FISH WHEN YOU CAN, NOT WHEN YOU SHOULD. PHOTO: RIC BURNLEY
FISH WHEN YOU CAN, NOT WHEN YOU SHOULD JUST DO IT
Low clouds streamed in off the coast. The trees leaned sideways under an icy rain. A plastic bag cartwheeled down the street. “I’m going to fish,” Rob Choi shouted over the whistling wind, “it’s supposed to get nicer.” Both of us huddled in rain gear, backs facing the downpour. Sure, the weather was nasty. But it was a Sunday, the only day we could
fish, and it was supposed to get nicer. So I agreed to meet Rob and Jeff Lockhart at a winter holdover for speckled trout. By the time we gathered our gear and made the drive, the weather had cleared. A few hours later and Lockhart hooked into a gator trout that measured over 25 inches and probably weighed more than six pounds—a real trophy. I spend so much time dialing in the fish, figuring out when and where
they will bite, learning what bait to use and how to fish, that I forget the fish don’t always follow the rules. I envy pro guides. They are on the water every day, tuned into the fish. What about those guys who never seem to work? They fish when conditions are prime. And stay inside when it’s rain- ing and blowing. For the rest of us, we fish when we can. Even if the tide, the wind and the barometric pressure are wrong. If I’m off work and the family is oc- cupied, I can sneak away for a few hours on the water. The science isn’t in figuring out the fish, it’s in figuring out the quickest and easiest way to get out of the house. I can load my boat and grab my gear with the efficiency
10 PADDLING MAGAZINE
of a military operation. In one bag, I stuff tackle, water bottle, snacks, pli- ers, scissors and camera. I rig two rods. Grab my paddle and PFD. Check, check, check. And don’t forget the rain gear. Last spring, I was fishing the flats somewhere on Virginia’s Eastern
Shore. We were looking for big red drum in the clear green water when the wind and rain moved in. A mile from shore, our party headed to a sandbar to wait out the tempest. As the wind subsided, half the guys decided to make a break for the
launch and call it a day. Since this was my only day to fish, I convinced a couple of friends to hang back and give it another shot. We paddled away from the group heading home and beat our way back into open water. As the wind continued to abate, I cast a six-inch swim shad behind the kayak and paddled along the edge of the flat. It wasn’t long before the rod bent double with the weight of a 40-pound drum. By the time I worked the beast to my kayak, shot some photos and released the drum, the wind had died and the sun was starting to set. I paddled back to the launch glad I hadn’t done the smart thing.
Ric Burnley is the editor of Kayak Angler magazine.
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