Category: Texas

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All Dressed Up

For the first time this year,  we don’t have any out-of-state fishing trips on the calendar. It’s an odd feeling, but I’ve more than used my annual vacation time and tapped into my built-up surplus.

I need to keep some vacation time. Next year I want to make three big trips, Idaho, Mississippi, and Nantucket, and it’s still a few years to retirement. When we go to Massachusetts we’ll probably hit Rhode Island. At least I think that’s right. My knowledge of East Coast geography is sketchy. I do know there’s a lot of states crammed into that right hand top corner below Maine.

Mississippi is a big deal because of William Faulkner and the Blues, and in Idaho I want to float the Middle Salmon River and fish Silver Creek. There may not be time for both. Nantucket of course is the port from whence the Pequod sailed, so we’ll be fly fishing for whales.

The Pequod

I’m talking to our friend Mark Morgan about a weekend trip to Beavers Bend in Oklahoma to fish the Mountain Fork, maybe in November. It’s a five-hour drive and I’ve been preparing, putting together a playlist. There are a surprising number of great guitarists from Oklahoma, or at least guitarists who passed through in a significant way: Roy Clark, Michael Hedges, Vince Gill, Tuck Andress, Leo Kottke, Charlie Christian . . . Charlie Freakin’ Christian. Some places, Memphis, say, or New Orleans, you expect a lot of great musicians. I didn’t expect it of Oklahoma, and not so many guitarists. Oklahoma, OK!

But that is probably late November or December. Because the trout season is ending in most places, Kris suggested Arkansas, which I enjoy, but I hate to use up all the neighboring states early. That would take Louisiana, Oklahoma, and Arkansas off the board, leaving only New Mexico. The other places where I think we could fish into December are Florida (I have to go in February, so not now), Mississippi (already on the list for February or March), Georgia, and the Carolinas (later, they need more time than a long weekend), Missouri, Arizona, Southern California, and Alabama. It’s all vague and squishy, but those places might be warm enough. Of course I could go to Washington State for the winter steelheading, but I want to go to Seattle in the baseball season. And frankly I’ve done enough steelheading for one year.

We’ll get some trips in, maybe Alabama for New Years. Last year we went to Portugal for New Years, and Alabama’s just like Portugal, right? I guess I’m desperate.

There’s also Hawaii. Mighty fine bonefish in Hawaii.

* * *

Meanwhile last weekend we made a quick trip to Damon’s 7 Lakes to fish for bass. I caught a couple, and I also caught the world-record bluegill.

Ok, I lied about that world-record part, but it was a nice bluegill, and it stripped line just like a permit.

Ok, I lied about that permit part too. 

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Transgender Redfish Romance

Stevenson, Charles Hugh, Report on the Coast Fisheries of Texas, Report of the Commissioner (United States Commission of Fish and Fisheries), 1889-1891. From Wikimedia Commons.

The fishiest class warfare in Texas was fought in the 80s over redfish. Redfish had gone from trash fish to prom queen, and wild redfish were depleted. The war was fought in the Texas Legislature, which has since moved on to crucial issues like transgender bathroom use. Unlike, say, global warming or education or medicaid expansion, transgender bathroom use in Texas is a big problem.  We’ll fix it though. After the legislature gets done those transgender folk will just have to cross their legs and wiggle. No more peeing for them.

The Redfish Bill was H.B. 1000, and proponents of a commercial fishing ban were portrayed as wealthy sport fishers, which in fact they kinda were. The opponents were portrayed as working class commercial fishermen who were losing their livelihood, which if that includes seafood distributers and restaurant owners they also probably were. Texas passed the Redfish Bill and banned commercial harvesting of redfish and speckled trout.  There were other reasons for the redfish decline in Texas and around the Coast:  no size and take limits, loss of habitat, and damage to water quality certainly had as much or more to do with stock declines as inshore commercial fishers. Really, what happened on the Gulf Coast in the 70s was pretty much what happened to stripers in the Chesapeake in the 70s.

Notwithstanding predictions, after passage of the Redfish Bill redfish didn’t disappear from restaurants.  Farming has boosted supply, and if anything table redfish are more popular now than ever.  My favorite way to cook redfish is on the half shell. Filet the fish but leave the scales so the skin and scales hold the filet together. Season and then throw the filets on a medium grill for 12 minutes or so.  The scales aren’t much fun if you accidentally eat one, but at their best it’s like eating the ocean, better even than oysters.

The Commerce Department finally imposed a gill net ban in federal Gulf waters in 1986 after the annual redfish harvest had risen 800% in five years. States in addition to Texas imposed reasonable size and take limits on sport fishers. Water quality and habitat also improved. It’s now a healthy fish population, and in 2015 redfish were rated of least concern on the IUCN Red List.

Redfish live inshore and near-shore, in both brackish and saltwater, and range in largish numbers south from the Chesapeake, around Florida, through the Gulf, and south into Mexico. Redfish get romantic when the water temperature hits about 65°. They spawn in deeper water, 50 to 100 feet, on incoming tides, and it’s the bulls, at least +30-inches, that move offshore to spawn. They spawn off and on for months, with a female dropping millions of eggs in a season.

Good guides won’t target spawning redfish. Bringing the fish up from deep water causes problems, they’re shallow water fish, and for meat fishers the big reds are poor quality.

Bulls, as in Bull Reds, is a generic term that covers any redfish, male or female, that’s reached 30+ inches. Apparently the lady redfish are also bulls, so I guess that makes them transgender, so the Texas Legislature should take note. After release, fertilized eggs hatch in a day or so and like tarpon the larvae are carried inshore, The fry feed first on plankton, then move on to crab and shrimp and baitfish.  Their first year they reach 14 inches.  By year four or five they’re mature. They can live longer than 30 years, and reach 70 pounds and 50 inches.

I can think of few things lovelier than a slot-sized juvenile red sitting in seagrass in clear bay water.  I must think they’re pretty because I spend so much time looking for them. I also think their elders are kinda ugly, but that’s also a problem for me as I age.

The most important thing I was ever told about redfish, other than strip-set, was don’t grab them in the mouth like bass. Reds eat crabs. Fish that eat crabs crush fingers. It’s probably wise not to stick fingers in their mouths.

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Sunfish, Tarpon, and Donuts

Friday we fished the San Marcos River with Chris Adams of Go Outside Expeditions.  We’d fished on the San Marcos with Chris before, and there are few things as pleasant as repeating a river with a guide you like. Chris had a new raft, which was great, and his wife made cookies which were also great,  and we fished from 7:30 or so until almost 5, with Kris the client spending a good two hours trying to re-think Chris the guide’s business plan.  Meantime I added to my sunfish collection.

There was a nice redbreast, the most notable feature of which is that weird long opercle flap–the ear.  I also caught a long-ear, which is more boldly named but which runs a poor second to the redbreast in the long-ears competition.

Kris caught the pretty Guadalupe-largemouth hybrid in the top picture and a warmouth and some largemouths and some other stuff.  I got a nice river largemouth.

Mostly we were fishing poppers and streamers with 6 weights, and we switched flies a lot during the part of the day when things were slow.

I noticed that the river fish aren’t as dark as the pond fish I usually catch.  They seem almost translucent, less brightly colored, and better matched to the shades of the river than the fish in weedier ponds. As long as it’s not time to spawn the fish match the place.

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We go to Tampa at the end of the week to fish with Court Douthit, and I’ve had a lot of conversations in Houston about Tampa. It seems that everyone but me visits Tampa or came from Tampa, and a lot of the people I talked to have fished Tampa Bay for tarpon.

In the elevator a colleague told me that she went to St Petersburg for a deposition, and thatshe had to cross the Howard Frankland Bridge. Halfway across with no other traffic she had a memorable anxiety attack. Duly warned.

At Gordy & Sons, I was buying a big game sinking line and got into a conversation with an employee and another customer. The customer said he’d fished Tampa a lot, that the bait fishermen gather to catch tarpon on their way into the bay at the Howard Frankland Bridge, and that the boat bloom was not to be missed. “You should get your guide to take you there just to see it.” The same thing happens up and down the west coast of Florida, famously at Boca Grande for abundance of tarpon and Homosassa for the size of the tarpon. The customer told me that the boats were so crowded that the guides carried knives, big knives, to slash tangled lines. I could picture guides in center consoles slashing away with sabers.

Last Thursday a client showed me his picture of a 70-pound tarpon caught in Tampa the weekend before.  We were in a medium-sized banquet room, about the size of a basketball court, and he said that in a space the size of that room there would be 100 boats. He said they were fishing 60 feet deep with crab, and that the guides were so used to the press that a path opened for his boat to follow the tarpon’s run.

I’ve been reading Marjory Stoneman Douglas’s River of Grass, and because of the conversations and the reading it finally struck me that I was missing something important.  Douglas is a lyrical writer. She describes the Rock, the limestone spine that gives Florida shape and substance, the concave shape of which creates the Everglades, and which plays out as the Keys in its final submersion. It struck me that because it shapes Florida the rock also shapes the tarpon migration up the western coast. Like I said, Douglas is pretty lyrical, and maybe I let too much rub off.

The tarpon migration, not the limestone migration, follows the Gulf Coast from the Keys as far as New Orleans. For marine biologists the number of tarpon that migrate and why they migrate, including their inshore excursions, is one of the grand mysteries. It’s probably all the usual fishy reasons: Sex and food and protection. They spawn offshore so inshore would only be a staging point for spawning, but there’s certainly food inshore.  Maybe they come in because from larvae they’re hardwired to move offshore to inshore, inshore to offshore. It’s some kind of vestigial biological instinct that plays no real purpose. Maybe.

In the 1880s anglers figured out that tarpon migrate and could be caught with light tackle at the openings of the bays, so the anglers began show up in numbers to match the tarpon. Maybe we’re as hard-wired to follow game migrations, whether woolly mammoths or salmon or tarpon, as tarpon larvae are to move inshore. Maybe the angler migration is as much a vestigial instinct as the tarpon migration.

Postcard, Tarpon Inn, Port Aransas, Texas, 1911-1924, The University of Houston Digital Library, from Wikipedia

It also struck me that I hadn’t connected Marjory Stoneman Douglas with  Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, where the mass shooting occurred on Valentines.  She doesn’t deserve that connection, but no one does.

* * *

Bakeries, which in my worldview includes donut shops, are necessary to fishing, and on our way to fish with Chris from where we were staying in San Antonio we stopped at Mi Tierra’s panaderia for breakfast.  Of course what we really wanted was to have the huevos rancheros at Mi Tierra: there’s no better bacon or coffee or wait staff anywhere, but we were running late. It was doubly disappointing.  There was no pan dulce that early, only empanadas, and they were only ok.

Earlier this year driving from Houston it struck me that every donut shop on the way to the Guadalupe River seemed to have a Buddhist shrine.

There’s a large Vietnamese population in Houston, and I figured the donut shops must be Vietnamese.  Turns out no.  Cambodian.

At the Foodways Texas symposium in April there was a panel on Cambodian donut shops moderated by Rob Walsh, with David Buehrer, Houston’s hippest coffee guy, filmmaker Keely Steenson (who showed her film on Cambodian donut shops), and Samoeurn Phan, a shop owner. Turns out that most donut shops in Southeast Texas are Cambodian-immigrant owned. These aren’t hip donuts, they’re not cutting-edge donuts, and they’re not authentic kolaches (because every Texas donut shop has to have a kolache which is a sausage roll which is not actually a kolache). They’re working class cheap donuts. Joy Donuts. Snowflake Donuts. LeDonut (where I go for the boudin kolaches, which are also not technically kolaches but which are delicious).

It’s no accident, and it’s all in the business plan. A Cambodian donut entrepreneur builds out the shop then finances its purchase by a Cambodian family, as often as not relatives of the entrepreneur. There’s no bank, because no bank would finance the venture, and it’s a family affair. Mom’s in the front at the counter, dad’s at the back turning out donuts.  It’s a hard way to make a living, but it’s a way to make a living.

Steenson has a film on Cambodian donut shops which was shown at the symposium and which I hope will someday make it to the internet.  Buehrer, the hip coffee guy, had worked at Phan’s donut shop in high school. That, he said, is where he learned about customer service. And kolache. So a hip Anglo coffee entrepreneur learned about an old-fashioned Czech pastry from Cambodian donut entrepreneurs in the Houston suburbs. That’s kind of the way Houston works.

 

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Tenkara-san

Kris gave me a Tenkara Sato outfit from Orvis for Valentines Day.  I gave her more or less the same thing, a Temple Fork Outfitters SH 11’6”. She tried hers on the Guadalupe but didn’t catch anything. I tried mine for the first time Sunday, fishing along the banks at one of Damon’s 7 Lakes for sunfish.  I only had about an hour, and kept meaning to switch to a popper but never did. I didn’t see many sunfish, but I caught one small bluegill and three smallish bass.

It took me a while to set up the rod and line, and my set up was . . . creative. Ignoring the instructions I tied some perfection loops and stuck things together. It was close enough to the picture, with the line that came off the rod dangling off the rod tip and a bit of standard leader attached to that. The booklet informed me that Tenkara was fly fishing, not dapping or cane rod fishing. From what I could tell it was about as much like dapping or cane rod fishing as it was like fly fishing, but I fished with a Damon’s owner’s favorite fly, a BBB. “BBB” stands for something, of which “bitchin” and “bream” are part, but I never have had it straight. They’re pretty easy to tie though, and they catch fish.

For me the 10’ rod had a range of 10-15 feet from the rod tip, plus or minus, but it was easy to cast and reasonably accurate.  Tenkara rods don’t lend themselves to long stillwater retrieves, but in a way they’re perfect for spring bass and bream in shallow water.  Every fish I caught hit while the fly was sinking through the water column, not while it was moving.  Toss, wait, toss again, wait. it’s intimate, visual, almost as good as dapping: all but the sunfish was caught when I set the hook after watching the fish take. If I hadn’t just  blundered down the bank not paying much attention, if I’d used just a modicum of stealth, I probably could have done much better, and caught more fish. Of course if I’d switched to a popper I might have caught more fish.