The Armchair Outfitter

photo by Amy N.

Some of you may be wondering what has kept me away from the site for so long.  It’s called a job, and for the time being, I am happy to have one.  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, but all play and no work makes Jack a jerk.  Nevertheless, I do find time to slip away on occasion.  The Sporting Wife’s family came down for a visit the weekend of March 19, 2011.  In lieu of the traditional family activity, or as the Sporting Wife calls it, “sitting around looking at each other funny,” Uncle Gary, Cousin Tim, and I decided to get in some fishing.

This was the first trip for me since the oil spill, and things at Gulf State Park pier in the afternoon were pretty bleak.  It was the only time fishing salt water I’ve ever changed a shrimp for a fresh one.  I think the little bugger just gave up hope.  I made an executive decision and we lit a shuck for one of my favorite spots, Alabama Point.  We piddled with some saltwater catfish, locally known as hardheads, until evening.  We were about ready to leave, but I said that if our hard work were to pay off at all, it would either be in the 45 minutes before sunset or the 45 minutes after dark.

This redfish made me really look like I knew what I was doing by hammering my shrimp shortly after I announced my prediction.   I applied as much pressure as the 17-pound Momoi Diamond Line would take and turned him away from a concrete bridge piling.  He quickly responded by crossing my line with Uncle Gary’s.  I thought he was gone by the time we had untangled.  Reeling up the slack, I felt a powerful surge, and he put the best bow in my 15-foot surf rod I have seen to date.  It was touch and go until I slid him up onto the wet sand.  Then when I tried to lip him, he bit down on the three fingers I had in his mouth.  The hook popped free at the crucial juncture, but I shovel-passed him about 5 yards onto the beach.  Gary couldn’t stop laughing.  He suggested that I slosh the fish around in the water to rinse off some of the sand that was sticking to him.  “Oh no,” I said.  “He’s not getting near water again until he’s stone dead.”

We called the family to meet us at the pier for pictures, and we went back to the cleaning station to get him ready for the table.  He weighed 8 1/4 pounds and was 30 inches long.  Filleting him under the pier lights, I noticed many small parasites attached to his skin.  These pennelid copepods can be a sign of stress in marine fish, but they can also be a cause of stress.  It’s a chicken-egg issue, so I can’t make any generalizations from their presence about the health of the Gulf.  They are unsightly, but I removed them with the skin, and the resulting fillets provided a late dinner for our fishing party.