Change of seasons means change of species

By Collins Doughtie
Contributor

Over the years at about this time, I almost always mention in my columns about the October/November underwater “traffic jam” where fish, shrimp, crabs and just about every other saltwater creature is on the move. Some are heading south, others north, east or west, and collisions between these groups are not only possible but pretty much 100% guaranteed. With that said, this phenomenon is in full swing, and with both the water and air cooling down, it was time for me to get out there to see what was shaking. As hot as it was this summer, I fished less than any year I can remember. I think that first cool streak gave me an itch, and like any itch, I just had to scratch it.

Uncovering my 16’ skiff called the Marsh Monkey, I checked to make sure it would even fire up, which it did, and decided to give sheepshead a go. Calling my long-time friend George Norton, it didn’t take much convincing and he was all in. Luckily, the day before we planned to go it was warm, and at low tide, I went in search of fiddler crabs, a sheepshead’s go-to favorite treat. With mid-calf rubber boots on, I slogged through knee high marsh grass, and there they were by the hundreds. Herding them to more open terrain, it didn’t take long to snatch several dozen large males and females. Now, if only the sheepshead were inshore yet. I told George there were no guarantees. More of a winter species, all we could do was give it our best shot and hope that pinfish, small black sea bass and other nuisance nibbles didn’t eat all our crabs before a sheepshead even had a chance to crunch one.

Meeting up, we headed to a spot that I have caught some of my largest sheepies over the years and anchored up. Down went our baits and nibble, nibble and nothing. The small bait stealers were still around, but maybe a black striped monster would beat these pests to the punch. After catching several small sea bass, I had my doubts whether our targeted species had made it inshore yet. Just as that thought crossed my mind, I heard the drag on George’s reel screaming, and I mean really screaming. Turning around, his rod was bent double and with all sorts of structure around, that fish was doing its darndest to get to any piece of structure that might chaff through George’s line. This way, that way and everywhere in-between, that fish gave George all he could handle, but after a lengthy battle, I saw the fish. It was monster sheepshead, easily over 10 or 11 pounds, and when I finally netted it, only the head would fit in the net! In his mid 70’s, George regressed a good 60 years. Using a saying my dad often pulled out in similar situations, George looked like a mule eating briars. We moved spots a couple more times, and in all, caught at least two dozen sheepshead, releasing all but one. That monster he caught had enough meat to feed a family of five two nights in a row.

Thinking that was going to be my only trip that week, my phone rings, and this time it was Wexford Plantation resident Jon Harrigan. He asks me if I would fish with him in a Wexford Bull Redfish Tournament, but the only day he could fish was that Friday since he was scheduled to leave town the following day. It had been easily six or seven years since I had fished for these giant redfish because when bull redfish school up in the fall, that is their mating period, and I prefer to let them do their thing without hooks hanging from their jaw. Looking at the forecast, it couldn’t have been any worse. It was a full moon (typically terrible for fishing), the tides were huge at 10 ½ feet and the wind was howling out the north between 15-25mph. If that wasn’t enough, the water looked like chocolate milk. I told Jon we would be lucky to catch anything, but we would give it a try.

The only place that might be out of the wind and waves was the Broad River Bridge. The tide was ripping so fast it was hard to even anchor. Using our largest weights so our bait would hit the bottom, the only bites we got were a couple of small sharks. It just wasn’t going to happen, so we reeled everything in, and I went to a spot further down the sound that I hadn’t fished in eons. Anchored, in went our baits and within seconds, Jon brought in a nice bull red that measured 35”. Pretty much average, we released it, and just about the time we were about to give up, Jon’s rod bent over and this fish was no slouch. Once in the boat, it was long and super fat, way bigger than the first and measured 40” long. I have yet to hear if it was in the running, but between these two trips, I am hot to trot, and best of all, I will never have a drop of sweat.

Collins Doughtie is a 60-year resident of the Lowcountry, is a sportsman, graphic artist and lover of nature. collinsdoughtie@icloud.com