The Last Mullet Fishing Trip of 2012
The weather was perfect yesterday to squeeze in just one more mullet fishing trip prior to their annual departure from the Harbor when they will annually congregate with other mullet to form huge schools and move offshore for spawning. The numbers of harbor mullet have been falling in the last few weeks as the early birds leave. Actually, the pickins have become pretty slim, but, there were still a few left at the top end of the Harbor, and I was able to pull the trigger on a total of 16 nice big ones.
The key to yesterday's solo effort was timing. I pushed away from the sand launch in my kayak while the Harbor was still flooded with tidal water. The tops of the oysters bars could not be seen on the far side of the Harbor. Normally, I launch a little later in the tidal cycle, but I wanted to have time to investigate a few out-of-the-way holes in areas of the bay that I rarely visit. So, for once, I had the luxury of having sufficient time on my hands to poke around a little. It's a 20-minute paddle over to the oysters bars.
Solo mullet fishing is art, not science. When fishing with a group, the fishermen will generally form a human line of netters and force the mullet to come by their artificial gauntlet as the tide falls. The line of fishermen slowly pushes up a creek or channel, and the mullet try to run by, employing any of a number of tactics to escape. It's a brutish endeavor that is lopsidedly in favor of the humans. Once a mullet is within reach of your cast, you or your teammate can generally get him. The team approach is always best, because it is so much easier to trap the mullet and bully them into submission, than it is to outsmart them. But, as it is with all things human, the logistics of finding enough men or boys to fill the tidal creeks, nets in hand, is difficult at best. Team sports like baseball, t-ball, soccer and football seem to keep most youngsters and their young dads occupied. Older boys and teens want to be in the woods hunting, when not in school. For others, it's a situation of juggling work schedules. Unfortunately, more often than not when the tides are right, the mullet fishing must wait!
Alas, because of all of the above, I've been doing a lot of solo mullet fishing lately. Solo mullet fishing requires a different set of strategic tactics. Without the benefit of additional human help, you have to rely on the attributes of the natural features in the harbor to pinch off the mullet as they attempt to move with the tides. I'm not saying that you have to use more intellectual faculties than when fishing with others, because truth is, no matter what tactic you deploy, the act of subduing a harbor mullet is difficult regardless of the human configuration! Herein is the reason why I often lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling thinking over strategies in my head. I'll spend six months during the "off season" pondering the various features in the top end of the bay, and how those features might be used in my favor under certain conditions. Do I use the kayak to block the creek, causing the fleeing mullet to pause sufficiently to allow me time to throw? Shall I drape a spare net across the side of the kayak to increase the likelihood that they will pause at the artificial obstruction? Will the water be sufficiently low in the creek to allow me to use human means to plug the path of escape, thus allowing me to investigate areas further upstream without risk of loosing fish on which my back is turned? Are there any other alternate channels, perhaps of which I am not aware, leading out of this pinch point which will allow their escape? How many times have I blocked a channel in the marsh only to find out that all of the mullet left by using a back door? What frustration! And if the tide is sufficiently high, they will simply swim out through the grass; forget about using the water in the channel to make their escape, they will flip and flop through the grass to get to a different channel to get away from you!
My first attempts this day were met with utter frustration. I first tried a tactic that has worked well for me many times in the past: stealth. I quietly eased up on a hole in the marsh grass - one that has produced fish over time, and, using the wind at my back, launched my net in a high arch over the berm of grass separating me from the hole. My hope was that unsuspecting mullet, not knowing I was on the other side of the strip of grass island, would not have fled my presence. The hole was empty with the exception of a lone big boy who was lounging to my right. He made a big protest and quickly left. I retrieved the empty net thinking that as late in the season as it was, it could be pretty hard to find targets today. Several more holes with the same tactic produced the same results.
Second strategy: block the channel. I moved into an area that we have nicknamed “George Straight”. It's a series of canals and pinch points that eventually lead back to the larger channels via four different outlets. Therefore, to effectively fish George Straight, you need a minimum of four fishermen. I am aware, however, of certain sub-features within George Straight, where perhaps I could park the kayak and block a small channel, thus allowing me to trap an unwary fish. This is truly the uppermost part of the estuary. In this area, the marsh is shot-through with sinuous little channels and creeks. The floor of the bay in this area is very soft and difficult to walk through. With the tidal water still fairly high, I found myself surrounded by hundreds of fish in George Straight. But, despite repeated casts, was unable to secure even one. They all got by me ... down to the last fish.
Third strategy: block the hole. I know of at least three features in the marsh - there are probably plenty more - where there is only one way in ... and one way out. And, the opening to the larger channel is very, very tight. While mullet will not congregate in these holes in great numbers, I have caught ten to fifteen fish in these little specialty spots in the space of thirty minutes if I can sufficiently block the entrance / exit. In times past, I have even had fish launch themselves out of the water, over the kayak, and back into the water on the other side, in their effort to escape! Finally, I was able to catch one fish in one of these little holes, who, quite unfortunately for himself, deployed none of the aforementioned tactics. One in the box.
As the day wore on, I decided to move to the back of the bay to a spot that has produced a lot of fish for me in the late season. This new tactic would deploy a number of items in the arsenal: The wind and sun would be at my back, and the tide would rolling out and I would be standing in a little pinch point that would require the fish to move within the reach of my net. So I paddled over to a man-made portion of the bay about which I have written in the past. It's a half-mile long canal that was dug some 50 years ago to allow property owners to have boat access to the bay. There, I was able to park the kayak, and haul myself out on a muddy sand bank at water's edge and wait and watch for the telltale signs of a fish moving by on his way out of the canal with the tide receding. From the perspective of the fish, I was blending with some of the wild salt tolerant foliage growing on the bank. Also from the perspective of the fish, the sun was behind me, thereby blinding the fish just a bit from being able to see me. Also, I made sure that my shadow created by the lowering sun did not fall across the water; certain to alert the fish that was something amiss. I was hoping that even with a majority of the fish now set to leave the harbor for the season, there still might be enough left to fill the cooler on the back of the kayak, which I have dubbed the "mullet morgue".
I left the kayak tied to the sand bank around the corner of the mucky spit. This effectively put the kayak out of view. Sometimes, I'll use the kayak to intimidate the fish, causing them to pause, but other times I don't want them to think there is anything unusual going on in their fishy little paradise. I positioned myself among the low-growing shrubbery that somehow manages to make a living in this tough, salt-laden environment. And, with the breeze and sun at my back, I waited. I could see fish coming down the channel some 100 feet away. Would they come all the way down the slough and exit the channel on the falling tide like I had hoped? Or, would they stop and play? Were they interested in moving out? Or were they just conducting their mullet business as usual? Finally, from a fish's wake (the movement on the top of the water) I could tell that a fish was purposefully moving in my direction. Would I be ready? Would my net open? Would I time the cast to coincide with the location of the moving fish? It's an 8-foot net, plenty big for a wide cast, but with water this clear, will the fish see the net coming and dart away before it hits the water? Here is where the hunter either succeeds or fails. There will be food on the table or there will not be ... I launch the net ... SUCCESS! I can feel the net twitching as I pull it to shore. A good-sized fish is inside thrashing about in his attempt to escape.
With the channel still full of water, I think to myself that there might be dozens of opportunities at this little spot. I had never deployed this tactic in this location at this time of the day with the wind and weather being what it was; which is to say that no two mullet fishing trips are ever the same. The wind, weather, location of the sun and tidal cycle all play a role in a successful strategy. Eventually fourteen more fish succumbed to this tactic. And for every fish I caught, five more got by me. And for every fish I saw, probably twice that many swam by with no alerting of their presence whatsoever. The harbor, it turns out, was still full of fish, despite the date on the calendar.
With the 48-quart cooler on the back of my kayak now full of fish and ice. And with the satisfaction of knowing that on yet one more day, I’m the boss of the harbor, I settle into the seat of the kayak and take the paddle in my hand. It will be a 25 minute paddle back to the boat launch on the other side. Both of my shoulders are complaining to me (the results of surgeries and golf injuries from years gone by). I am not really all that covered with black harbor mud, but you can bet that I’ve got mud stuck into places where it will be difficult to get soap when I get home to shower. The afternoon – and the mullet fishing season for 2012 – is long spent and the sun is hanging just above the horizon. Life is good. This will be my last kayak trip to the harbor for the season. It is time for the fish to move offshore to spawn in vast schools. Any mullet yet harvested this year will be caught at the mouth of the Bays as they move with the tides on the outside of the harbor. All of the harbor mullet will be gone until spring.
But, I'll be back then, Mr. Mullet. And we'll match wits once more ... enjoy your off season, Mr. Mullet. Enjoy your seasonal foray in the briny deep of the off-shore waters as you mate and discharge your roe; thereby creating yet another generation of tasty mullet fillets. But, let's agree to do this again come April. And then, we’ll do it again … and again … and again.
No comments:
Post a Comment