Offatts Bayou, Galveston, Texas, Speckled Trout. It looks bigger than it is. I think it was actually between 16 and 18 inches as were all the Trout caught yesterday.

Once I used the visual process of elimination, I settled on launching at one of the spots pointed to in Ray Crawford’s book, “Wade & Kayak Fishing on the Upper Coast of Texas”, on page 135. It seemed like, based on information from the Texas Kayak Forum (TKF), and prevailing winds, the shelter of Offatts would be a safe place to take a first ever saltwater kayak excursion.

Honestly, based on all the chatter on TKF, I was expecting to stand in line to launch, but instead was all alone launching right next to the airport on a Saturday morning. I guessed everyone was still playing with their new toys, or I was in the wrong place. The airport off Stewart is hard to miss though, and so is the continuing drama of devastation on the back side of the island. People could expect a sit-com length thirty minute solution to the Ike disaster, but they would be again disappointed. There is still so much work to be done.

Based on my dreams I guess, I was expecting to see signs of Reds in some fashion somewhere along these grass-edged flats, or prowling the channel bottoms in the bayou. I thought they would be standing on their heads, be waving their spotted tail flags saying “Live Fish Here – Catch Me”.

In a good six hours of kayaking, exploring and orienteering, I saw and caught no Reds, but did manage to ferret out a few tight schools of Speckled Trout on the edges of deep boat channels. It is easy to forget just how good a fight Speckled Trout can give, even if I was battling them with a heavy 8wt rod. I managed about 5 in the school fish range of 14-18 inches, which was very satisfying since the most time was spent paddling an estimated total of 6 miles. There were many more hits by them but I had a hard time adjusting to hook-setting, and they were simply released without a catch. In all, I never got a killer hit that made me think “this is a BIG” Speck.

Reef at the entrance of Offatts Bayou. The homes, piers and boat houses along the shore are in various conditions – from untouched, to destroyed.

It didn’t take long at all to navigate to a neat little reef at the entrance to Offatts where I beached the kayak and walked and fished the edges of the reef. Currents, and winds made this spot look the healthiest, but perhaps better in warmer months.

The day on the Island ended with a run down to San Luis Pass where the surf side was churning and the currents and waves through the pass made for spectating sport. The back side near the bridge looks very healthy for future fish – much like all the flats along Offatts. It may not be “on” right now, but during typical months of Reds in the flats, my imagination again runs wild. I can’t wait until it heats up again.

At home in the bottoms around the San Luis Pass.

GEAR REPORT
The Amas on my Tarpon 140 were the difference in casting and catching in my opinion – allowing me to stand and cast at will. The only drawback on a day like yesterday, was the wind and bigger wave action I had to endure in order to fish the channel drop offs. An extreme case of “sea legs” was prevented by going back to shallow wading, or beaching on reefs occasionally to walk and cast. If I had GPS, I could have known to go slightly further on one occasion, and hit the inlet to Sweetwater Lake. Missing that alone seems to warrant serious consideration of GPS. If I lived on the coast, besides the obvious shallow water poling boat, I would go ahead and opt for the T160 for the added stability.

My Panasonic Lumix DMC-FX9 just doesn’t seem to like the water. It may have gotten a bit wet, and it did rain on me while fishing, but from the first time I pulled it out to use it, the screen was black and has been black for awhile now. So all the images you see here came from that camera without the benefit of me seeing what I was actually photographing. The fact this camera has lasted this long, in such adverse handling and conditions, is a testament to the Panasonic Lumix, and I continue to recommend it to all my beginning students, family and friends who may want a shirt pocket size party or fishing camera.

I did shoot some video with my Sanyo Exacti camera, but even though it records on a SD card, the card has to be in the camera, and the camera used as a “Card Reader” to extract the video from the card. NOTE TO SELF – use the Exacti to record still images as well as video since it is good down to 1 meter. The video is piling up on the camera because of that bottleneck problem of having to use the camera as the card reader. It has been a great pocket size video camera so far, and has surpassed my expectations in durability. The biggest drawback are the buttons, and specifically the zoom function, since it is too small and hard to activate for the average thumb (yes thumb). A complete redesign of the button positions could render this camera a classic in short order.

NUMBER 7 – The Black Keys — Attack and Release — There are still those bands who are best stripped down to the essence. This is one of them.

NUMBER 6 – Ryan Adams & The Cardinals — Cardinology — A well grounded and solid effort, one that may be hard to get along with unless you are a fan. It seems like peace of mind is on the horizon for Ryan.

It is an early go tomorrow and put in at / near Offatt’s Bayou. This should be interesting. It rained here off, and on today, but we still managed to catch some LMB’s, Crappie and beautiful Sun and Red Ears at a local pond. The weather here has just about everything confused.

(I will have to try and recreate this as the original was lost in the ether of cyber funk.)

The back of the land was a place loosely bordered by cedar fence posts and sagging barbed wire. I would make my way back to the fences and beyond, holding my Remington .22 pump like a vial of nitroglycerine, so as not to get a scratch or ding on it anywhere. There I would take my aim on hapless birds, rabbits and armadillos, not in a blood sport way, but just so I could see them closer up. I wanted to stop them just long enough to get a good long look, and unfortunately they became stopped forever. It made sense at the time, and there was no real counting of kills, or taking of meat or trophies.

Eventually, two of GW’s nephews heard I was wanting to go along on a Raccoon hunt with them. I was just eleven, and they were something out of the McMurtry’s “Last Picture Show”. JS and RS were high school football stars, big and fleet of foot respectively. They were the stuff Friday Night Lights, old school, were made from – tough, hard working and hard playing country boys. The idea of hunting with them was beyond fantastic.

I think I waited all day for the night to come. It was a chance to go out when I would normally be going to sleep, and stay out until who knew when. There were no dogs. This was going to be a spotlighting affair, and far from some idealistic novel, this was about the classic high school boy’s need … need for money. You see, it turned out that Raccoon skins were being bought in town for an average of about 18. dollars per skin. If Daniel Boone, on TV, needed a new coonskin cap, who was I to deny the McGyver of the 1700′s? Heck, if it weren’t for old Dan’l, I would never have known what animal tracks were.

We took off into the cold, headed out the back of the land like I had done so many times, but this time we just kept going. Through thickets and clearings, single file with our huge flashlights (the ones with the single big battery) and maybe a Coleman lantern as well. We would alternately light the trail – to keep from falling, and the trees – looking for eyes. It wasn’t long, and I was so turned around that I stuck extra close. Just the fact they were so much bigger than me made it hard to keep apace. They never tried to lose me though, and finally, after a few skins were under our belts, they talked me into shooting one.

Now, I had never come close to killing or being eaten by anything this angry, and be assured an injured Coon can get … angry. They were good shots, so when they sighted and shot, it was usually followed by a thick, thwack and thud when they hit the bed of leaves on the ground around the trees. We were into some big trees now, down in and around creek beds. The trees had mostly big limbs that would shelter a Coon, but not snare one on the way down, and down they did come. When my turn came, I immediately realized my disadvantage. I can’t remember what I was thinking, but I didn’t have my Remington with me. Maybe their guns just seemed so much better, and maybe they were. However, I was unfamiliar with the sites, and after about five shots into the V of a tree holding the Coon, they were beginning to enjoy my misses, and coach me – all at once – as to how to hit this masked mad Coon. By now that tree has died of lead poisoning, and I did it. Finally, down he comes. My first coon, and I can smell the money, or is that a gut shot?

A complete Raccoon is not much good to anyone. We were only interested in our furry friend’s coats, and to make them our own meant skinning a Coon. Now, I may not have grown up in the biggest town in Texas (Edinburg, TX pop. 18-thousand at the time), but by the standards of Turnersville, Gatesville or Pancake, I was a city boy, and they knew that much for sure. So the carcass of a skinned coon was suddenly brought back to life, lipless, lidless, earless and in a permanent death snarl. It didn’t really scare me, but it wasn’t the prettiest thing to behold either.

To Be Continued – Part Three — And They All Fall Down