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| ** | “Look, it’s like a lake,’ said Fred as he and Paul swung their 22-foot open fisherman around the south end of Anclote Key and into the perfectly flat Gulf of Mexico. “It’s too slick. Can’t catch anything on day’s like this, especially with these bath water temperatures.’ “Let’s shoot for 70 feet,’ said Paul, “got some hot numbers due west of here.’ |
“Shouldn’t we try a few of these short rocks first?’ “Nah, water’s too warm. The “groups’ have all moved out deeper by now.’
With eager anticipation Paul punched in the coordinates, aiming their vessel for those magical rocks some 20-miles straight out. “Did ya bring any Dramamine,’ Fred joked. “ “Boy, it sure is flat today.’ “And it’s gonna get super hot,’ cautioned Paul. “I really don’t care, so long as I’m hauling in the big ones!’ “Well, relax Freddie, we’ve got another 47-minutes to go.’
Why is it the trip out to that first spot always takes so long? Those last 10 microseconds seemed to be dipped in molasses. At last, the loran’s course computer showed 3-tenths of a mile to destination.
“Turn on the scratcher,’ demanded Fred. “Looks like a desert!’ “Just hang in there Fred my boy, we’re looking for a small ledge that starts right where the rocks meet the sand. It’s a perfect spot for the big blacks.’ Sure enough, as the loran hit double zeros, there was the break and much harder bottom. “Wow, look at that fish show,’ enthused Fred. “Calm down, that’s just a stack of baitfish. Should be some grouper in the neighborhood.’
“Get the marker jug ready Freddy,’ said Paul peering intently at the busy chart recorder. “Here we go.... Look at those grouper!’ “I don’t see what you’re talking about, Paul.’ “See all those little pencil marks along the ledge?’ “Yes.’ “Well, that, my boy, is what grouper look like on the recorder,’ explained Paul. Cruising on well beyond their marker, the machine stopped scratching out the short straight strokes on the bottom. “I’m gonna make a “180’ so get ready to toss the jug.’ “Just give me the word, and it’s gone,’ said Fred.
Easing back over the same set of rocks, the recorder started to etch out even more grouper marks. “Throw it Fred!’
As the line unraveled off the jug, Paul swung the boat around to go back to make sure we marked the appropriate spot. “Right on the money,’ shouted Paul. “Look at those fish! Let’s anchor.’ “There’s no wind,” observed Fred, “how do ya know which way we’ll hang?’ “Well, we’ve got a pretty good incoming tide, so we’ll probably need to set up on the current instead of the wind.’ “And ya don’t need a lot of scope, do ya?’ “Freddy, just get up on the bow. I’ll tell you how much line to put out.’
Paul made the turn, positioning their boat just behind the jug. Then, he made a beeline for the marker, guesstimating the anchor heading. “Okay Fred, let her go.’ Slipping the “hook’ over the bow, it sort of drifted down into the slick waters below. Paul touched the engine into reverse briefly, giving the vessel a slight backwards momentum. Paying out line, Fred stood ready to cleat it off. “Snug it up,’ commanded Paul. As the anchor line tightened, the boat swung a few degrees off the spot. “Wanna re-anchor,’ offered Fred. “Probably... but let’s see what we’re over.’ This time the recorder started drawing not only grouper marks on the bottom, but also a mass of fish near the surface.
“Hey, look Paul... its a bunch of chicken dolphin,’ said Fred staring down into the depths. “That’s what I love about June grouper digging,’ said Paul, “you can always count on a few of these very welcome visitors.’ “Quick, cut up some of those sardines.’ Slipping small pieces of cut bait over the stern, they chummed the green and gold, swift moving fish to the boat. Putting the same small pieces of cut sardines on lighter spinning outfits, Fred and Paul flipped the baits right into the hungry melee behind the boat. “Got one,’ shouted Fred. “Just keep it in the water,’ commanded Paul. “That one will draw all the others.’ They’re not the smartest fish, are they,’ observed Fred. “Yeah, but they sure are delicious.’
Putting a healthy bunch of “Mahi-Mahi’ in to the cooler, the duo next grabbed for their stout boat rods. “Now it’s grouper time,’ said Fred, paraphrasing the Miller Beer commercial. “Just shut up and catch a grouper,’ chided Paul. Easing the tail half of a Spanish sardine down the to bottom, Fred shouted “Darn... I’m already in the rocks.’ “Just keep tension on him. He’ll eventually come out.’
It wasn’t 20 seconds when the “rock’ Fred thought he was hung up in started to move. “That’s no rock... you’ve got a big grouper,’ shouted Paul. Rearing back, Fred began hoisting and reeling... pulling the gag steadily away from the security of the rocks below. The outsized fish finally realized that it was now in danger and plunged sharply downward. As it did, the Fred’s rod was pulled all the way down to the gunnel. “Whoa,’ he shouted, regaining his composure and equilibrium. This time Fred began a methodical pull up and reel down technique, gradually disengaging the massive gag from it’s lair below.
“My gosh, that one’s got to go 20-pounds,’ said a very impressed Paul. “What was all that stuff about not being able to catch fish on a slick, hot June day,’ demanded Fred. “I stand corrected, Freddy. Now hand me a sardine... it’s my turn!’
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