I lowered my head and cried. Three years ago, I had set out to achieve Expert Angler in Virginia’s Saltwater Fishing Tournament. And that tog was the last fish on a long and hard journey. When I first learned about the citation program and how hard it is
As I released
to achieve expert designation, I knew I had to try it in the kayak. The Virginia Saltwater Fishing Tournament is a year-long program that awards citation plaques to anglers who catch a fish that exceeds a length or weight that is considered a trophy. Catch a sea trout that weighs more than five pounds or measures over 24 inches and the state sends a wooden plaque with your name and the weight and date of your catch. There are 35 species eligible for a citation plaque, from spot and croaker to blue marlin and swordfish. The program further challenges anglers with an Expert Angler award.
This designation goes to the angler who catches six trophy fish—each from a different species—in one year. While 6,167 citations were awarded last year, only 33 people earned Expert Angler. And only one other kayak angler, Kevin Whitley, has ever pulled it off. It took me three years to be the second. The first two years that I tried for Expert Angler, I came up short by two trophies. But, like most things that I try and fail, I became obsessed with conquering this challenge. With the odds stacked against me, I wanted to prove that I could fish
from my kayak and still play with the big boys. I refused to load my kayak on a mothership or get towed. I wouldn’t use a motor or hire a guide. It would be me, my kayak, my paddle and my decisions. I wanted to earn it. For me, it wasn’t about being an expert, but setting a goal and
proving to myself that I could achieve it. I’m not a full-time professional fisherman; I’m a family guy who holds down a real job. I even asked my wife for permission. After two years of trial and error, she understood the level of intensity and the probability for failure. She also understood that it would put a lot more pressure on her. I promised that this year would be my last attempt. She believed in me more than I believed I could do it. On top of that, I live in Richmond, Virginia, two hours from the best
saltwater fishing. Talk about a logistical nightmare. I spent hours in the car, on the road and crashing out in parking lots. I’ve been kayak fishing hard for five years. I’ve studied most of
Virginia’s inshore species and learned how to catch them. Going into the year, I had 12 citations for five species: speckled trout, red drum, striper, sheepshead and tautog. Before setting out, I set my strategy. After catching citation striped bass,
red drum, sheepshead and speckled trout the past two years, I felt confident that I could catch a trophy in each of those categories in my third attempt. I had caught trophy tautog before, so I decided to add them to the list of target species. That left one more species to master. With 15 other species accessible by kayak, I hoped I would get lucky and score a wild card fish.
B EGINNER ’ S A L UCK
s luck would have it, I caught my first citation fish on my very first trip of the year. In early January, there are only a few options for
a trophy fish. But I knew where I could find a big speckled trout. The Dominion Power Plant on Elizabeth River in Norfolk has a warm water discharge that traps big trout through the winter. I hit the water early and spent most of the day catching smaller trout on a quarter-ounce jighead and scented soft plastic paddle tail. When I
I
the big tautog into the water, and realized the significance of my catch,
set the hook on a bigger fish, I was almost caught off guard. As soon as I saw the speckled, silver streak fighting sideways in the tannic water, I knew it was a trophy. I loosened the drag and gingerly worked the trout to my kayak. Once I spotted the jig stuck squarely in the fish’s mouth, I grabbed the leader and used my leg to scoop the fish into my lap. I laid the gator on my measuring board and its tail stretched past the 24-inch mark. With my first trophy checked off the list, my confidence was high. And I still had 11 months to catch five more. The water temperature was still in the upper 40s, leaving two species
to target: striped bass and tautog. A few days after catching the trophy speck, I headed to Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel (CBBT) to target tautog. Togs are built like bulldogs with an attitude to match. A member of the wrasse family, they have a short, powerful body, snaggly teeth and big, rubbery lips. They live deep in wrecks and reefs where they chew on crustaceans and mollusk. With 5,000 pilings and four rock islands, CBBT is 17 miles of prime tog territory. During the day, I was able to pull some nice tog from the bridge pilings
with a chunk of blue crab baited on a single-dropper bottom rig. But my two largest were an inch-and-a-half short of the 23-inch minimum for trophy citation. When the sun went down, I switched gears to target trophy striped
bass. Using a live eel on a 9/0 J-hook and a heavy casting outfit, I cast into the rocks and let the bait drift back to my kayak. It was almost 1 a.m., and I was cursing the cold, when the line-out alarm on my reel started to click. I engaged the drag and the line came tight. After setting the hook, the rod bent double and I knew it was a big fish. I fought the beast in the dark, as it bulldozed dangerously close to the rocks and pilings. When the striped bass broke the surface, I hit it with my headlamp. Suddenly, the fish went berserk, thrashing violently it banged its massive head on my kayak and sprayed me with 45°F water. Then it dove to the bottom again, even with so much riding on the line, I took a moment to enjoy my first sleigh ride of the season. Once I had the massive fish on board, it took me a second to measure and photograph the 44-inch monster. Then I dropped it overboard and paddled back to shore tired but optimistic. It felt great knocking striper and trout off my list in my first month
fishing. Little did I know it would take four more months before I caught number three.
REDS AND B L UES
spent the rest of the winter coming up short on tautog before switching my attention to big bluefish. These cobalt and silver eating machines
have a mouth full of razors and a killer instinct. Bluefish are the piranha of the mid-Atlantic, famous for tearing through bait and slashing fish to shreds. They’ve even been known to attack people. Early in the season, big blues measuring up to three feet long inundate
coastal inlets looking for an easy meal after a long winter at sea. To catch them, I first catch a spot or croaker and rig it on a 9/0
circle hook and a 4X single-strand wire leader. Chomper blues are only available for a few weeks in early spring, and nothing else was available, so every chance I had, I would make the 122-mile drive to Rudee Inlet. Fishing was good, and I set a new personal best with a 35-incher, but
I never caught a blue big enough for citation. While most anglers would be stoked to catch eight- to 10-pound blues, only a trophy would satisfy me. Setting the bar so high made it difficult to appreciate this amazing run of big blues.
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