Exploring The Depths On Rod and Reel: Looking For A Monster Bull Red

 
     My arm fit into its mouth clear up to my elbow. As I sat there on the rocks, soaking wet with the fish in my lap, I focused on catching my breath and removing the hook, a task that was proving to be very difficult. Difficult because this fish was nearly my size, and obviously much stronger, still full of explosive energy. A marine biologist I know once described fish to me as a swimming muscle with a brain and several other organs. I wasn't sure exactly what he meant until now. My blood is still surging with adrenaline and I realize how little time I have to appreciate everything taking place, because this magnificent animal needs to be placed back in the water. It must go back, but I have yet to fully admire this magnificent creature, or unhook it, or catch my breath... Another massive swell crashes over the granite blocks around me and again I'm soaking wet. And then another, reminding me that not only am I deceptively far out on the surf, but that the dangerous weather I have braved for the past seven hours has no intentions of letting up. Has it been seven hours already? How did I get to this moment?

     I have always enjoyed the sport of fishing, but it wasn't until the last two years that I understood the importance of its role in marine conservation, and only in the last year that I began to take it very seriously. Obsessively, some would say. My interest in fishing has always been founded on my love of two things, wildlife and mystery, and how they merge into one the moment my line hits the water. Hermann Melville wrote that there is a magic in water that draws all men away from the land, and I believe this to be true. For me though, it's not so much a fascination with water itself, but rather, wondering what strange creatures live unseen beneath its surface. As a child, I would gaze out over the surface of a river or lake and wish I had the power of X-ray vision to see just what could be right in front of me. Over the years I came to learn that with a solid rod and reel, some high quality line, the right type and quality of bait, and a considerable amount of patience -I mean a lot of patience- you do have the ability to see beneath the surface, one fish at a time. Because I'm a naturalist and work in a high profile zoo, I often receive raised eyebrows as I tell people that I'm also an avid fisherman. I can understand the confusion, as the general public's perception of a conservationist is usually of the people hugging deer in those "Go Vegan" promotional adds. The truth though is that conservation, as an ideology and practice, is not diametrically opposed to the licensed harvesting of carefully regulated game species. In fact, most zoological facilities have working partnerships with their state's parks and wildlife departments, proving that conservation and outdoor recreation (this means fishing) go hand in hand. I would even go so far as to say outdoor recreation -activities like fishing, hunting, camping, or hiking- is the single best way to introduce children to good conservation practices. Take your son or daughter fishing for blue gills or sun perch and you will be afforded with just as many opportunities to discuss wildlife science and conservation as you would on a trip to the San Diego zoo. And if you know what you are doing, as both an angler and educator, I bet they will enjoy it even more.

     Fishing at an early age has provided me with a close association between catching fish and good childhood memories. When I think back on my life, the earliest memories that come to mind are generally associated with nature. Like the first time I laid eyes on a wild alligator in the Brazoria Wildlife Refuge. Or my earliest memory, when, at age four, I saw a coral snake crawling under the swing set I was happily playing on. But a particular favorite memory I have is of fishing with my dad and brother in our next door neighbor's man-made pond, when I landed for the very first time what would eventually become my favorite species of fish. I couldn't have been more than seven years old at the time, which is a perfect age to land your first catfish. I was fishing a stink bait of dried chicken blood suspended about a foot under a traditional round bobber. Watching that bobber come to life and submerge beneath the surface of the water, signifying that I was now connected by a thin length of monofilament to some hidden creature, was a feeling I have never forgotten. If I never cast another line again, I'll still remember. But I have no intentions to stop putting lines in the water. The year prior to that catch, I had gotten a set of cap guns for Christmas. The following Christmas, I unwrapped a Plano tackle box and junior fishing kit. There was no going back now.

      But growing up in the country, other species occupy the mind too. Alligators and snakes became something of an obsession for me at the age of six and over the years, began to occupy more of my time and interest than fish. I suspect convenience also played a large role in this transition of interests, as it requires a specific set of gear and a body of water to catch a fish, whereas finding a snake could be accomplished right off my front door step if you knew where to look. Like many things, fishing remained a fun activity that surfaced from time to time, but remained submerged beneath the surface of my sub-conscience. And like all fish, it would take a lure or bait of some interest to convince me to bite again. As it turns out, about the time I was in the hospital recovering from the combination of my interest in snakes and my disdain of wearing shoes, an angler named Jeremy Wade had his own lines out in the water of a rapid filled river in India. The fish he would pull in, a 161 lb. goonch catfish, launched the program that would eventually re-kindle my interest in fish: Animal Planet's River Monsters. Ten years later, I watched as Jeremy Wade fished the Amazon, focused on showing the true nature of what is perhaps the most famous and misunderstood of all fresh water fish: the red bellied piranha. When Jeremy threw himself into a piranha infested tributary, just to prove a point on the timidity of a potentially deadly species, I was once again, for the lack of a better phrase, hooked. Back at work, I would stop inside the aquarium every chance I could to scour over the information boards for every species in the building. At home, I spent less time on facebook and more time on the fish base website. But it wasn't enough. I needed to put my lines back in the water.



     The Sea Lion surf rod and open face reel I had previously kept just for the occasional trip to the beach now became my prized possessions. Spooled with twenty pound test mono and rigged with size 5/0 circle hooks and 40lb. red drum leader, it again became my link to an underwater world. But ten years of rust has the same effect on the fisherman as it does a fishing reel. Basically, he doesn't perform well at all. Trip after trip, I returned empty handed and frustrated. But despite my lack of success early on, I held several massive advantages over most people that I knew could lead back to success. First of all, I'm a scientist who’s business is to understand wildlife, including fish. I had a scientific and educated understanding of the animals I wanted to see and the ecosystem they lived in. Second, I'm a fast learner and think analytically. This allowed me to reflect back on my failures, dissecting them systematically to determine what went wrong. I would adapt my approach every trip out, one small but specific change at a time. And third, I am notoriously relentless. I could, and did, fail dozens and dozens of times out on the water without giving up hope. I knew it was just a matter of time and experimentation. Fishing, as it turns out, is an intricate science.



     While the science of fishing could fill volumes of books (and has), there are certain key factors that you will find in any of these books that are worth their salt, as the fishermen say. They key is to understand the specific species you are targeting, the ecosystem and geography of its habitat, variables like the tides, weather, and temperature, and how your gear relates to all of the above. A helpful key, I have found, is not to think of fishing as fishing, but rather, as hunting. They are essentially the same practice, when you stop to think about it. I decided to apply to fishing the specificity of approach that is used when hunting. For starters, I began targeting specific species of fish. Not every fish will hide in the same type of location, hunt and eat the same prey, and be tricked into striking the same type of rigs. You don't want to have a bait that your target fish doesn't want to eat, a rig that it won't strike or that won't hold him if he does, or the right bait and gear placed in the wrong spot where there are no fish. Everything has to be perfect, all at the same time. I learned to read the geography under the water based on clues above the surface. Lots of people forget that the land features that you see above the water can continue down below that water as well. I learned to spot ambush points where predatory fish will wait for food to pass by. I learned to cast my lines in the strong eddies and backwater currents, where nutrients and small bait fish are caught in the current and delivered to game fish like a natural buffet line. I learned that eddies are three dimensional and can exist under the water, spinning vertically where there are old river beds or steep banks. And as I adapted and learned a more scientific approach, the fish began to strike. Suddenly, I was hooking fish with a higher frequency. I continued to study and improve. I learned the quality of bait is a key factor. Why did I ever believe fish eat anything? They are extremely selective and will pass up on old bait for a fresh one, and a fresh one for a live one. Some fish will change their preference of prey with the change in seasons, tides, and even time of day. Again I adapted, and again the results improved. I was starting to get the hang of this thing. I had fished very successfully in early March for white bass on the freezing Angelina River. I figured it was time to move up the food chain and target something big. In Texas, the game fish of choice is the drum fish, specifically the red drum. This fish is well known by his other names of red fish and bull red. If you haven't seen a bull red, check him out on a Google search. He is a magnificent, broad and deep bodied fish with a massive head and wide, fanning tail. His crimson red scales are often mixed with a tone of copper and gold, punctuated at the tail with a false eye spot. Typically, red drum frequent salt flats where they can be seen "tailing" for shellfish, which is when you can spot their tales breaking the surface of shallow water as they pick crabs off the mud flat bottoms. The bull reds in the mud flats are without a doubt the saltwater sport fish of choice in the state of Texas. But these fish usually max out around twenty-eight inches, which is the upper end of the slot (the lower end is twenty-five inches). To land a truly monster bull red, I would have to access the deeper waters in the surf, close to three hundred yards from the shore where the last sand bar gives way to the deep gulf. This water is typically forty to fifty feet deep, which meant that wading out to cast my line was out of the question. Most anglers would employ a boat in such circumstances, but I haven't a boat at my disposal. I would have to use the jetties. Fortunately, both jetties that line the Freeport shipping lane extend nearly a third of a mile into the gulf, which means that if I fished off the very end, I could place my baits where they needed to be. With my skills sharpened, my gear adjusted accurately, and my research done, there was now only one thing to do...get a line in the water.



     Fishing is not a game for those who need instant gratification. Knowing the best times of day for catching large game fish are the early morning and late evening hours, when the bait fish like mullet and shad are running, I decided to get an early start, and chose the Freeport jetty on the Surfside beach side of the shipping channel as my first location. Unfortunately though, I'm a working class guy who holds down a forty hour per week schedule. This means quite simply that I can't pick and choose my fishing days, as my regular days off are Wednesdays and Thursdays. This translates into the simple fact that if I want to go fishing, I must brave the weather on those days. And the weather on that particular Wednesday was something to behold. The sky was gun metal grey and brutal winds of almost thirty miles per hour kicked up surges that crashed over the granite jetty rocks as if they intended to sink them. The water was extremely high, and a well timed wave could easily take me off the rocks. While I like to think I'm athletic enough and savvy enough to survive falling into that type of water, I'm honest enough to admit I wouldn't. The fact that even the rocks above water were covered with slippery algae didn't help. One misplaced step, and that would be that. A little intimidated, I decided to cast into the channel close to shore. I was fishing with two poles. One rig consisted of my Penn/Fierce 60000 open face reel combo, spooled with twenty pound mono. On the end was a four foot, single crimped, sixty pound malon coated wire leader and size 7/0 circle hook baited with blue crab. Blue crab is a particular favorite prey item of bull reds during winter months. The other rig was my lighter rod and open faced reel. This was spooled with twelve pound mono and was rigged with a homemade double drop rig baited with shrimp flavored Fishbites on the upper hook and live shrimp on the lower hook. After casting both into the channel, I propped both rods up by fitting the handles into the grooves between the granite boulders (something I no longer do, as I prefer to fish with only one rod and feel the line at all times). The waiting game began. At this point, I was banking on a strike visibly bending the rods, but after an hour, they still remained stiff. Giving in the urge to check the baits, I reeled in the larger rod, but found no fish at the end of it. Normally, if you have a fish on the end of your line, you will feel its weight and the vibrations it generates as it swims the moment you tighten the line between the two of you. As I began to reel in the second rod, I felt a weight at the end, a weight that suddenly came to life and began to pull across the channel to my left. I could feel it was a small fish, as it came in without much resistance, but it was still a fish and this excited me. When the swivel and double drop leader broke the water, I lifted the rod up in the air and suddenly, as if by magic, a fish materialized from the water. It was a small sheepshead, which is commonly used for chunk bait. I didn't bring out the forty inch tape measure in my pocket, but I could tell this one was under the limit. I didn't want to keep him for the pot, but I'm an opportunist when it comes to bait. The stuff is expensive, you know. Knowing this small fry would go back, I took a few moments to admire his beauty. It was a beautiful color of light grey, almost silver, broken by vertical green stripes running the length of its body. Not quite a river (or channel) monster, though. "Ocean Tiddlers?" I thought to myself, contemplating a possible name for my own fishing program on Animal Planet. Time to put this fish back, and time to do what I know I have to. I was time to move out to deeper, more dangerous waters.



     If the next four hours proved nothing else, they showed I had determination and could at least fish the slippery rocks without falling in, though I very nearly did at one point when I lost my footing on a cast. Sliding down a slippery granite rock until your toes are in the surging, ten foot waves that mean almost certain drowning will do wonders for your focus. Minutes and hours meant nothing to me now. I was no longer keeping track of time. After a while though, the same urge that tempts fishermen to continuously check their baits when they shouldn't began tempting me to check my watch. Again, this is something an angler generally shouldn't do, as it begins turning a wheel of doubts in your head. I fell victim to this basic mistake, and began to wonder if I would start catching fish if I moved locations and tried my hands fishing the salt marshes and mud flats. Again, giving in to this temptation is something I would not do anymore, but it got the best of me, and I found myself sitting by a salt marsh a mile inland without a bite. I tried to rationalize and trick my mind into believing this wasn't about catching a monster fish anymore, but catching fish in general. That was a lie. I had set out to catch my own monster bull red and my angler's conscience wouldn't let me forget it. I decided to try the jetties one last time. This time, I made my way out to the jetties on the Quintana side of the channel. As soon as I stepped out on the jetties, however, I noticed a dramatic change. the granite base for this jetty retained it's width from it's foundation almost all the way to the top. You see, most people think of jetties as rock walls extending out into the surf, when the truth is they are built more like very elongated pyramids extending out into the surf. They have a base three or four times as wide as the surface level you fish on, and if the width of the base continues closer to the surface, this means that your line is more likely to grate against the rocks as it angles down from your rod tip to the bait you are fishing on the ocean floor. That's a very bad thing, because these granite stones, sharpened by continuous water and sand erosion, will slice through your line as easily as a straight razor. Nicking your line on one of these rocks is the difference between landing a fish and losing one. But as a fisherman I met yesterday so wisely observed, if it was easy, they wouldn't call it fishing. Accepting this new challenge as a chance to prove my worth, I continued to the very end of the jetty. A bend of the knees, a torque of the hips, and another line flies into the ocean surf to sink down forty feet to the sand below. Instead of propping my rod, I held it in my lap with the tip high in the air, keeping my index finger on the line just above the spool to detect any vibrations transmitted by a fishes' strike. Time begins to pass and fade, and I only come back from this other world when other fishermen join me at my location. The wind is still sharp and the waves continue to crash over my head, drenching me over and over again. The other fishermen stick it out until the rain comes, at which time they decide to try their luck closer to shore. I won't move, not this time. I sit still, motionless to be sure not to transmit any vibrations down to my bait. Line sends messages both ways. I am given a break from thinking about my cold wet clothes and salty hair when I spot several bottlenose dolphins surfing the waves, something I would learn from another marine biologist friend of mine that cetaceans will do just for the fun of it, similar to humans. I admire their beauty and grace. I look at the other wildlife, the terns and gulls hovering over the waves. I watch as a line of pelicans.... a knock on the line... That was a fish. Suddenly, I'm brought back to the line in my hands. My predatory instincts, which all humans possess, are alerted. I hear more clearly and feel with more sensitivity. Another hard knock on the line, then a run! I let the fish take the bait and allow the line to tighten, drawing the circle hook into position, right into the corner of the mouth. I lean back and set the hook hard, and feel a heavy weight. Fish on! But before I can stand, it runs too close to the rocks, and the line falls slack. As I reel in the line, I see where the rocks did their work. That's a leader, sinker, and hook lost, and a fish alerted to my presence. A wave of discouragement begins to wash over me until I realize that fish, like many predators, will strike again if their predatory instincts kick in, even if they are alerted to the presence of danger. If he struck once, I can get him to strike again. The rocks had taken a toll on my gear at this point, and only one hook and leader remained in my back pack. This was a much smaller circle hook, maybe too small, but I have no choice. I bait up and cast out. Again I play the waiting game. But this time, it only takes a few minutes before I feel another hard knock on the line. A twitch on the line, and then again, nothing. Two twitches... A hard knock.... A run! This time, I stand up before setting the hook, making sure to hold my line off the rocks. And when I lean back and tighten the line, I feel an incredible weight on the end. For a moment, it feels like I have hung up on the rocks, but then I notice that I'm still reeling in line a few inches at a time. You don't reel in any line when you snag a one ton rock. Then line starts to shift as the fish, a big fish, begins to run to my left. I adjust angles and bring it back, away from the safety of the deeper waters. Then I see it, a swirl sixty feet out on the surface of the water. This is a very big fish. I begin leaning back and then reeling in the slack as I quickly lean forward again. I'm making progress. I'm bringing in the fish. Then the magic moment happens, I see his red and copper form streak through the water twenty feet out as he makes one last attempt to break free. It's a monster bull red! The leader breaks the surface of the water, and I lean out for it. I drag the fish up the pre-selected rocks I had scouted earlier as a potential landing spot, something fishermen should always take into account before casting. One final pull and he's mine, resting on the paved surface of jetty between elevated granite rocks forming a wall around us. I sprint the thirty feet back to my back pack for my tape measure and as I return, I notice something shocking. I realize how incredibly close I had come to losing this fish. I look at his mouth, his huge gasping mouth, and notice two wire leaders. This was the fish I had lost on the rocks. What amazed me, though, was that he had actually thrown the second hook, but amazingly, it had become tangled in the end of the leader I lost on the first go, still trailing from his mouth. Fishing is without a doubt a scientific practice, but if anyone tells you that luck has nothing to do with it, they're lying. That wasn't just luck. That was all the luck I didn't have on the previous twenty-plus fishing trips that saw me coming home empty handed. And suddenly, I didn't mind coming up short all those times before, nor did I mind my soaking wet clothes, or the fact that I hadn't eaten the entire day. As I stretched out the tape, he measured forty inches from lip to the fork in his tail and would have probably measured another five inches to the tip of his tail (my mini tape measure only stretched out to forty inches). I hefted him up to feel his weight, which I would have estimated between forty and fifty pounds. Sitting him down in my lap, having to triangle my legs around him to hold his massive and powerful body semi still, I focus on removing the hook. I reach into his mouth, all the way past my elbow. His mouth was wide enough to swallow a cantaloupe if we was so inclined, and because I couldn't reach the hook without putting my fingers dangerously close to the thick teeth bull reds have in the back of their throat for smashing crabs, I cut the leader just above the hook. Being a salt water fish, the hook would soon corrode and fall out on its own. It's here, at this point, that I struggle to take the moment in. It's fleeting, as most magical moments are. One minute I am admiring this massive animal that can only be seen after many hours of patience and determination, and the next, he slides away, back into the mysterious depths he emerged from. Maybe I would see him again someday. Shortly after releasing the bull red I set out for, I pack my gear. That moment and that feeling had been waiting to surface for a long time. I decided there was no better way to conclude that fishing trip. Besides, I would be hard pressed to catch another fish better than that old boy. But then again, I hear there is a fairly nice jetty in Galveston Bay...