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River King . . . the world's finest fishing and working catarafts |
The Cataraft Chronicles The following is a chapter from my running journal of the six month effort to redesign the rowing frame on our Kingfisher catarafts. Here you will find an almost daily update of my current sea trials / shakedown / vacation trip to the Gulf Coast to try the new design in several different types of fishing water.
You can find the other chapters here: Cataraft Chronicles, Table of Contents
Monday, March 29 Worked late last nite on the web site update. There's lots of e-mail
to answer and busniess things to deal with so I stayed in Hobe Sound this day to catch up.
OK! Mail is answered, business matters are at bay, for a while at least, and now it's time to drive. Destination, the Apalachicola area, in the northwestern, panhandle part of the state. From looking at maps before leaving, this area looked very intriguing. Not many towns, small roads. Small roads that end near the water. This could be my chance to catch a Redfish.
But to get there from Hobe Sound I must go through Central Florida - and this is the pits. Congestion, smog, poorly marked freeways and lots of road work. Disney World is close by along with several other mega attractions. Haven't been there and don't want to but I can say that central Florida is a zoo.
Another aggrevation, I had to go through at least a dozen toll booths to get through central Florida, each one extracting from 2 to 5 dollars from my wallet. I got an early start but this was a very familiar sight by mid-afternoon.
The locals take it all in stride. I guess the local economy is really cookin'.
Finally, by early evening, freeways and cities well behind me, I was deep into the panhandle of Florida. I was pleased to see that guess based on my map that this area was realtively undeveloped was correct. Small towns, a few farms on the higher ground, a little bit like north Idaho, in fact. Using my laptop map I followed a narrow road next to the Econfine River (pronounced Ecafina here) that went south a few miles from a slightly larger feeder road toward the Gulf. Dark pine forest and hardwoods arched over the top to form a tunnel. I passed a large, freshly dead, black boar that lay by the side of the road. A small band of vultures quarreled over first choice of last rights.
Just before dark, at the end of the road, I found a small state park, an RV park and a boat ramp. I checked into the RV park. Richard, the owner, said that there were plenty of Redfish there. He asked if I needed to buy some bait. "No thanks", I said. "I'm using flies."
"Flies?" He asked. "They don't use them here", his cajun accent emphasizing the futility of going against tradition - as if these Redfish, his Redfish, were somehow different from those others out there, other Redfish that might be stupid enough to take a fly. Problem is, he could be right.
He was pretty curious about fly fishing, like he'd seen on TV. I've never been very good at explaining to someone who doesn't, why I like to fly fish - I'm not sure I understand it myself. I just like it. I really like it. I know that in my case it's not any kind of elite thing but I suspect many of those who don't use the fly, suspect that it is. How do you explain that you'd rather not catch a fish on a fly - than catch one on bait? As I left I'm sure he was shaking his head.
I parked the van and prepared a great dinner of Trisquits and cheese washed down with grapefruit juice. Dessert was Fig Newtons, of course. It sounds like hard time in the big house but I really like the combination - it's my personal soul food. I always keep a stash in the van for situations just like this.
The weather report on the van radio called for a front coming through tomorrow. High
winds and probable rain.
In the morning I drove the short distance to the ramp. The weather was calm and the air was warm but the sky was overcast. A crabber and his helper were there dropping their 20 foot skiff into the tea colored river. His pickup was the only other vehicle in the lot.
Richard pulled up in his pickup truck in time to wish me luck and watch me start the motor and pull away downstream. He suggested I try a location just outside the river mouth between two oyster bars (pronounced oster, as in Osterizer). These are shallow water bars, not the kind that serve beer.
There was about a mile of river from the ramp to the Gulf. It was silent as I followed the narrow waterway except for the sound of my quiet four sroke motor idling downstream. Not far from the ramp I passed a group of older buildings on the riverbank that were vacant. I guessed that they were someone's weekend fishing retreat. As I motored slowly downstream the shoreline changed from thick pine forest to palm jungle to sawgrass bottom land.
About a quarter mile from the Gulf on the Econfine River. The river widens as it approaches the gulf. Near the tip of the rod in the picture are two palm snags, probably relics from hurricane Andrew.
As I left the cover of the forest, just downstream from the above picture, the wind rose steadily and became a real problem. I went out into it to see how the boat handled but after a while retreated back into the river. The boat was not blown around as much as I thought it would and it handled the waves and wind OK. There was just no chance of seeing fish activity. However, back in the sheltered water of the river I did not see fish working there either. First I trolled, then I stopped and tried blind casting to likely spots along the bank. Here's one:
Since I never made it out to the place Richard said I'd find Redfish, I was not paying too much attention when the first fish hit my fly. Right away I could see that this was a good size fish. He was taking a decent amount of line from my reel and was running against the fairly strong tidal current. He came to the surface near the boat and I saw red scales flash before he made his second run. That's when I suspected that this was my first Redfish.
He fought well and jumped a couple of times before I brought him to the boat and tried to get his picture. First thing I noticed was the several sharp teeth - so no lipping here. I armed the camera and held it in my right hand, reached over the side and lifted the fish with my left hand under his belly. The reddish scales were large, he was thick bodied and had several black spots down his side with the largest spot nearest the tail. But of course, one good wiggle later he slid off my hand, threw the barbless hook and was back in the water - and I was without my fish picture again. Darn.
I tossed the fly back in, a black wiggle bug, started the motor and trolling through the same area, I was rewarded with another fish. This one wasn't as large, and his teeth much less menacing. Being more cautious I photographed him first in the water next to the boat. Then I lucked out and managed to get a pictures in hand before releasing him.
I had caught my first two Redfish. I like these guys, they are colorful, they live in fun places to fish, they are reputedly good to eat, they take a fly but not too easily and they definitely give a good battle. I can see more Redfish in my future, hopefully lots of them.
By this time a good three hours had elapsed since I first launched the boat. The tide
had changed and I was not getting any further interest in my flies. Also, as predicted,
the wind was steadily rising, even in the relatively protected river, so I decided to
drive further west toward Apalachicaola. I motored back upstream to the ramp.
As I approached the ramp I could see Richard talking to another guy. I tied the boat to
the railing and climbed out onto the dock.
"Well, how did you do?" Richard asked.
"Two", I replied.
"You catch on the flies?"
"Sure did" I said.
"Ha ha, I told you", Richard's friend said, slapping him on the back.
Richard grinned, having just lost the bet.
The other guy was captain Gary Mears, a local fishing guide. They were both quite interested in the River King as well as my bizarre fishing tackle. Gary was quite impressed at how easily I recoverd my light boat back onto the trailer without any help. He said that with a boat like that he could easily get way back into the many creeks that feed into the bay near the river mouth which, he said, abound with Redfish when the tide is right.
We talked for a while and Richard pulled a bag of cajun sausages and bisquits out of his pickup that he had cooked while I was fishing. After the spicy breakfast at the ramp, I promised to keep in touch and I headed out for points west. As I pulled away it started to rain.
Although the rain was brief it was still stormy so I took my time as I drove west toward Apalachicola. I talked on the cell phone with Barry Austin, my friend in Texas who I missed on the way to Florida three weeks ago. He had fished this area before. He mentioned where the local fly shop was and suggested that I stay at the old hotel in Apalachicola.
When I arrived in town the first thing I did was hit the fly shop of course. The sign said Robinsons'. This was my second Florida fly shop on this trip and I was starting to see a pattern. Florida fly shops are nothing like the relatively well stocked stores that inhabit every small town in Montana. There was a rustic fly shop sign ouside, a few token flies and a rack of leader material in the back of the shop, and a lot of clothes, art prints, fish cook books and fishy knick knacks filling about 80 percent of the store.
The gal in the store was Kathy Robinson, wife of one of the Robinson brothers, who were both guiding clients that day. Kathy was pleasant but when I asked where to go fishing the next day she just said that the guys choose their location each day depending on the wind and weather and she wasn't too sure how they did it. She left me to look at some maps while she assisted the several female customers in the store who were looking for gifts and things.
I bought a roll of 12 pound test leader material and walked down to the hotel. Apalachicola is a neat place. It's not too developed probably bacause it's a long way from any interstate. The town has a rich history from the civil war era and many of the old buildings are still standing. Some have been restored but many are languishing along the waterfront next to the shrimp boats, vines creeping through the windowless frames.
I got a room at the old hotel on the top, third floor. There are no elevators and I passed several cats on various chairs and couches along the stairs as I climbed up to my room. The hotel was old and the beams were a little crooked but the furnishings were fairly new and the hotel was well restored. According to the desk clerk, I was in time for happy hour at a local place on the landing a block or so away from the hotel. After dropping my things on the bed and showering I put on a clean shirt and headed over.
It was on the second floor of a building on the waterfront that commanded a great view
of the harbor and Apalachicola Bay. As predicted it was pretty crowded but I managed to
find a seat at the bar. A guy was playing guitar on a small stage and people were in small
noisy groups drinking beer and eating fresh oysters and shrimp. I ordered a half dozen
cold steamed shrimp for three bucks and a Corona. These shrimp were magnum, about seven
inches long, and were very fresh. I looked around. Except for the predominance of southern
drawls, this could have been the Hydra in Sandpoint, any Friday evening during the 70's or
80's. I sensed a good energy here. These folks seemed to have a well alingned sense of
priorities where fishing and fun were higher on their list than expensive homes and cars.
I was also impressed by the number of older guys with pony tails.
Again the weather was iffy so I drove inland a mile or so to an arm of the bay that looked like it would be sheltered from the south-east wind. I found a scary looking gravel launch ramp and after walking on it to see how firm it was I put the boat in the water. The water looked promising and no one else was around. I trolled around the edges of the waterways and channels. Finally I dropped anchor in a fishy looking narrow channel where I could reach both sides with my cast and worked my fly along the edges. After a few casts a small fish hit the fly and I was surprised to find a large mouth bass at the end of my line.
I tasted the water and sure enough, it was fresh. I guess I went too far back inside the bay.
Bass were fine but I had Redfish on the brain. Rather than relaunch at another unknown location I decided to travel further to the west as the storm front was passing toward the east and I thought I might get to the other side of it sooner that way. I drove slowly along the coast and checked out various fishy looking places. Finally, in the sun, I found an interesting area just east of Port St. Joe. Here a long finger of land, St. George Island, curves out into the gulf and encloses a shallow bay of grassy flats about ten miles long and five wide.
I found an RV park on the water, launched the boat and went looked for fish on the flats. I saw plenty of Mullet and rays but no Trout or Redfish. When I got back to the ramp, I was told by the local guys that hang there all winter that it was a little early in the season for sight casting with fly gear but that it was a popular method starting in mid April. Fifty or so Spotted Trout carcases in the water next to the ramp attested to the success of the bait and spin cast bunch that day. Like fishermen in any other place they were gathered around the fish cleaning table and swapping lies.
I tied the boat up at a slip, planning to fish again in the morning. After unhooking the trailer at my camp site I drove down the coast looking for dinner. The air was very warm and humid. As the sun dipped toward Texas the air cooled and the humid air turned to a mist that hugged the ground. It was like the steam room at the Athletic Club.
Ahead, my headlights found an old wooden building with a hand lettered sign out front that said "Raw Bar". Through the mist and the glass windows I could see lots of folks eating. I walked in and sat at the counter. A cajun guy in a white apron took orders and served up the meals. Two more guys, each wearing a heavy yellow rubber work glove on their left, oyster holding hand, shucked oysters as fast as they could at the end of the bar.
While I waited for my dozen oysters ($4.50) a huge crab was stuffed into the automatic steamer in front of me along with a cob of corn.
My oysters were served on a cafeteria tray along with the customary roll of paper
towels. I followed the oysters with a bowl of Gumbo and some garlic bread - a most
excellent meal.
This morning I doggedly returned to the flats with my fly rod and after searching for quite a while I found a spotted sea trout working the surface. I cast my clouser into the swirl, retrieved it in short strips and caught him.
With practice I was getting better at the photo ops.
I left that area of the coast and headed further west. I ended up that afternoon in the Destin area. I fished there but I was back in vacationland where there were tons of people compared with the more desolate areas to the east, where I had just come from. No fish here that I could find but the wind was gone and I glided over acres of flats, the motor idling, while I stood on the bow of the boat watching the rays and the schools of salt water catfish.
Here you can see my shadow and some small rays scattering from the boat as I skim over the water at slow speed. The water here is about 2 feet deep. I'll bet this is what a pelican might see skimming over the smooth water like this. After pulling the boat out after dark I drove another hour or two that evening to a rest stop on the interstate.
Jump ahead 5 days
As I write this, it's 8:30 in the morning, Wednesday, April 7 and I'm in Albuquerque, New
Mexico. There's a cold wind blowing off the mountains, the shorts and sandals are off and
the levis and socks are back on. The boat testing phase of this trip is over but I still
have three days, including last weekend and Monday of this week of some very interesting
fishing to tell you about. This includes a successful Redfish hunt in very skinny water
south of New Orleans on Easter Sunday with two other guys on the boat and the most amazing
bass fishing I've ever had at Barry Austin's Pettigrew ranch south of Dallas where I
shared a boat with Barry as guide and fellow Idahoan Mike Lawson, owner of the
Henry's Fork Angler in southeastern Idaho.
But I also have 40 mail messages to answer this morning before I get on the road so you'll just have to wait a few days till I can get another chance to catch up. I know you'll like the last installment. I'll send you notice as usual.
If you have more questions, you can reach us at:
Mail and shipping:
River King Catarafts
Port Ludlow, WA
Telephone: 360.316.1170
Or, send us E-mail: info@cataraft.com
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