The hype

[Dead Ringer]

After a few nights of fishing Sebastian Inlet, we decided to try another spot. My mom, who owns a bait shop, put us in contact with a customer who owns a house on Dragon Point, a narrow strip of land which divides the Banana River and the Indian River. Neither of which are rivers, but are just narrow sections of a saltwater lagoon. The homeowner gave us run of the property and she gave us pointers on where to cast from the dock to target red drum. She had recently hauled in a bull, so we were hopeful.


Stopped by Man Overboard (mom's bait shop) to pick up some live shrimp and tackle. Loaded with bait and beer, we set up on the dock. The live shrimp didn't last long, as there were plenty of pecky carnivores to pull them off the hooks. We switched to smaller hooks and smaller pieces of bait to catch the little buggers. Soon, we had a few live pinfish to put on bigger hooks and cast out for reds. We sent them out into the river, sat back, and cracked open beers. A manatee cruised by the dock and dolphin were spotted out in the river.


Footsteps on the dock warned us that we had company. We turned to see my mom, sister and young nephew walking out to see us. Avery had a fishing pole and my sister helped him cast the big rubber "lure" into the water and retrieve it. When he bored of that, I cut the "lure" off and replaced it with a hook and shrimp. Soon, he had caught his first fish. Despite his mother's jerking reaction when the fish flopped, he was still willing to touch the fish before I released it. Halfway through the second catch, he was over it and left the rod for me to finish. Kids these days...


After little while after they departed, one of the bait rods bent over double and started singing. The (fairly tight) drag on the Penn 8500 was spinning fast. By the time we grabbed the rod and tried to set the hook, the rod went straight. I figured that we had been broken off, but the hole rig was intact. When it happened again a few minutes later, we realized what was happening. I have fished saltwater for decades and done so several times around dolphin. I had never had one take a bait and assumed that they were too smart to grab something with a hook and line. Apparently, they are smart enough to grab the bait and rip the fish right off the hook. After getting ripped off another time, we pulled the rods out of the water, ate lunch, drank beer and soaked in the sun.











Let's play "spot the Canadian"

[Dead Ringer]

The next morning, we got up in time to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic. Sadly, I only spent about 10 minutes on the beach outside out hotel window the whole time we stayed there, but the weather was "Florida" cool and we were usually on the go anyway. I enjoyed the last few minutes on the sand with the salt air filling my lungs. It was time to head back to freshwater.


We loaded up all of our gear and drove down to West Palm, where we rented a storage unit large enough to park the boat in. We would be hunting via canoe the next couple days and didn't want to leave the boat parked outside the marsh to be looted. I had purchased a tow hitch extender canoe carrier from Princess Auto, so assembled it for installation on Lil' Red. We'd be hauling the Baron's old canoe around for a few hundred miles and Brandon's truck bed wasn't quite long enough to make me comfortable. Upon attempting to remove the tow hitch, Brandon realized a mistake. He hadn't ever removed the lock since he's owned the truck. It was full of salt and rust. Lots of prying and lots of PB Blaster loosened it up a bit, but trying to turn the key nearly broke the key. Hmmm...


I asked at the storage office and they said that there was an auto shop just around the corner. It took about 5 seconds for the mechanic to turn the lock to butter with his torch. We gave him a tip and went back to loading the canoe. A stop to pick up our Sonny's BBQ order to-go and some breakfast and we were off to Stormwater Treatment Area (STA) 3/4. We were running a bit late, so the pedal rode heavy. When we pulled in to join the crowd of hunters awaiting check-in, we got some stares. I figured it was the Ontario plates. When we found our hunting partner holding our spot in line as 7th pick and got out to consolidate hunting gear into 1 truck, I found the reason for the funny looks.


Several decoys had blown out of the canoe when I hit 90mph. Luckily, we had clipped them to the vessel and the TX rigs were just short enough that they dangled inches from the asphalt. We remedied the issue, scarfed down some pulled pork, brisket, ribs and chicken, loaded Billy's layout on top of the canoe, and prepared to head into the marsh.


The marsh is only hunted on weekends. There is a morning and an afternoon hunt each day. Lots of luck in the online lottery secures you a permit. Getting there early secures you a high pick of parking spots. You can hunt where ever you want, but you have to park at your designated spot. We were disappointed to see that the spots near the area in the marsh that our sources reported to be holding "big ducks" (pintail, wigeon, mottled) were already selected by those in front of us in line. We selected the next closest spot, drove to the desired area, unloaded boats and gear and then I went and parked the truck. Temps were into the upper 20s C and the jog back over 1/2 mile on the levee was a challenge. I noticed a large gator wallowing in a deep pool as I ran past. I caught my breath from the jog and we pushed the boats down the levee and into the water. The water was shallow and the bottom of the canoe dragged mud and weeds as we paddled. It was more of a stab and pull motion than a paddle, but it kept the boat moving.


As we rounded some cattail islands, we spotted lots of white on the water ahead. A quick look with the binos confirmed: pintail, wigeon, shovelers and teal. A pile of over 100 teal took off on the far shoreline and a few fulvous whistling ducks flew overhead calling for Brandon to hear. The big ducks joined the exodus and we set out the rig. Most STA hunters run 1-3 dozen decoys. We deployed over 100 blocks, with about half being coot. There are massive flocks of coots in the STAs and the ducks associate the rafts with safety. If I owned 200 coot decoys, I would have run them all.


Legal shooting starts at 2pm for the afternoon hunts. Shooting started at 1:40. Soon, ducks were scattering in all directions and by 5 minutes till legal, there weren't many silent blinds. We held tight until the designated time, watching plenty of nice ducks fly by. Once we did go live fire, we were choosy. I had warned Brandon to not just shoot the first 6 teal he saw. We'd have plenty of chances to down teal. We selected drakes, a feat made much easier by the stark contrast of white facial stripes against dark blue/black heads. After securing a few nice teal, we watched the rest fly to keep some room in our respective bags for bonus ducks.


At one point, I looked up to see a drake wigeon cutting in hard from up high. He swung around and was coming straight at me. That's my worst shot. I missed all three shots before Brandon made a stunning shot as the bird tried to escape. I'm claiming that I planned it that way so he'd take the nice bird. A bit later, a flock of 7 mottled ducks ripped around from our blind side. My reaction shot clipped a drake which coasted to the water about 100 yds away. I took off in a full sprint after the bird. I stopped at about 75 yds and fired. Then I carried on after the still fleeing bird, myself panting for air in the heat. I got within about 70 yds of the bird when it was 5 yds from the thick grass. The first 2 shots were on the mark, but didn't slow it down. The final hail Mary shot had a lucky pellet which went straight to the head of the duck and laid it out. It was a few minutes before I was able to gain my breath and make the remaining trek to retrieve it. That retrieve sealed it: Brandon was going to get the truck after the hunt!




The flight slowed. We had 2 opportunities on pintail, but they were both hens. We shoot enough brown pintail in ON, so we gave them the pass. One came from behind, hovered just off the water 5 yards in front of me and then just retracted her wings and flopped right to the water. We watched her for a few seconds before she took off. Billy was glad to take the shot after Brandon and I passed. We got burned by a drake pinner at one point and saw more, but they couldn't lose enough altitude each time before a shot from a neighboring party sent them skyward.


I normally push much further into the marsh on the hunts to get away from the pressure, but that's in the morning when I have time to do so. This was an afternoon permit, which mandates that you check-out within 1 hour of sunset (sunset is end of legal there). My out-of-the-way spots are a 1 hour trek. Add decoy retrieval, loading the boats in the truck, and the drive out and it just wasn't going to happen.


We ended the hunt just a couple birds short of a limit, taking a few hen teal near the end of legal. Had we not been selective, it would have been a limit by 3pm. Loading the boats at dusk, Brandon was introduced to another FL phenomenon: mosquitoes in January!!!

[Dead Ringer]

We drove to Miami, got some sleep and then jumped back in the truck early the next morning. We had another afternoon STA permit, but this time we did not have anyone securing us a spot in line. We arrived at STA 1W by 9am and were relieved to see that we were 2nd in line. The plan was to spend most of the wait napping in the truck, but we ended up burning the hours swapping stories with other hunters in line. Not having a clue where to hunt, we were glad to receive some tips from people who had hunted there that year. I knew enough to know that the Sunday hunts at this STA were not known for their diversity. Mostly ringers and teal. Our goal was to get away from the crowds just to make it more enjoyable.


We paddled past the other parties we had spoken with in line. As we paddled, we saw an incredible diversity of bird life. In addition to the hundreds of ducks and tens of thousands of coots, we saw all kinds of herons, shorebirds and waterbirds. Brandon caught a glimpse of a roseate spoonbill flying overhead. There was also plenty of reptile life. A sizable gator was sunning itself not far from where we launched the canoe. As we paddled, gar pike (or as they are called in FL "gar") would allow us to almost run them over before leaving nothing but a wake behind them.


I saw an cut through some cattails to a back pothole. We worked our way back there and flushed a few hundred teal when we entered. Decoys and marsh stools were set, the blind boxes and water bottles were loaded into the ice fishing sled and we sat to watch. This time, shooting didn't start until just a minute or two before legal. In the first 30 minutes, we could have easily dropped our limit. Bluewing and greenwing teal buzzed us from every direction. We let a handful of hens land in the decoys and swim about. Again, we tried to pick drakes, but the sun was off one of our shoulders, so it made it hard to pick them out coming in like little jet fighters. We identified many drakes as they flew away. I couldn't make my shots count, missing too many at the start. The day before, Brandon had the same affliction and overcame it about an hour in. I had the same luck.


As the sun lowered, we were better able to pick them out. Coinciding with the drop in the sun's altitude was a drop in flight activity. But we were both making our shots by then, so we quickly had 9 birds down. Then, Brandon had a great idea, just a little late as is our tradition. Seeing how we had a long day, a drive to Miami ahead of us, and an early morning appointment in the Everglades, why not just shoot our birds and get going? We should have done that from the get go and been home for dinner and an early bed time. Better late than never. Once we committed ourselves to just shooting every duck that gave us a good shot, it was "STA slow", meaning it took us 30 minutes to finish our limit. We were still on the road an hour early. We stopped at Pollo Tropical to get some mojo chicken and ate in on the road to Miami.

[Dead Ringer]

After the weekend of "canned hunts" at the STAs, it was time to hit the "real" marsh. Subjective term really since there is little to no marsh in FL that hasn't been altered by a century of development. But the 670,000+ acres of marsh in the Everglades is as close as you can come to the real thing. It would be a lot of ground to cover in a few days. Scouting the big marshes in FL is very different than scouting the many lakes of Ontario. Not much trailering is necessary, just put the boat in and run for miles and miles.


Monday morning, we met up with Ron Smith. He has been hunting the Glades for longer than I have been alive and he offered to get us pointed in the right direction. Brandon and I met up with him at the ramp where a few good jokes were made a Brandon's expense. As Ron loaded some of his handcrafted cork ringer decoys into the boat, we did our best to put the fear of gators in his head. Ron told him about A.A., his son's name for the aggressive alligator which had caused them issues in previous years. Most gators are not an issue. But when they lose their fear of humans and associate them with fresh duck dinners, it's a problem.


After the pep talk, we set out from the ramp. Ron was patient, feathering his throttle to allow us to keep pace with him. Brandon was gitty on the ride out as I swerved through the narrow cut walled by 8' tall cattails and shrubbery. We caught another trail, and then another before we caught up to Ron in a small slough. I use the term slough in this case to describe a water hole in a grassy marsh. This one was only a couple hundred yards end to end and was filled with lily pads, scattered grass and the brown scum known as periphyton that only some know to love.


Ron gave us pointers on which directions to scout after our hunt and then carried on to his blind. I introduced Brandon to the easiest method of decoy deployment ever. Beats Texas rig, longline and any other contraption. Just throw them out of the boat! No need to unspool lines and anchors in vegetation this thick! I dropped off the ice fishing sled to give us a dry spot to hold gear and then coaxed Brandon into the water. To his credit, he didn't hesitate. After parking the boat, I joined him in the sawgrass.


It took only seconds for them to come flying in. Before we knew it, they were as thick as flies. We couldn't get rid of them if we tried. And oh, did we try! I had made a brutal mistake in not bringing the thermacell. We were getting carried away by the mosquitoes. Our only solace was rain gear and a pen bottle of deet. It kept us from getting bit much, but it was a taste of FL that even I wasn't prepared for. We exited the grass to get out into the open breeze. Our move reduced the barrage by percentages, but we were still standing outside the hide by sunrise. I was out in the wide open when I spotted a ringer bearing down on the decoys fast. Heeding Ron's advice that the birds were very wary this year, I didn't wait for a second pass. A quick shot as the bird flared at 35 yards and down she came. I rushed the shot so as to not drop her into the grass and it appeared I shot not a second too soon. She fell right on the edge of the grass to my right and a second shot made sure she stayed there.


Maybe it was the gunsmoke. More likely it was the sun peering through the clouds. But the mosquitoes slowed and we moved into the blind. As we sat on marsh stools in the knee deep water, I taught Brandon about the grass he was using for a hide. Slide your hand one way: nothing. Slide your hand the other way: worst papercut ever! He was surprised to learn that deer actually feed on the grass but then he examined it further and saw that the base of each blade was not serrated like the rest.


We watched nearly every variety of heron cruise by. A few flights of swallows caught any of the courageous mosquitoes that remained out in the open. We saw less than a dozen ringers. A pair of mottled ducks coming in from behind over the grass was alerted by the sound of my safety and flared hard. They were in range, but the shot would have just resulted in feeding the marsh. We did see a several pairs of mottled ducks flying a line just about 100 yards away throughout the morning. I grabbed the boat and the radios and gave Brandon a ride to the flight line. He waited there for about half an hour, but the move didn't pay off.


We waded about the lily pads, which are surprisingly not as hazardous to navigate as one might suspect. After we loaded the decoys, we took off an our scouting mission. We had 10 gallons of fuel. We also had some lunch meat and a whole bag of King's Hawaiian sweet bread for sandwiches. With some Publix sweet tea, it was a enough to last us hours. I took off in the direction that Ron had pointed. We found a few ducks along the way, but there was no "X". I carried on towards some sloughs which had been good to me 6-7 years ago. There were trails leading in that direction: in this case a trail is defined by a clearing in the vegetation about wide enough for a boat. But sticking to the trails wasn't going to find us birds. So I turned hard right and commenced picking and prodding my way through sloughs. I could work N-S easily, as the flow of the great "river of grass" ran towards Florida Bay and the vegetation followed it's movement. Working E-W was a bit more of a challenge. I could hop a few sloughs, jumping a thin spot in the sawgrass. But every once in a while, I'd hit a wall of bullrush. Then I'd have to just work south and keep my eye out for a weak spot.


We found an old spot of mine. A long slough between two islands. Doesn't take much to form an island in the Glades. A few extra feet of dirt and trees abound. As we ran the slough, we put up the best concentration of the day: about 2 dozen ringers. Then we carried on to other spots. Some had a few ducks. Some had none for miles. We never found anything better than the slough between the islands. Over 4 hours of running all out at ~19mph and we had found about 200 ducks.


But, that doesn't mean that the trip was a waste. Brandon got to see a gator. Then he got to see another. By the end of the trip, he had seen a couple dozen. Some we rode upon as they sunned on floating mud and we got within 50 yards of. Another highlight was that Brandon, a bit of a mudmotor geek, finally got to drive a mudmotor in a manner which does it justice Bobbing and weaving, jumping and chopping, he ran tens of miles in the marsh labyrinth that is the Glades. A tourist boarding one of the commercial sightseeing boats in the Glades would never get to see 10% of what we saw that day. If I were the type of birder who checks off lists, the pencil would have been worn to a nub. Many mud islands were dominated by gators, but those that were not were covered in turtles. As we ran by, the shiny black helmets would dive into the water. We slowed down as we passed some of the island camps. Spots were families and friends gather in rustic cabins to get away from the busy city. Along the canalways, cypress trees were cloaked in Spanish moss.


The primary tank ran dry. We paused for lunch before hooking up the auxiliary tank and heading back to the ramp. It was 2 pm. We had begun our scout at 9:30 am. We were supposed to have a nap and then meet my friend for some inlet tarpon fishing. We both agreed that the hours of stick time and early morning wake-up had taken their toll. We postponed the fishing and settled on a meeting that night for $0.79 tacos and a walk down South Beach's Lincoln Road. There were plenty of "sights" to see there

[bowj]

love reading the reports boys. sounds like an exciting trip.
I got plans to be in Florida in March, unfortunately cant go hunting, but will be looking into some fishing opportunities. I cannot wait!
good luck on the rest of the trip!!

[Dead Ringer]

love reading the reports boys. sounds like an exciting trip.
I got plans to be in Florida in March, unfortunately cant go hunting, but will be looking into some fishing opportunities. I cannot wait!
good luck on the rest of the trip!!

PM on the way regarding the fishing. Also, March is turkey season. Chance for an Osceola

[bowj]

PM on the way regarding the fishing. Also, March is turkey season. Chance for an Osceola

Thanks John,
I will contact you when we get things a little more figured out. as always I appreciate your help.

[Dead Ringer]

Next up was a trip to the Keys. My younger sister, her fiance and my uncle would be joining us for some fishing. The original plan was to simply jump on one of the headboats and fish shoulder to shoulder with all the other tourists. But Billy, the guy we hunted with on Saturday, offered a much better option. In exchange for a donation to the United Waterfowlers of Florida youth hunts, he'd arrange for a private fishing trip on a 31' Bertram. Um, yeah, we'll take option B!!!


We stopped to see my grandmother on the way down. She told us 5 times that we were a good looking bunch and that we should take a picture for her. We obliged to humor her. As we left her place, the homeowner of our childhood home was outside and waved us over. The home was in our family from the day it was built in the 50s. It had survived several hurricanes, including Andrew. More impressive is that it survived John, Gerri, Patty, Bob, Christi, Katie and myself! After 50+ years in the home, my parents finally decided it was time to get the heck out of Miami while they still could. I hadn't seen the place in years, so it was a delight when the homeowner gave us a tour of the place. Some things had been changed: tile in place of carpet, new stain on the hardwood, pictures of different people on the wall. But my uncle and I were still able to point out many of the renovations that he, my dad and I had made. Brandon politely endured our stories.


We hit the highway. We watched the buildings turn into grass marsh, the grass marsh turn into mangrove swamp, and then we saw the sea. I pointed out the mangrove thicket to Brandon, reminding him that Skink, one of the heroes of the Carl Hiaasen novel we had listed to on the way down found his sanctuary in similar environs.


I had originally planned to camp on Long Key, at a state park where you can step out of your tent and into the ocean. My uncle and I would camp there many summers and never had an issue booking. I failed to anticipate the snowbird effect, and we were locked out. I thought about a big lot campsite in Key Largo, but my sister had other plans. For my birthday gift and for her own comfort, she rented a suite at the recently remodeled Lime Tree Inn. It was plush! I wish we had more than a single night to enjoy the balcony and the view.


After sitting inside soaking up the view outside, we decided that we had better explore the exterior before nightfall. After some pictures on the dock, everyone headed back to land. The last one on the wooden platform, I caught a glimpse of a shadow moving into the rocks below. I hollered for the group to come back quickly. After watching the rocks for a bit, they were rewarded when a small nurse shark came out from the rocks and cruised over the sand until it faded away in the glare. Walking back towards shore, Brandon also spotted a massive 6" barracuda hovering above some seagrass. Looked like a young pike just waiting to pounce.


We hopped in the car and headed off to get some bait. Seems you can't have a gas station in the Keys and not sell bait, so it wasn't hard to get a bag of silversides. We walked out a ways on Long Key bridge and started to drop hooks. Cracked open some cold beers and caught fish for about an hour. Nothing big, but enough diversity to keep it interesting: yellowtail, mangrove and schoolmaster snapper; a small grouper, and some "baitfish". Brandon and my sister's fiance got a lesson on why grunts have been named thus. As they removed the grunts from their hooks, they were serenaded with that sweet guttural sound.


We packed it in just after dusk. Picked up my uncle and headed down to the Cracked Conch for dinner. I was worried that it was a tourist trap, but our first choices weren't open. From the conch to the dolphin, it was all delicious. Brandon and I each ordered some key lime pie and had a laugh as the waitress played along when I told her I was letting my man have some sweets.


The following morning, we took a short drive down to Marathon to meet up with Capt. Mike. We loaded up on the boat and took off. Soon we left the island behind and were coasting over seagrass beds and patch reefs. Then deep water. We anchored up in about 90' and started chumming. The forecast was calling for a front to come through, but so far, it was mild and calm. It took a while before the first yellowtail were on the line. A few shorts. We picked up a couple keepers, but the spot wasn't producing. A commercial boat anchored up within 100 feet of us, nearly in our chum line. Not cool. After giving it several hours and as many chum blocks, Capt. Mike decided it was time to try another spot. We moved in shallower, this time about 60'. It didn't take long before lines were being pulled taught by yellowtail. A couple became a meal. Then the bag grew into a feast.


I think Brandon was impressed by how hard the snapper fight. They definitely weren't bass. Everyone caught a keeper at some point. But funny how this happens. Fishing the same baits with the same (apparent) technique, one guy outfished everyone by far. At least my future brother-in-law will be able to put fish and venison on my sister's table. He said the secret was to spit some of his chew on the bait.


But he didn't take the honors for biggest catch. I felt my line go taught and instantly knew that I had something bigger than any flag yellowtail. I ducked under a line to avoid a tangle and kept tension on the line as the fish peeled drag. It took a few seconds before I realized that Brandon was also fighting a big fish. The bystanders were convinced that we had a doubleheader, but I saw his rod flex every time my fish ran. We must be tangled. The two of us ended up at the transom, both rods held high and the lines making a hard V towards the water. My curiosity was which line would connect to the fish's mouth and who'd be the chump who got fouled up?


Both! The greedy bonito had swallowed both of our baits. Brandon was impressed with the fight. I doubt he'd tangled with a fish that can maintain a fight that long before. Soon after, he got to feel the raw power 100% as I wasn't involved to help him battle the next bonito to hit his line. As the drag spun like a top, Capt. Mike quipped "Just remember, all that line he's taking, you have to get it back!" A bonito on a heavy trolling rod can be a nuisance. But a bonito on light tackle is a blast! When the fish hit the deck, Brandon was relieved.


Similar to the luck my brother-in-law had, Brandon had the big fish luck. He also tussled with a reef shark. A much different fighting style, the shark tried to pull his rod to the bottom of the ocean. He put a good hurting on the fish until it got nearly to the boat and then cut through the line. Whether teeth or abrasive skin, the odds on landing it were slim and it made for an easy release so the fish could carry on.


After a round of King's Hawaiian sandwiches, the bite slowed and the weather deteriorated. It started to get pretty windy and the boat was rolling. Luckily no one got sick; proof that Bonine works wonders. With 20 yellowtail in the boat, we called it. That would provide for a feast, plus some extras for a rainy day. The ride in was impressive. There's a reason that 40 year old Bertrams are still a hot commodity. At the dock, we fought Capt. Mike out of the way and cleaned our own fish. He said he'd never had a guest forcibly clean their own fish, but we were happy for the trip and didn't mind making short work with 3 of us. He was also puzzled watching us clean them. Rather than fillet, I removed the heads and guts while my uncle scaled. We prefer to eat them that way, since it seems to keep them more moist. Brandon filleted the rainy-day fish so they'd occupy less freezer space.


We made a scenic stop and then hit the highway back to Miami. Along the way, I had a scary wake-up. It actually was a wake-up. I had fallen asleep at the wheel and was going straight at a right bend in the 4 lane highway. Luckily, my brother-in-law was awake and luckily no one was in the next lane. It was the easy way to learn a valuable lesson. For the rest of the trip, I was much more attentive to my fatigue while driving. I wanted to make it home after this trip.


We dropped the fish off a pizza shop owned by my uncle's roommate and then had a nap. We returned to the pizza shop for dinner. The place was full of university students devouring college food. When Miguel brought out the platter with 10 freshly fried yellowtail, all eyes were on us. Garnished with caramelized onions and mushrooms and accompanied by a massive salad, the meal was an attention getter. Wonder how many requests he'll have for the fried yellowtail after they saw our meal. The flesh was as sweet and tender as I remember. My favorite fish to eat and to fish.


We worked our way through the fish and then finished it with some decadent desserts. Miguel hooked us up in a big way! Then we strolled over to the campus to cheer on our Miami Hurricanes. They lost, but the crowd and energy were an experience for Brandon nonetheless.

[Dead Ringer]

We were unsure whether we'd venture out to the Glades again Thursday morning. After fishing and going to a late game the day before, we didn't think we'd have the energy. But we convinced ourselves that we had to go. That chronic optimism of duck hunters.


We launched at Holiday Park, the place where you go for an airboat ride if you are a tourist getting on/off a cruise ship. A 12 mile run out to the "spot" along a patchy trail was assisted by the moonlight. I picked a spot a bit away from the treed island, knowing that gators tend to favor the few spots in the marsh where there is dry land. We set out the dekes and I tucked the boat behind us. We had lifted 2 dozen ringers from this slough on Monday and about 50 scattered among the surrounding area, so were optimistic. The last hunt was 1 shot, 1 kill.


So was this one. Luckily though, this time Brandon got to take a bird in the Glades. A drake and hen pair had landed on the far size of the slough, about 90 yards away. We could see their shapes moving among the lily pads. Not a minute later, a mottled duck dropped in hard to a little cut about 60 yards to our right. We stared at that mottled for 10 minutes, waiting for it to swim behind some grass or swim a little closer so we could jump it. Must have not had paddles, cause it just sat there. Preened, fed, looked around. Did everything but swim. Then Brandon's safety clicked.


The hen from the pair on the far end of the pond had picked up and was bearing down on us. He took the head-on shot at 30 yards, dropping her to rest still in the decoys.


What we lacked in decoying ducks, we made up for in decoying herons. We had both the blue and white morph of great blue herons and also a little blue heron all try to land about 10 yards to my right. The larger varieties spotted us and carried on into the wind, but the little blue attempted multiple landings on lily pads before acknowledging his weight issue and moving along.


We called it near 10am and headed back to Miami for media noche sandwhiches at Versaille, naps and then prime rib dinner at Fox's. Then we headed up to Haulover inlet to fish the jetty with my friend Zack for tarpon.


We only had 1 1/2 hours to fish before the parking lot closed. We casted 2 oz bucktail jigs as far as we could and hoped to feel a freight train grab it. No such luck. Just before the 10pm deadline, Zack recommended that we needed to head back to the lot. He'd been cited and even towed before for missing the deadline. On the way back, we stopped to look under the bridge. The bright lights from the bridge were cut sharply to darkness by the structure itself. And there they laid in waiting. At first, Brandon looked right at them and didn't realize it. Who would expect to see huge archaic creatures close enough he could jump on their backs? When he saw one move, he was stunned.


Like the archaic predators we were pursuing, we were careful to not allow our own shadows to be seen. We watched as they hovered in the current, just barely hidden by the shadow. Then it happened. A 50 pound plus fish blasted to the surface and inhaled a shrimp that was being swept to see by the falling tide. Then it happened again. A bit further out in the inlet, under some supporting pilings, a larger fish, likely of triple digit poundage was harassing a school of baitfish. We would see a shower of scattering minnows followed by a violent pop at the surface and then the splash of the tarpon descending again.


We took turns. Two guys would cast while the other kept an eye out for the fuzz. The tarpon weren't interested in the large bucktails, no matter how many times we drifted them by. I switched to a tiny Zara Spook and skittered it across the surface. I got one strike, but the lure went skyward from the blast. The other two launched a few more casts. Zack had also gone with a smaller lure. At the same instant that he got a strike from the beast under the pilings, I alerted him "Zack, time to go". He knew what I meant and all three of us made haste towards the cars as a patrol car pulled into the lot. Luckily, this officer was not out to prove a point, as some had in the past. He pulled into the alley and didn't raise an issue with us. We loaded for a few minutes and chatted for a bit. Then we had to leave. It was 10:30 and we didn't want to push our luck.


Awaiting pics from Brandon's camera...

[Dead Ringer]

I forgot, we also caught one of these on the fishing boat. Affectionately called the "poor man's sailfish", the houndfish has sent a few people to the hospital when it unintentionally speared them:


web picture: