The difference between one fish and no fish! February 27,2020

If you're a real fishermen, any trip to a fishy location, for any reason, is going to be accompanied by at least trying to carve out some time in your schedule to fish.  In this case, I was invited by the New Orleans Fly Fishers to come down and share my Amazon peacock bass presentation, and I used that as an opportunity to book two days with Captain Brandon Keck, of Southern Fly Expeditions .  Brandon guides out of Hopedale Louisiana, and while the primary goal was redfish, hopefully there would also be shots at other species, black drum, alligator gar, sheepshead....and the list goes on.

In the months prior to the trip, I did what most of us would do.  I watched the tantilizing videos on the website, of wave after wave of redfish attacking poppers.  I tied flies.  I day dreamed.  I even talked my buddy James into traveling with me.  I did everything right, I think, except a consultation with whoever is in charge of Louisiana weather.

I know later winter/early spring weather can be unpredictable.  And sure enough, as it got closer, troubling conditions crept into the forecast.  Wedensday the 26th, our first day on the water, called for 30 mph winds, and high temps in the fifties.  Thursday, the 27th, the winds were to drop, but lows were barely going to be 40, with a high of 50.  I talked to Captain Brandon the eve of the trip.  I told him, I would be more than glad to still fish, but I only wanted to fish if it would be merely difficult, but not impossible.  We made arrangements to talk very early the next morning.  Unfortunately, at 5:50 a.m. I received a text that simply said, "Conditions have worsened.  I recommend we not fish today.  It would just be a really expensive boat ride."  I hated to hear it, but appreciated the honesty.  So, Wednesday was spent on our own, a bit of exploring in New Orleans, and a bit of exploring road side canals, trying to find clean water, and looking for the odd seatrout or redfish.  It was cold, the wind was ripping, and it would have been a miserable day in the boat.

The next morning, I received a text, that said, "It's going to be really difficult, but not impossible."  Good enough for me.  No way I was going home without at least trying.  And honestly, if there is anything predictable about me, it's that I'm optimistic.  We headed off, and one of the great things about traveling and fishing is just how foreign everything is.  The birds are different, the trees are different, and for sure, the homes built on platforms twenty feet in the sky are different.


 The further we drove, the more optomistic I became!  By the time we reached Hopedale, I was sure we were going to whack em.

We arrived at the marina, met Brandon, and loaded five additional fly rods and a couple of big fly boxes on the boat.  Soon we were off and running, and it was COLD!  40 degrees and running in the boat are WAY different from 40 degrees and sitting still.  We ran a good ways to a place Brandon hoped to find clean water, and by the time we arrived, I couldn't feel my face.  There were two issues.  The gusty winds of the previous day had the water very turbid.  Secondly, the water was 51 degrees, which generally means fish sulking deep in the channels, not actively hunting for food.  We hoped that as the sun got on the water (it was mostly sunny), it would eventually move the fish up in to the shallows.

I had James start off in the bow, and my strategy was to have James fish most of the time.  I felt like our shots would be very limited today, and while I've caught some redfish, James had not.  Captain Brandon started poling and James (a very good caster) started firing off blind casts, covering water all around the boat as we moved.  I guess I'm going to sum it this way.  We covered water for six hours, threw hundreds of times, moved five times to new areas, and never saw a single fish by mid afternoon.  It was looking bleak.  Then James stepped down from the bow, and said, "I'm going to get something to eat, fish for awhile." 

Five minutes later, Brandon pointed, and said, "Black drum, Twelve o'clock" and there he was.  This gigantic fish, head down, tail up.  The first black drum I had ever seen in the flesh.  I cast, but not close enough, the fish moved, I couldn't see it, but thought I could, and cast to a mud cloud, instead of the fish.  It was a comedy of errors, but I finally got the fly in front of the fish, which immediately ate.  The fish lumbered off, and that is exactly the right word.  Black drum are never speedsters, and this fish was cold.  But also huge!  He would take twenty feet of line, I'd gain it back, and then he would put his pectoral fins out, and dig down for the bottom.  I would pinch the fly line and lean.  It was stalemate.  And then the fish would run a little, I'd gain it back, and we would do it all over again.  No way to make it a  Hemingway, Old Man and the Sea, exciting battle.  But eventually persistance paid off, and a really cool, amazing fish was in the net.  Black drum, and species number 140 on fly.

Black drum are interestingly shaped fish, their profile is so high, and so different from anything I'm used to catching, I had no idea what it really weighed.  I wondered if it was 50 pounds, my guide, who actually occasionally weighs these things didn't think so.  His judgement was at least 45 pounds, probably high forties, but not quite fifty.  I'll take it!   A quick photo session, and off he went.

And that was it for the day, and the fishing portion of trip.  The wind picked up even more, James gave it another half hour, and then we bagged it.  Then we sped back to New Orleans for my presentation, with the black drum slime still drying.  A wonderful group of guys at the meeting, and it looks like a few of them will be heading to the Amazon with me next year.

I read, and I don't remember where, that in fishing, the difference between one and zero fish caught, is greater than the difference between one and any other number.  Let me witness, so true.  Because I've already forgotten the cold, and the muddy water, and the somewhat poor casting once the fish was spotted.  In my mind, it's not the trip of one fish, it's the trip of the giant black drum!