Motor Trouble

2/26/2022

This is the first fishing trip since the second child has come into my life. The amount of pieces that must now fall into place in order for a 3/4 day on the water has created endless angst since D-day 5 weeks ago.

Never the less, the good lord has seemingly noticed my my patience. The in-laws are coming into town to help with the offspring, the wife is in a good mood (despite appalling sleep deficits for the past 5 weeks), my good buddy is free to fish, and the forecast shows clear skies and gentle breezes from the West.

Our deadline to be home is 3:00 pm. Right as the toddler awakens from his daily slumber. We decided to put a few extra miles on the boat instead of the trailer this time. Launching at a ramp closer to home in hopes to relieve the stress cracks that have been slowly infecting both aluminum I beams. I have little faith in my fix that involved 8 minutes and 4 U-bolts.

There is another skiff poling the first spot of our usual milk run for this body of water. So we press on, extending our run to about 13 miles from the ramp. We pole the first flat for a while before we spot a small school of juvenile tarpon breaching the surface, rolling lazily in a foot of water. The beautiful slick calm conditions have them on edge. No amount of quiet nudging with carbon fiber can get us into range. A balance between speed and stealth. The sun is still low and we bump a few more large wakes before deciding to make a move.

The skiff from earlier is now gone, so we do our best to find a line that has not yet been desecrated. After a long and lackadaisical pole we have seen nothing with exception of one bull redfish. The next two spots yield even less in the way of worthy fly fishing targets.

Spirits are still high, we had a run in with some fun size tarpon this morning, and I am thankful to have a day to pursue this ridiculous passion. And to have a wife who puts up with the all-encompassing, childish addiction.

There is time for one last spot before my appointed deadline. Within the first 50 yards we bump a handful of invisible sea trout ranging for 20 inches, to gators. Hope is creeping in. If we can get even one fish to the boat the high should last me at least until turkey season. Better for bride and groom alike.

A string of redfish slide along a shoreline of mangroves and rubble, my comrade drops his fly right next to the mangroves, well in front of the lead fish. By far our best shot all day. As they approach, he gives the crustaceous looking offering a sharp twitch. The lead fish flares off in a golden flash, the second takes a momentary glance before doing the same. The third fish devours it.

A solid slot fish runs to the reel as we bask in the success of the day. one fist bump and a picture later, he swims off. I crack a beer and smile- I could go home a happy man right now, but I’m on the bow and we have 30 minutes left.

I dare not wish for a fish of my own, but in the last 50 yard stretch of shoreline two big redfish materialize, and one decides to make quick work of my black and purple slider. I tighten up the drag and wrangle him away from barnacle covered shoots with a grin. Surely a reward for the last five weekends of dad duty.

Getting home a minute early seems like a good excuse to pin the 30 year old throttle and fiddle with trim and tabs until we reach a delightful 40mph. I ease the throttle back down to cruising speed as we approach a line of pleasure boaters, but RPMs keep plummeting until the motor shuts off. We are left gliding and dumbfounded. A quick inspection for obvious causes turns up nothing, so we crank her back up. She sputters onto plane only to cough her way back to a halt a quarter mile later.

We apply a little extra sunscreen and crack a beer for the seven mile idle home at 1300 RPM. A phone call to my slightly perturbed wife and some serious motor work still doesn’t negate the high brought on by a couple feisty redfish and time spent on the water.

DIY Everglades Fly Fishing

The starter shit the bed in the middle of our keys trip a month ago. Forcing us to chase poons armed with a wooden handle and a short piece of rope. I replaced the starter, and water pump, and have been talking real sweet to her in the weeks leading up to this trip. The plan is to push further into Florida bay than I have personally ever been before. I know that some people do it all the time, but that doesn’t quell the nervous excitement I get from no cell service, wild places, and (hopefully) unpressured fish.

The 20+ year old motor fires right up in a cloud of smoke and biting insects. She hums a perfect 4700rpm, slicing through stained glass for 13 miles to the first spot. My comrade fished here a few months ago, and did will. So I have deferred to his intel to start the trip. We pole the leeward side of the bank for a mile or so, as the sun gets higher, the wind picks up. We start to doubt. An hour with nothing but mullet and sharks, not the report from a few months ago. Everything is always changing here.

We run deeper still into Florida bay. More poling, more sharks, more mullet, and more wind.

The same story with the next few spots. The sun is forcing us to begin thinking of the long run home. We have only seen a couple redfish today. We pact to try one last spot closer to the ramp. Refusing to accept defeat. This is the last spot in the bay that either of us are familiar with.

The sun and water are low by the time we reach the final bank. We do manage to see a few wakes and tails, but our best efforts to pole and punch flies into the wind are not rewarded. We load up the boat and head for Mexican food, and to hatch plans for tomorrow.

Day 2

The last day of our quick trip, which means we have a four hour drive home after today’s fishing. Rather than go back to the same spots as yesterday, we decide to cover some new ground. Each spot is punctuated with disappointment, and mapping. We finally decide to change it up completely. We stow gear and prepare for the long run to the other side of Florida bay. Another spot neither of us have fished before.

When we arrive, hopes are low. The water is muddy and we can barley make out the grass a few inches under the surface. We only have a few more hours before we need to point the skiff back towards the ramp.

Within 10 minutes, my comrade feeds the first orange orb we spot glowing on top of the seagrass. Relief sets in. My turn on the bow. Its not long before we start switching off every two fish. Its one of those days that keeps you coming back. Fleeting and rare. Fish doing what they are supposed to be doing. The redfish were eating each and every well placed fly, and rejecting poor shots.

After we boat about a half dozen reds, the sharks come in. We work out a pretty good system. With 20lb class tippet, the angler strips in the fish as quickly as possible by hand, never letting the line clear to the reel. The guy on the platform watches for the tax man. If he shows up while the fish is being fought, he stomps on the deck and jabs with the push pole as needed, until the fish is landed and revived, never leaving the water. This system worked well for a while, but eventually one of the fish got sharked. At this point we decided to move to another spot further down the flat.

At the new spot my comrade was greeted with a small tarpon, and a decent snook. Both laying in separate sandy potholes. We found another redfish, and then the sharks found us. Our deadline for departure was approaching, so we decided to call it early before feeding any more sharks.