As it shows from the last few lame-o posts, I've been concentrating my efforts on the turds of the sea, the prey that (until this last Saturday) has been unable to escape the wrath of my furious freezer. This Saturday has become one of my new favorite days of the year: it's the day that the two local fishing clubs compete against each other for nothing more than bragging rights (and, of course, a small trophy with the winning boat’s name on a plaque) to see who can catch my favorite, the Rachycentron canadum (scientific name for cobia). I wouldn't normally invest myself so much in one afternoon if John M, his wife CJ and their friend Johnny hadn't won first place a few years ago, bringing the trophy (and backing up a ton of smack talk on the local forums) to the FSFA for what was then the fourth year in a row. Once again, last year the FSFA brought the crown to the coast but this year… as someone stated "HELL FROZE OVER...." You guessed it, CFOA (Central Florida Offshore Agnlers) weighed in a 57.7 pound fish and toasted our club for the first year in six straight. F.
So, let me tell you about the fish we DID catch before I tell you about the fish we didn't catch. Last week brother in-law Ross was home from his daily grind at USF for a spring session of R&R. I had some comp time saved up just for the occasion, the weather looked premo and on Thursday morning we headed out for a “class on harvesting our own dinner.” Over the last two or three weeks, the forums and social media sites have been blowing up with reports of huge fish being caught just off the coast near Patrick Air Force Base. Nor did the sites fail to mention the fact that FWC has been spying on people from airplanes and from the beach boardwalks writing down vessel numbers so when the boats get back into the port with more fish than the state allows you to keep that close to the beach (within 3 miles), they are issuing hefty tickets. Ouch! Thank you, social media.
Well, it didn't take long once Ross and I crested the mouth of the port to notice the 100 or so boats south off of Patrick’s beaches. One pack of mostly unemployed salty fishermen: check. Now, knowing “THE MAN,” or Big Brother, was watching, Ross and I decided to run out to “safe waters” (who would ever have thought calling federal waters “safe” right now with what the feds are doing, right?) and stay out where we could have the chance to keep 2 each instead of 1 each in state waters. Well, to make a long story short, we headed in toward the beach with nothing in the cooler. Never really leaving eye’s sight of the massive armada of skiffs and cruisers inshore we had no other option but to nose up into them and join the crowd. Well, as luck was on our side…it was St. Patrick’s Day… old Ross bagged his first cobia, right at 20 pounds. Shortly after we came to jig our first bait pod, Ross hooked up on it. Phew! Class dismissed! That monkey’s off my back… now onward for mine…well, we went onward and onward and I never did get mine that day. That’s karma paying me back for catching two on John M’s boat the Saturday before. However, the tournament day was coming and I was sure to catch a cobia I could call my own ( I will call him Patrick....and love him/her very much....). Not so fast there, Nate. Not. So. Fast.
The “It’s Noon Somewhere” crew and I headed out Saturday to try our best at remembering what winners feel like. We had a tentative plan to go to the Cocoa Beach Pier and head south from there. We ended up running past the pier because nothing seemed to be happening there and stopped right off the Patrick beaches where the bait appeared to be holding in big schools. Nothing ended up coming out of jiggin’ the pods like it had a day or so before. We did, however, happen to see probably close to twenty cobia swimming with/on big rays later in the day once the fish’s super-moon hangover wore off. Gezzzz, an all day hangover, come on. If you didn’t notice the last full moon, it was spectacular. The moon was closer to the earth than it has ever been or something, I don’t know, but it was huge. A huge full moon also unfortunately for us means the fish can see to feed all night which in turn makes it really hard to get them to feed when we want them to, like when they’re swimming next to the boat. Needless to say again, but we didn’t get anything Saturday. Yes, the great (self- proclaimed) Capt. Nate got SKUNKED!!! Does it count if you’re on some else’s boat? No? Oh well, worth a shot. I honestly had no clue how to get those buggers to eat last Saturday. But if you’re trying this week, maybe go north out of the crowd and fish some way less stressed fish, if you can find them. So add up a bunch of salty, sunburned, broke (and now since thursday, drunk.) fishermen; a full moon, some cheap beer, a hot sun and watching twenty or so fish swimming away from your lure…and what do you end up with? A great BBQ with some friends, grilled fresh fish, burgers and cold drinks at the end of the day. Defeat never tasted so good.
Cheers!
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