along Highway 87 in Bridge City. I saw flounder everywhere. I could see some as sandy outlines on the bottom; others aggressively blasted toward the surface, feeding on shrimp. Certainly, this would be a flounder fisherman’s dream come true. Not so. I offered multiple baits as I walked along the canal’s edge. The flounder refused all of them.

Use Smaller Lures When Flounder Won’t Bite

Having just returned from a crappie-fishing expedition, I still had a medium-light-action spinning rod rigged with fluorocarbon line and a 2-inch curl-tailed grub in the back of my truck. A curl tail is my favorite flounder lure but this one was half the size of my normal presentation.

Out of desperation, I walked back to the truck and grabbed the rig. Then, I waited for one of the feeding flounder to move. The first cast produced nothing. But the second one scored and so did the third. By the end of the day, I had released 17 flounder.

That unexpected windfall happened in late November, just after the peak of the fall flounder migration into the Gulf of Mexico. On that day I learned a valuable lesson that allowed me to score on quality flounder during the run as well as successfully extend fishing efforts into the winter.

A few years back, a gentleman named Ben Jarrett outfished me on a redfish trip by using a tiny topwater when I was throwing a super-size Super Spook. “Elephants eat peanuts,” he said, echoing the familiar expression. To this day that serves as a reminder that sometimes I need to downsize gear to catch big fish.

While big flounder sometimes eat large mullet, they seem just as satisfied eating 100 tiny menhaden. They ambush prey, so they tend to feed on what the currents bring them. In the late fall and winter, that’s often tiny baitfish and crustaceans.

Light-Tackle Flounder Fishing

My favorite rod for this application is a medium-action Abu Garcia combo spooled with 8-pound-test fluorocarbon line. Fluorocarbon features the same refractive properties as water, and is killer for catching flounder in clear water in particular. It also offers better abrasion resistance than monofilament.

For general flounder fishing, I actually prefer braided line, especially when pursuing big fish. I normally use 50-pound SpiderWire on medium-heavy-action rods. However, when using microplastics, I need a finesse approach. Yes, I lose a few with the light tackle but I get far more bites than on the other rigs, starting about the third week in November through Valentine’s Day.

Soft Plastic Baits for Flounder Fishing

My favorite micro lures include the 2-inch Mr. Twister Teenie (in pink for off-colored water or luminescent for clear water), and the Mr. Twister Sassy Shad in the 2.5-inch size and in clear silver-flake/black-back. Mr. Crappie’s Shadpole Curlytail in the salt-and-pepper color and the Bobby Garland Baby Shad in the eclipse or hologram-ghost patterns also work. All of my small lures for flounder come from the freshwater world, which shows we should not limit ourselves to a particular section of the tackle shop.

If the water looks dingy, fish obnoxious colors like pink but if it’s clear, use natural colors. Flounder are very visual fish and sensitive to tiny changes in water clarity and lure-color presentation.

I rig small plastics on a 1/16-ounce jighead and crawl them slowly across the bottom. If you feel a hard “thump,” count to two and set the hook. If you feel a slight tap on the line, wait about 10 seconds and then set the hook. Sometimes flounder simply grab a lure and hold on. Give them a few moments to move the lure inside their mouths.

How to Find Flounder Late in the Season

To target late-season flounder, look for canals and shorelines that provide the fish with quick access to deep water. When temperatures fall, these holdover flounder move into deeper, warmer water but come back shallow to feed as temperatures rise. Generally speaking, the southern half of a bay system and channels leading to the Gulf produce best.

When you start hearing about anglers catching big trout along the spoils in ship channels and around deep-water drop-offs, go to those same locations and look for flounder. Both species seem to move from deep to shallow water at similar times.

When south winds push slightly warmer water in from the Gulf, fish the rising tide for good action. Slight variations in temperature can make a huge difference to flounder. Any south-facing shoreline can also be good on days with strong wind because baitfish push up against the banks.

As fall segues into winter, fish slow. If you think you’re fishing too slow, you’re probably not fishing slow enough. Start with a super-slow approach, and then if you’re not getting bit, speed up. The fish don’t scatter at this time of year, so locate fish and focus on an area with a high probability of catches. Once you establish a bite, fish slowly and be aware of their delicate strikes.

When to Keep Flounder and When to Release Them

Flounder are super popular all along the Gulf Coast, but some issues have erupted for the stock due to rising Gulf water temperatures, commercial pressure, and other factors. In 2021, Texas instituted a closure to all flounder harvest from Nov. 1 to Dec. 14, making the fishery catch-and-release only during this time. I release all flounder measuring 20 inches or more any time of year and recommend other anglers do the same. The greater number of big, breeding-size fish we put back, the better chance for quality flounder fishing in the future.

Due to the incredible taste of flounder, anglers generally consider them a prize for the table and don’t generally release them as they do snook or speckled trout. But flounder deserve the same respect. Keeping the smaller, legal-size fish to eat and releasing the big ones has worked for other species and can help ensure the future of the southern flounder.

The post How to Catch Flounder With Micro Jigs appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

As we skimmed over the mirror-calm surface of Saint Andrew Bay, en route from Sun Harbor Marina to the DuPont (Highway 98) bridge that separates Saint Andrew from East Bay, I marveled at how large an area of inshore waters sprawled northwest, northeast and southeast of Panama City. I had no idea.

“Our entire system includes four bays,” explained Capt. Matt Smith, our guide for the day: “West Bay, North Bay, Saint Andrew Bay and East Bay.” These total up to nearly 170,000 acres of water, Smith pointed out. And a glance at a map shows an astonishing amount of fishable shoreline.

Given the ideal weather on that ­early-summer morning, I kept looking for other boats with anglers also intent on hooking some bull redfish. But as Smith positioned his 21-foot Cobia bay boat near the bridge channel and dropped anchor, I noted that we had the whole area to ourselves.

Bull Redfish at the Bridges

We intended to fish some of the Storm soft plastics that my fishing partner, Dan Quinn, had brought down with him from Minnesota. Smith had plenty of small, live menhaden — cast-netted that morning — filling his baitwell, and he explained that plastics could be dynamite in shallower areas of the bays, but here in nearly 20 feet of water, they were a much tougher sell.

Nevertheless, the intrepid Quinn did hook a good fish on a Storm 360GT Searchbait soft-plastic, his first bull red drum ever. But bowing to the power of live baits, we put some of Smith’s pogies to good use, landing several more reds to at least 30 pounds, giving our light ­spinning outfits quite a workout.

Then the air show started. It takes a considerable distraction to make die-hard anglers redirect their attention from a live bait in imminent likelihood of being eaten by a rapacious trophy-size redfish, but when F-16s, F-22s and other fighter jets began sneaking up on us — moving so fast that unless watching, we were aware of them only when they thundered by overhead in the blink of an eye — it became hard to concentrate on other things.

There’s nothing to bring out the 8-year-old in a lot of guys like fighter jets, and it turned out we were fishing in their flight path — lots and lots of them — practicing takeoffs and landings at Tyndall Air Force Base, a stone’s throw south of the bridge.

I think Smith was amused at our awe, having long since gotten used to this phenomenon. Gradually, I managed to focus on the reason we were here. It helped that the frequency of overflights slowed. About the same time, the tide slowed as well, as then did the redfish bite.

Light-Tackle Fishing Action in the Bay

Fortunately, we began seeing splashes and swirls as something drove small white bait to the surface. I picked up a little Shimano Stradic 3000 and slid a Rapala Shadow Rap Shad in an albino shiner color (think white pearl) onto my snap, tossed it out, and began erratically working the lure jerkbait-style, in sharp, quick snaps. Almost at once, in a silver flash, I had hooked up. The bushwhacker turned out to be a small bluefish.

Quinn joined me, throwing a small 360 GT Largo Shad on a light lead-head, and both of us stayed busy with slashing strikes of small but always aggressive blues, with ladyfish and Spanish mackerel mixed in. Soon, Smith weighed anchor and we headed farther up into East Bay.

Somewhere in the vicinity of mid-bay, the sounder displayed the bottom abruptly rising from about 8 feet to 3 feet or so — a large sandy shoal. Though usually fishier (and apparently at times troutier) than it proved today, we did hook some jacks, and I landed another, considerably larger, Spanish mackerel while fishing the same Shadow Rap Shad, and missed what might have been a small tarpon.

By this time — midmorning — we had caught sight of maybe two or three other boats with anglers, and appreciated the tranquility of the East Bay. That, however, was about to change.

Flounder in the Free-for-All

Flounder fishing in these waters can be productive this time of year if you fish the right place. On this day, Smith said, the right place would be Saint Andrew Bay Pass, where the Gulf funnels into and out of the extensive bay system surrounding Panama City.

The pass and waters around it proved to be pretty antithetical to our experience back in the bays, with all manner and sizes of boats heading in and out. Despite the traffic, Smith dropped anchor and, bouncing in the washboard of wakes, we dropped live pogies to the bottom, about 30 feet down. Once again, Smith proved true to his word: Shortly after, we boated our first southern flounder and, just after another, a small gag grouper.

Intent on adding to the day’s already notable variety, Smith moved us to the end of the east jetty, a favorite spot to catch mangrove (gray) snapper. Bingo: We caught several gray snapper, on little liveys just off the rocks (keeping our lines away from the personal watercraft dashing around jetty’s end).

By then it was about midday. Smith, like most inshore guides here fishing the long days of summer, generally runs two half-day trips — roughly 7 a.m. to noon and 2 p.m. to 6 p.m., or thereabouts. So we headed back to the marina, plenty satisfied after a busy, fishy outing.

June’s a great time to connect with the variety these bays offer, but then, it’s hard to go wrong anytime. “We truly have a year-round inshore fishery here,” Smith says. That includes trout and reds on the flats, spring through fall (the morning we fished, the tide wasn’t right for that fishery).

October and November are Smith’s favorite months to focus on fishing the inlet for bull reds. (Smith customarily releases redfish to help ensure the future of this outstanding fishery.)

March and April find him there targeting sheepshead. Summer baitfish migrations offer the best action for flounder, mangrove snapper and Spanish mackerel, as well as species drawn in by the bait, including jacks, bluefish, blacktip sharks and sometimes tarpon.

Offshore Fishing Panama City Beach

A change-up was in store for our second and third days fishing out of Panama City. Armed with slightly heavier gear, we met up with Capt. Matt Parramore and our third angler, who happened to be Matt’s spouse, Jennifer, in his Cape Horn 27 at Panama City Marina to fish offshore.

The sunny, calm weather of the day before had given way to gray skies and the sound of rolling thunder here and there, so we opted to target nearshore waters with bait and lures — again, with variety in mind. Fishing anywhere from a couple of miles off the beach up to 10 or 12 miles out, we spent a good bit of our time drift-jigging in 60 to 130 feet of water on a variety of spots from Parramore’s little book of numbers.

Typical of the northern Gulf, large structural relief from the generally flat bottom wasn’t required to find fish; even small areas of modest rubble could hold predators. Casting a mix of Williamson Koika metal slow-pitch jigs and Arrow Head lead-head bucktail jigs, we did particularly well with king mackerel of respectable size (and some a good bit larger), as well as — inevitably — red snapper (though we released all of them by law) and other species.

Had red snapper season been open and had we wanted to target them, Parramore could have put us on some larger wrecks typically covered with snapper. Beyond red snapper, a dozen or more species will very possibly be pulled over the gunwales on any given day fishing offshore of Panama City.

With the jigs performing well, we ended up using few of the live cigar minnows that Parramore had bought at a bait receiver after leaving the marina. We added a couple of big kings to the total by trolling Rapala’s deep-diving X-Rap Magnum 40s.

While drifting the northern Gulf, it can pay to try whatever artificials you think could work. I had fun with some smaller kings and tunny while casting and retrieving with hard jerks a 5-inch X-Rap Saltwater crankbait on one of the light (inshore) spinning outfits I’d brought. Although we didn’t break out the kites that day, Parramore is a fan of dangling live runners from kites for big kings and other surface-oriented game fish.

Peak Time for Pelagics off Panama City

While the action can be good anytime of the year, weather permitting, late spring/early summer is Parramore’s favorite period. “The water’s starting to warm up, and baitfish are migrating in close,” attracting coastal pelagics such as cobia and kings, as well as amberjack and snapper. About that time, larger bluewater pelagic game fish turn on as well. While Parramore typically focuses on the variety of coastal pelagics within an hour or so of the beach, the skipper is all about bluewater big game. Given the shallow slope of the Gulf, he points out that a run of 60 to 120 miles is required to fish where blue marlin roam.

On the other hand, offshore game fish (other than blue marlin) can be found at times within a few miles of the coast. “I’ve seen people catch dolphin and sailfish off the pier!” he points out.

Species Availability: Panama City

Whether near or far, dolphin (mahi) rate as a favorite for Parramore. “I love fishing for dolphin. We run-and-gun a lot, looking for weeds and floating debris. Dolphin are usually under whatever we find.”

Parramore is a member of the Dolphinfish Research Tagging Program; he notes that a dolphin he tagged 20 miles off Panama City was recaptured 45 days later off Freeport in the Bahamas.

My take-away from this visit to Panama City is that there’s no shortage of activities and events going on in a destination that is succeeding as a Gulf tourist mecca. But anytime I should happen to be back here, I’ll be focusing on the fishing, since there’s always something going down, inshore or offshore.

About Panama City, Florida

Panama City is part of what is widely termed Florida’s Emerald Coast, after the color of nearshore waters, at times having a distinct clear-green hue. Many of the activities that attract visitors are water oriented, not surprising given the waters of several sprawling bays and, outside, the Gulf beyond the sandy beaches. To get more info on all that Panama City has to offer, visit destinationpanamacity.com.

The post Panama City Fishing Paradise appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

The introduction around two decades ago of small, live croakers as summertime spotted seatrout bait forever changed Texas coastal fishing and ruffled a lot of salty feathers. Croakers breathed fresh life into a formerly rough patch of hot-season trout fishing one livewell or yellow wading bucket at a time. That pulse has grown stronger with every subsequent season. And now, as gauged by the length of pre-dawn lines at bait camps, it may well be a majority of fishermen who proudly embrace their designations as “croaker soakers.”

And why not? They’re the ones catching the most fish through the hottest months. And they were catching all the more spotted seatrout, prime spawners, when the daily limit on trout was still 10 statewide. So many, in fact, that a sagging trout population in the early 2000s, as measured by annual gillnet surveys conducted since 1974, was attributed by many anglers as primarily the fault of little croakers on big hooks.

Finger-pointing occasionally turned into dockside shouting matches and sometimes worse between those who did and those who would never use croakers as bait. That level of confrontation has subsided, thankfully, mostly because the Texas Parks & Wildlife Department (TPWD) enacted countermeasures to repair a substantially broken population.

Texas Trout Numbers Aren’t What They Used to Be

As a test, in 2007, TPWD rolled out a five-fish limit along the lower Texas coast. It worked. In 2014, perhaps a little late, that five-fish bag was extended northward roughly to Matagorda. And in 2019, five fish daily became the rule along all 700-plus miles of Texas coastline.

The latest reduction, to three fish daily statewide against a 15- to 20-inch slot (with a special annual license tag for one over-slot fish that won’t be used often by Texas’ conservation-minded anglers), started this past spring. It came none too soon. From inception, croakers replaced light stringers with easy limits of prime, spawning-class trout. So easy, in fact, that many guides did and still do book two trips daily — sometimes with guaranteed limits. Croakers are that irresistible to speckled trout.

The fate suffered by spawning-class croakers was worse. There are enough, as we see by how many are caught and sold for bait each summer, but relatively few if measured against previous counts. Yesteryear’s croakers routinely weighed 2 pounds. In the dawn of summertime croaker soaking, in 2002, Texas even produced a new state record for the species. That beauty of a beast was 29 inches long and weighed 5.47 pounds. The record stands today, and I’ve neither seen nor heard of a croaker heavier than 3 pounds since.

It’s trout that rule in Texas, though, and the sinking of the croaker population hasn’t drawn many tears. So long as there are enough spawning croakers — perhaps opening a fish-farming opportunity — there will be buyers at any price. Early on, live croakers fetched maybe a quarter each, a little less if you wanted to load the well. Today, with demand on the rise and no comparable alternative, the little baits fetch as much as a dollar per croak.

Bait trawlers love their pay raise. Shorter drags, necessary to keep juvenile croakers alive, burn less fuel. Similarly to how Paul Prudhomme buried a leather-tough bull redfish fillet in rich spices, shrimpers have found a way to turn low-value bycatch into a high-profit commodity.

Refreshed Texas Trout Regulations

Instead of banning the popular bait, as suggested routinely in recent years, TPWD is rebuilding its trout population — in quantity and quality — by common-sense harvest reduction. No closed season, thankfully, but a shorter stringer that shifts from reactive to proactive on enhancement of this precious fishery.

There was a halfway organized movement to have croakers declared gamefish in Texas, the same status enjoyed by trout and reds. It got exactly as far — nowhere — as the idea of banning croakers as bait. Worth noting, requests for input from guides and recreational fishermen prior to writing this story fell mostly on deaf ears. Common goals heal many wounds, especially since Texas trout appear to be on a good track.

The focus now, with a no-nonsense limit in place that can’t help but improve this fishery by every measure, is on enhancement and on an excellent path to success. Even with croakers on every other boat, nearly every boat on some bays, the three-fish daily limit enables Texas trout to increase their population overall, and that top-end slot of 20 inches gives bigger fish the chance to become giants. Collectively, Texas trout fishermen are on board and eager to reap the benefits of their sacrifice.

The post The Great Croaker Debate appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

Mississippi is just one of the 10 states touched by North America’s largest river, but somehow, it’s the one that inherited its name. Louisiana coastal anglers are fine with that because most have a love-hate relationship with “The Big Muddy.” In high-river years, when the Mississippi most lives up to its nickname, it shoves cubic foot after cubic foot of highly turbid fresh water into the marshes, bays and bayous of south Louisiana, giving inshore waters the clarity of an advanced lesson on quantum physics.

Estuarine species flee the scene, setting up shop in areas where they can actually see their fins in front of their faces. For anglers, that means longer runs burning more fuel and complete abandonment of familiar honey holes. Solicit an opinion from a south Louisiana angler about the Mississippi during a high-river spring, and you’ll likely get a string of expletives longer than Steve Martin’s in “Planes, Trains and Automobiles.”

But as with all things in nature, there is a yang to the yin. Though the high water makes fishing tough in the short run, it infuses the ecosystem with more nutrients than a vitamin factory, spring-boarding it to glorious days of truly incomprehensible fishing productivity once the river retreats. Exactly when that happens depends entirely upon how much rain falls in the Midwest, but south Louisiana anglers usually start looking at the readings from New Orleans’ Carrollton gauge around the beginning of summer, and typically sometime in August, the river first retreats below 5 feet there. That’s the signal that the river has gotten so low and slow that it’s lost its battle against the Gulf, allowing clean, green water to infiltrate all the major passes and even the Mississippi itself south of Venice.

Speckled trout will eventually find their way to all the bait the river fed for months, but redfish, flounder and largemouth bass get first crack at the menhaden, glass minnows, killifish and crabs in August and September. It’s some of the best fishing found anywhere on the continent.

Charter captains who ferry inexperienced tourists use live or dead shrimp under corks to make harvest easiest, but veteran anglers who like a little more sport channel their inner Kevin VanDam and hit the passes like they’re out to win the Bassmaster Classic.

The roseau canes that line these waterways are hideouts for staggering numbers of bass, redfish, flounder and more, and when waters retreat, these fish get exposed. Venice regulars schedule their trips this time of year around falling tides, and hit major and minor passes that have steeper banks that allow game fish to wait for bait that gets sucked out of the canes.

In this scenario, a wide range of lures will work, but arguably the most productive and enjoyable technique is to flip soft-plastic worms, craws and creature baits to the edges of the canes. Bites are seldom ferocious, but the fights after hooksets sure are. It’s close-combat fishing, with anglers often getting splashed by angry redfish and bass erupting a rod’s length away.

Best gear includes heavy braided line, tungsten bullet weights of at least 3/8-ounce and 3/0 or 4/0 standard J hooks. Extra-wide-gap hooks tend to emerge from fish’s lips, snagging the tough roseau canes in the process. It’s not uncommon for anglers to watch helplessly as a violent bass, red or flounder earns its freedom due to a hook point that’s embedded in a cane.

Newcomers are often stunned to discover all three of these species cohabitate side by side by side, and when setting the hook, it’s impossible to know which type of fish will emerge through the surface. That always adds an exponent to the fun factor. There’s no telling exactly when the river will fall below 5 feet this year, but interested anglers can check the level and forecast depth. Whenever it is, fishing will be off the chain, and anglers will owe it all to the tough spring days when the water was dirty and the fish were far out.

The post Saltwater Flipping and Pitching appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

The ultimate goal of Elon Musk’s SpaceX is to one day establish a colony of humans on Mars, a planet 140 million miles away. Reaching the Chandeleur Islands is only slightly easier. Formed more than two millennia ago when the Mississippi River was dumping sediment into its St. Bernard lobe, the Chandeleur chain is a 60-mile stretch of sand, shell, mangrove and dune grasses. It more resembles an unexplored moonscape than a popular fishing destination.

That’s partly because the area was included in the Breton Island Reservation by President Theodore Roosevelt more than a century ago, and development of any kind — even primitive camping — is illegal there. But it’s also because the Chandeleur chain is so freaking far from absolutely anywhere. Though it’s part of Louisiana, the nearest ports are actually in Mississippi. Still, it’s a 30-mile run over open water from Gulfport.

Boats that can handle those big offshore swells may not be best for exploring the shallow-water grass flats that seem to go on forever behind the protection of the islands. That’s why for many anglers, the best way to fish the islands is to plunk down a wad of cash, hop aboard a mother ship and fan out over the flats on skiffs with tiller-controlled outboards. A number of outfits along the Mississippi coast offer the service.

A DIY Chandeleur Island Fishing Trip

Other anglers with more of a DIY mindset wait for days with perfect conditions, load up on fuel and roar across Breton Sound in their bay boats. That’s what outdoor television-show host Kevin Ford and I did with our good buddy Capt. Justin Bowles during a June trip not too long ago. We had a night reserved at the Chandeleur Islander, a jack-up barge that provides hot meals and bunks for visiting anglers, so our plan was to scout on day one while fishing from the boat, in hopes of locating an area to wade-fish the morning of day two.

Most fishing plans, of course, require some adjustment on the fly, but this one worked to pure perfection. We launched along the Mississippi coast, and after a ride out that was a little bumpier than ideal, we arrived at the Chandeleurs mid-morning. Even though all of us are jaded lifelong anglers, we still stood in marvel at the sight of gin-clear water over seagrass flats as far as the eye could see.

We employed a hit-and-run strategy, fishing for a few minutes in a number of different areas, looking for the right mix of water clarity, depth and bait. Though we caught tons of fish from the boat, it was mostly a scouting mission to locate an area that would give us a reasonable chance of success while wading the next morning.

Great Fishing at the Chandeleur Islands

Lucky for us, it was an embarrassment of riches, with almost too many options to choose from. We all agreed on what we figured would be the No. 1 spot, and then spent the waning minutes of the day catching speckled trout within sight of the Islander. The next morning started well before dawn with way too much breakfast and that nervous chatter that always precedes fishing trips in new areas. We loaded our gear, and with only a hint of twilight to the east, we scooted down to the area we had found the day before.

With Bowles’ bay boat securely anchored, we fanned out over the grass flat, while a constant cacophony of nesting-shorebird calls washed across the flat surface. Before I even made a cast, I knew this was going to be one of the best fishing trips of my life. Everywhere around us, speckled trout were crashing into schools of mullet, emitting that characteristic pop sound big trout make when they suck in bait, water and air.

The fish clearly couldn’t tell the difference between our topwater plugs and the real thing. The explosions were relentless, and we all caught speckled trout almost every cast for the next three hours. It was epic.

But really, for the Chandeleur chain, it was just ordinary. The area is so vast, unspoiled and underfished, trips there that rank as the best of your life are the rule rather than the exception. Plant your toes in the sand at the right spot, and you simply won’t be able to believe how many fish can crowd into one area. I’ll be back out there soon — assuming Uncle Elon doesn’t come through with that ticket to Mars.

The post Wade Fishing the Chandeleur Islands appeared first on Sport Fishing Mag.

While federal and Florida state officials come to terms on this year’s Gulf gag grouper season, an announcement of the dates is expected any day. Anglers in the Southeast are hoping for a season longer than last year’s. That drastically reduced season scuttled trips, cost businesses revenue, and frustrated many anglers, especially along Florida’s west coast, where gag grouper holds high status among anglers.

“Last year, reducing the gag grouper season from 6 months to 45 days was a detriment to not only myself and many other guides in the area but also to our tourism industry as a whole,” said Capt. Katie Jo Davis of Yankeetown, Florida.

Capt. Davis runs a Young Gulfshore 22, perfect for shallow water grouper out of her home marina, Fisher’s Marina and Campground in Yankeetown. Her home waters are known for hot gag grouper fishing. With her vessel, she can fish inshore shallows for trout, reds, and other species and go up to 25 miles offshore to target fish, including gag, on rockpiles. In the Crystal River area where she often fishes, 25 miles out puts anglers over 30-foot depths.

“I’m able to catch gag grouper year-round in this area,” Davis says. Most often she’ll fish with a Shimano Twin Power 8000 spinner on a Shimano Trevala rod and use live pinfish or frozen herring on the bottom.

“Water temperatures play an important role in determining exactly how far the gag grouper move in and out from shore,” Davis says. “If the water temperature is still too hot, many of those fish will stay a bit offshore where the water is cooler,” she says. “However, there are always gag grouper around to catch.”

Shorter Gag Grouper Season, Less Tourism

Davis says the shortened gag grouper season last year caused trip cancellations by anglers who target gags, especially for charters out to the Middle Grounds. She expects the same this year if the season comes up short on dates to fish.

“I have not noticed a decline in our gag grouper population here,” Davis says. “For myself, should gag grouper be shortened or closed, I will have to focus on targeting other fish such as hogfish and mangrove snapper. Fortunately, I can always switch to inshore fishing, which is always great in our area.”

Federal fishery managers consider gag grouper in the Gulf to be overfished based on a 2022 stock assessment. Any overage to the annual catch limit (ACL) is deducted from the following year’s ACL. By this means, federal officials plan to rebuild the stock to more sustainable levels.

Gag Grouper Numbers Revised

The good news is that the magnitude of the payback applied to the 2024 annual catch limit is much smaller than the 2023 overage that was first calculated. That bit of good fortune happened after a loud public outcry over last year’s shortened season and the Gulf Council’s request that NOAA Fisheries review the landings estimates.

At their meeting this April, the Gulf Council received notice that NOAA revised their initial recreational landings data for gag grouper. According to the presentation, the estimates were lowered due to three main data collection factors: additional responses to catch surveys, a reweighting of highly influential catch interviews, and changes to fishery survey intercepts. The revisions were all part of the transition from the federal data collection program to the Florida state data collection system. With the revised data, the 2024 overage adjusted annual catch limit for recreational anglers is 163,376 pounds gross weight. This overage, lower than expected at the start of the year, is being used to calculate the season dates. That curious twist in fisheries statistics might result in a longer season than many anglers expect.

With that glimmer of hope and the recently announced 103-day season for Gulf red snapper set to open June 1, anglers and charter captains like Katie Jo hope they can target both species at least some days this coming fall. The margin of chances for a longer season may be slim, but that doesn’t stop anglers passionate about gag grouper fishing from hoping for the best.

Atlantic Gag Grouper Season

On the Atlantic side, gag grouper season along with other shallow-water grouper species opened on May 1. However, the gag season is slated to close on June 15 because NOAA Fisheries estimates that the recreational landings will reach the annual catch limit (ACL) of 133, 075 pounds gutted weight by that time. NOAA Fisheries reduced the length of the season because recreational landings in 2023 exceeded the set recreational catch limits. The way things are lining up, boating a keeper gag grouper off Florida this year might be far more difficult than ever before.

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An 80-foot Viking yacht, a network of fish-attracting structures, SONAR technology, and the last bait on the boat combined to help a group of Florida men catch the fish of a lifetime.

The six-person crew of the Flat Dangerous were just out for a shakedown cruise on April 24, and thought they would try for blue marlin in the Gulf waters off Destin, Florida. The shakedown was a good idea — the group lost three fish to old mono on their reels before re-spooling with fresh. The new stuff held up well enough for the crew to christen the boat with a massive 888-pound bluefin tuna.

“It took every single one of us to pull it into the boat,” said John Balters of Destin, a mate on the boat and sophomore at the University of Miami. “Once we got it in, there was just a bunch of cheering and photos. It was just incredible.”

Aboard were the boat’s owner, Warren Wlliamson, Capt. George Gill, first mate Eddy Griffith, friend Kole Melancon, Balters, and Dennis Bennett, who knows a bit about catching big tuna. Bennett had a hand in Rick Whitley’s 2017 catch of an 827-pound bluefin, the current Florida record. (The Flat Dangerous fish was fought by multiple anglers, disqualifying it from eligibility. The International Game Fish Association all-tackle world record bluefin is 1,496 pounds, caught by Ken Fraser in Nova Scotia in 1979.)

Fish Aggregating Devices Produce Fish of a Lifetime

Capt. Gill took the boat out to the Capt. Kelly Windes FAD Buoy Network, a string of fish aggregating devices installed in 2020 60 miles off the Destin-Fort Walton Beach area. The group began looking for blue marlin in about 2,000 feet of water at about 8:30 a.m. They caught small yellowfin, skipjack, and blackfin tuna, which went into the boat’s tuna tubes to stay frisky for the real fishing.

Soon Bennett, on the bridge with the captain, noticed marks on the sonar similar to those he saw back in 2017. It was time to get a bait in the water. “It gets maybe 30 yards behind the boat and probably about 20 feet under water, and I just see this huge flash in the water,” Balters said. But they barely had the first angler sat in the chair when the first fish was gone, hook and all.

The group swapped in another Shimano Tiagra 80 Wide reel and continued patrolling the FAD. Another mark, another bite, and then this fish too was gone. And then another. The anglers switched to a Shimano Talica 50 with fresh mono, caught another small tuna, and got a bite with an explosive rise in shallow water. But 30 minutes into that fight, “this one just pulled the hook. Nothing we could do on that one,” Balters said. He began to worry aloud: “We missed our shot. We had three hookups. That’s all God’s giving us.”

They were down to one blackfin tuna, and it wasn’t all that frisky after several hours in the tuna tube. The crew stripped one of the Tiagras and re-spooled with fresh line. Eventually, there was yet another mark in the fish-rich water around the FAD. In went the bait.

“It just kind of laid sideways,” Balters said. “I’m like, ‘Oh man, we’re not gonna get a bite.’” And soon after came a strike that “looked like someone dropped a car in the water.” This was the big one. “We’re having to follow him a little bit. He goes straight down and strips us of all the mono we had just put on and goes into our braided backing.”

Perhaps an hour into the fight, the fish became entangled and died. Then began several hard hours of pulling the dead weight to the boat. The crew had to bend its fins flat along its body to get it to fit through the tuna door.

They got back to Destin after 9, welcomed by a small crowd of well-wishers, and got the triple eights on the scale at Boshamps Seafood and Oyster Bar. They saved the filleting for the morning.

“I was sore the next day for sure,” Balters said. “When it was all said and done, it was four huge tubs of just pure meat. It all went quickly, but probably all of Destin got some.”

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Three anglers were standing in neck-deep water off a beach on the Florida panhandle, being circled by a 12-foot shark—the kind of shark that makes its living attacking swordfish, tuna, and other sharks. It was the next-to-last moment in a beach-fishing adventure none of them will forget, and it ended safely for all of them, including the shark.

On November 12, Travis Lucas and friends Joshua Smith and Ben Brandner caught and released a very large shortfin mako shark from the beach. It’s exceedingly rare to catch a mako from shore; they prefer deep water and the larger prey that live there. This was the first confirmed shore-caught mako at Cape San Blas, about an hour east of Panama City. The shark was released per the rules; harvesting Atlantic mako sharks has been prohibited since 2022 due to overfishing.

Lucas, Smith, and Brandner never expected to catch a mako, let alone one that’s about as big as they get. “We usually just target big species, like bull sharks,” Lucas recalled. A week earlier, they had caught a 12-foot dusky shark and a 13-foot great hammerhead.

The Hometown Sharkers Score Big

The group, “Hometown Sharkers” on their social media, specialize in overnight beach outings.
Lucas was set up with an Okuma Makaira 130 reel spooled with 200-pound Reaction Tackle braid, a 300-pound mono top shot, and a homemade 800-pound leader on a 7-foot Rainshadow rod. The 24/0 circle hook was baited with a chunk of a blacktip shark caught earlier in the day.

Lucas had dropped the bait from a kayak about 1,000 yards offshore at sunset and paddled back to camp. During the evening, “we ended up catching a smaller bull shark on another rod,” he said. After that, it was a calm, cool night on a quiet beach—until it wasn’t.

“We had actually dozed off,” Lucas said. “I woke up to the 130 screaming.” He got into his harness and immediately knew the fish was heavy, perhaps a tiger shark. “It started pulling pretty significant drag pretty effortlessly,” he said.

Ten minutes in, the fish “woke up” and began leaping in the moonlight, “pretty much back-to-back for three or four minutes in one position, and then again in the next,” Lucas said. Eventually, the acrobatics ended. The fish ran toward shore a couple of times, which made life easier for Lucas, and the fight was over in 35 minutes.

As the fish neared the beach, the anglers still didn’t know what they had caught. Maybe a hammerhead, they thought. When it reached the wash, they thought it may have been a great white. When they finally got a light on it, “there was a lot of screaming,” Lucas recalled.

Team Release

“Releasing that fish was one of the most memorable situations I’ve had,” he said. “We realized it was a mako. Josh runs out with the tail rope. I come out with bolt cutters and the hook remover. We get out there, assess the situation, get it unhooked, get the leader off of it. It was about 49 degrees, it was cold.”

Lucas’s wife, Flower, and the other guys’ girlfriends watched and held flashlights from the beach. The group began moving the mako to deeper water to ease its release. “So it’s pitch black outside. We get out past the sandbar, so we know she can swim off. She swims out 10 or 15 feet and comes back at us. She made three full circles around us before thrashing at the surface and then swimming off. It was definitely nerve-wracking.”

The group saw for themselves why makos are sometimes confused with, blue sharks. “They are in every sense of the word ‘blue sharks’,” Lucas said. “When the light hits them they’ll go from deep purple to blue, and it’s a color you’d never expect to see from an animal. It almost seems like it’s a holographic. They’re pretty wild looking. It’s definitely a once in a lifetime fish.”

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I’m clearly a glutton for punishment. For most anglers, fishing trips involve making a milk run of spots that have delivered for them in the past, and hoping that at least one of them will hold feeding fish on that day. It’s an efficient strategy that certainly increases the chances for success. But to me, it’s as boring as reading a book on String Theory.

The joy for me in the sport of angling is not in reeling in a fish but rather in overcoming the challenge of figuring out the fish. Each bite is just confirmation that the fish were doing what my analysis determined they should be. Once the fish is hooked, I’d just as soon hand the rod to someone else to reel it in.

Because of that, I rarely fish the same spot twice, preferring to hit new areas that require me to read the water and make exploratory casts to determine if my hypotheses were correct. Since my home state of Louisiana has 2.5 million acres of coastal wetlands, the options are almost endless for anglers like me who want to channel their inner Vasco da Gama.

As such, most of my fishing trips actually begin at my desk staring at Google Earth on my Mac. I look for areas rich in hydrographic features that should deliver based on expected conditions on the day I’m fishing.

To me, one of the most predictable occurs during or immediately following an atmospheric feature that most south Louisiana anglers despise — a west wind. Breezes with a compass reading anywhere from about 225 to 315 cause water in Louisiana’s marshes to flee like tourists the day after Mardi Gras. Lakes, bays and lagoons that may have produced fish the day before a westerly wind will be as fishless and nearly as dry as the Mojave.

Since those are the areas that most anglers fish, west winds are as popular in south Louisiana as bland gumbo. But those fish have to go somewhere, and to me, a west wind merely serves to concentrate them and make them easier to catch. That’s particularly true with speckled trout and redfish, although the strategies I employ to find them differ slightly. 

If I’m hoping to get a speckled-trout fix, I scan the satellite images and make note of medium-sized bayous that drain marsh lakes or lagoons. From September through May, specks will stuff their faces in these water bodies. They will retreat to the nearest deep water when forced to by Mother Nature. Although major bayous with depths to 20 feet are certainly worth checking, the sweet spots for me are bayous with 6 to 10 feet of depth. Invariably, once on sight, I’ll make my first cast at the first bend of each of those bayous.

If I’m craving the hard hits and strong pulls of redfish, my game plan varies slightly. What I look for in my map study are small bayous that connect two marsh ponds. Redfish seem to always want to be as shallow as possible, often hunting for snacks in water no deeper than the height of their bodies. So when ponds get dry or too shallow to swim, the fish stack up in absurd numbers in these small bayous that measure only 2 to 3 feet deep.

Often the challenge is getting to these tiny waterways in the low-water conditions, an obstacle that’s overcome with the use of a mud motor or with nerves of steel while running an outboard over glorified mud puddles. The latter is the method I employ, so a push pole is standard gear on my boat. It’s saved me from spending the night in the marsh more times than my wife will ever know.

Admittedly, not every medium-sized bayou that drains a marsh lake will hold speckled trout, and not every small bayou between two ponds will be crowded with redfish. So I find several before I ever pull my boat out of the garage, and I’ll hit them all in a day’s fishing. Ground truthing my hypotheses is what makes this sport fun.

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