Post by Camp Boss on May 8, 2016 7:29:10 GMT -6
Feeling Good Again
Every spring, when the final northern fronts blow down to the south coast and the sun warms the waters of the upper Gulf of Mexico, something miraculous happens; the surf flattens out and the waters run green with speckled trout.
The spring surf run has to be greatest thing to happen since Christmas. After facing the doldrums of winter, I now have something to look forward to again. It feels good feeling good again.
I love fishing the surf! I love the drive down to the Gulf to watch the sun rise above the horizon on a cool crisp spring morning, the first step out into the cool Gulf water, preparing for an epic battle and challenging the tides with a small “Spook Jr. Clown.” I love it! The slurping sound of the strike and the splash from the attack is enough to get anyone’s blood pumping.
The First Gut
The night time ebb and flow has pushed bait fish up into the first gut, the parallel calf deep depression between the shore and the first sand bar. A lone trout breaks away from the school to stalk her confined prey. As I watch the bait fish blow up in the shallow pool, I know there is hungry girl in there, waiting to devour anything in her path. I make my cast, methodically “walking the dog” with the rhythm of the subtle waves. I work my lure next to the pod of concentrated bait. BAM! “FISH ON!!”
My real is screaming as she pulls the drag with my bait in tow. She jumps from the water with a head shake to release the plug from her yellow mouth, but the hooks are set. After a few futile runs, she quietly succumbs to my hand. “DINNER!”
The Second Gut
As the sun rises above the horizon, the outgoing tide cuts a perpendicular channel through the first sand bar creating an ambush point for hungry trout as the ebb current drains the bait’s sanctuary of the first gut. The bait fish have no choice but to follow the trail of the outgoing tide and meet their fate on the other side of bar. The bait fish concentrate, for there is safety in numbers, as they make their way out to sea. The keen eye of the hungry gulls have spotted the convoy and have given me the direction for my next cast.
The hungry school of trout attack the school of bait fish, pushing the bait to the surface, making easy pickings or the gulls. I cast my plug into the commotion, only to be rewarded with false strikes, as I excitedly race my lure across the feeding frenzy. Finally, I gain composure, slow down my retrieve. Twitch, twitch, pop… Twitch, twitch, pop… Swoosh, she’s on.
With the pattern identified, I repeat my cast until the school plays out.
The Winds of Change
There is a relatively short window for top water action in the surf. As the day progresses, so does the wind’s southerly flow, increasing the size of each passing wave.
By now we have discovered the pattern, plugging the clown through the trough between the waves at the second bar break. The trout are now feeding heavy, trying to fill up before Mother Nature turns the surf into a washing machine, and disperses the schools of bait. For a short moment, cast after cast, the trout are blowing up on my plug. And as fast as the feeding frenzy started, it’s over. Now I stay out there in search of the last soldier until I can no longer take the abuse of the wave crashing over my shoulders. Let’s call it a day.
Exhausted from the abusive surf’s waves, each wave increasing in size as the barometer drops and southerly wind increases, I make my way back to the shore. Sometimes with a full stringer, sometimes not, But it was a great day none the less. If I had only remembered to bring an ice chest. “Damn! I need a beer.”
Every spring, when the final northern fronts blow down to the south coast and the sun warms the waters of the upper Gulf of Mexico, something miraculous happens; the surf flattens out and the waters run green with speckled trout.
The spring surf run has to be greatest thing to happen since Christmas. After facing the doldrums of winter, I now have something to look forward to again. It feels good feeling good again.
I love fishing the surf! I love the drive down to the Gulf to watch the sun rise above the horizon on a cool crisp spring morning, the first step out into the cool Gulf water, preparing for an epic battle and challenging the tides with a small “Spook Jr. Clown.” I love it! The slurping sound of the strike and the splash from the attack is enough to get anyone’s blood pumping.
The First Gut
The night time ebb and flow has pushed bait fish up into the first gut, the parallel calf deep depression between the shore and the first sand bar. A lone trout breaks away from the school to stalk her confined prey. As I watch the bait fish blow up in the shallow pool, I know there is hungry girl in there, waiting to devour anything in her path. I make my cast, methodically “walking the dog” with the rhythm of the subtle waves. I work my lure next to the pod of concentrated bait. BAM! “FISH ON!!”
My real is screaming as she pulls the drag with my bait in tow. She jumps from the water with a head shake to release the plug from her yellow mouth, but the hooks are set. After a few futile runs, she quietly succumbs to my hand. “DINNER!”
The Second Gut
As the sun rises above the horizon, the outgoing tide cuts a perpendicular channel through the first sand bar creating an ambush point for hungry trout as the ebb current drains the bait’s sanctuary of the first gut. The bait fish have no choice but to follow the trail of the outgoing tide and meet their fate on the other side of bar. The bait fish concentrate, for there is safety in numbers, as they make their way out to sea. The keen eye of the hungry gulls have spotted the convoy and have given me the direction for my next cast.
The hungry school of trout attack the school of bait fish, pushing the bait to the surface, making easy pickings or the gulls. I cast my plug into the commotion, only to be rewarded with false strikes, as I excitedly race my lure across the feeding frenzy. Finally, I gain composure, slow down my retrieve. Twitch, twitch, pop… Twitch, twitch, pop… Swoosh, she’s on.
With the pattern identified, I repeat my cast until the school plays out.
The Winds of Change
There is a relatively short window for top water action in the surf. As the day progresses, so does the wind’s southerly flow, increasing the size of each passing wave.
By now we have discovered the pattern, plugging the clown through the trough between the waves at the second bar break. The trout are now feeding heavy, trying to fill up before Mother Nature turns the surf into a washing machine, and disperses the schools of bait. For a short moment, cast after cast, the trout are blowing up on my plug. And as fast as the feeding frenzy started, it’s over. Now I stay out there in search of the last soldier until I can no longer take the abuse of the wave crashing over my shoulders. Let’s call it a day.
Exhausted from the abusive surf’s waves, each wave increasing in size as the barometer drops and southerly wind increases, I make my way back to the shore. Sometimes with a full stringer, sometimes not, But it was a great day none the less. If I had only remembered to bring an ice chest. “Damn! I need a beer.”
