right on running. Dollihite passed the rod to his 14-year-old son Dalton. Wade’s other guests, Michael Bouman and his 13- year-old son Adam, are busy lending moral support. Judging from the dramatic
bend of Dollihite’s rod, they’ll be at it for a while. The likelihood of catching
fish — frequently, bigger-than- average fish —remains the fore- most reason for the Galveston jetties’ incredibly broad appeal. It’s an altogether different assign - ment than wade-fishing the shorelines and drifting the reefs of nearby East and West Galves - ton Bays. On the bays, finding the fish
Veins of algae trace fractures and cracks
and far more obvious is the chaotic grid
of parallel lines that dramatically criss-
cross the rocks from one end to the other.
calling cards left by everything from brown pelicans and laughing gulls to the occasional double-crested cor- morant casually drying its wings before hitching a ride on the next out- going freighter. Veins of algae trace fractures and
cracks and far more obvious is the chaotic grid of parallel lines that dra- matically crisscross the rocks from one end to the other. Virtual birthmarks, they’re all that remains of deep and narrow holes drilled many years ago to accommodate explosives. Throughout the early-to-mid-1900s,
dynamite intermittently rocked the vast granite cradle of the Texas Hill Country. Finally, in 1966, the Galveston jetties received their last infusion of stone. Save for the bright-green strands of
TIDE
algae that swirl like wet hair in the surf, everything about this place seems per- manently affixed — “seems” being the operative word. It’s a very convincing illusion, one that’s gotten the best of many an inexperienced and unprepared angler. If appearances can be deceptive, Galveston’s massive jetties are among the greatest of all pretenders. The gargantuan stacks of granite
epitomize the meaning of “set in stone.” Everything else is in a perpetual state of flux. Anchored boats included.
AT THE MERCY OF TIDE AND WIND A stubborn, variable breeze is ruf-
fling the surface of the Galveston Ship Channel and this morning’s high tide is visibly coming to life. We’ve already watched a 28-inch class redfish slowly fin past the bow, mere inches below the sur- face. Behind the transom and also barely submerged, a juvenile blue crab furious- ly paddles, but it doesn’t stand a chance against the mere trickle of saltwater already ebbing its way out to sea. Within a few seconds, the creature is gone. The tide is finally turning. Looking
up, I immediately sense that my boat, albeit slowly, is drifting away from the rocks. A little over 50 yards behind us, Bill Wade’s boat is doing the same. Several minutes ago, Wade’s friend
David Dollihite connected with a rock- running redfish that snatched a freshly hooked crab from the stair-step struc- ture of the jetty’s mid-section and kept
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is the prime directive. Here in the ship channel, just off the rocks, the deep-water drill is typically the opposite. The fish follow the forage down a one- way path, a feeder road solely governed by the capricious quirks
of tide and wind. Spurred by a coopera- tive environment and granted ample time to arrive, the fish of the Galveston jetties ultimately find the fishermen. Ambush-oriented jetty anglers
anticipate and recognize the pending arrival of quality conditions, roughly best summed up as “clear water that’s moving and wind that’s not,” and then immediately use that informa- tion to its utmost. Summoned accordingly, frequently
with very little notice, jetty specialists make hasty runs to their favorite locales and anchor up their boats with time to spare. Then they lower their baits and wait, patiently or otherwise, for the tide to make its move. Eventually, big redfish and black
drum fall in line with the current-car- ried buffet of shrimp, mullet and crabs that progressively courses past the staggered layer of rocks. At its base, the typical deep-water
jetty is roughly seven times wider than it is at its peak. With close to seven fath- oms of water flooding its outermost reaches, the channel-side slope of the North Galveston Jetty provides an infi- nite network of drop-offs, crevasses and holes in which baitfish can evade the current and hide from hungry predators. Or, at least try to hide. When we arrived here this morning
just ahead of Wade and his crew we expected the standard wait. The tide wasn’t slated to begin falling for at
35
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