Saltwater fishing is a secretive business. Should you doubt this, try finding hot new GPS coordinates in your local newspaper's outdoor page. Sure, every once in a while some condescending outdoor writer will run a story called "Secrets of the Pros" or "Time-Proven Techniques Revealed." Sorry, but despite the cryptic titles and clandestine implications, it's nothing but a bunch of overblown hype. If all that stuff was really secret they wouldn't be telling everyone in Creation. So what's the difference this time? When it comes to the following, you can tell anybody you want to. No one's going to believe you, anyway.
So, the trick is to use music to establish and recall the most effective tempo. For reasons unknown to mortal anglers, television theme songs work best. The toe-tapping rhythm of the "Leave it to Beaver" theme is great for working topwaters in the late-spring and early-summer, when trout and redfish are active and aggressive. Conversely, the much slower beat of "Alfred Hitchcock" is deadly in winter, when the fish are lethargic. When skipping a spoon on the surface, stick with "The Beverly Hillbillies" and "Hawaii Five-O." Shrimp tails should be bumped on the bottom to the beat of either "Flipper" or "The Addams Family." For more possibilities, consult your local listings.
Instead, it's much better to urinate on the man o' war. It doesn't do anything to ease the physical pain, but it sure makes you feel a lot better about the situation in general.
Rail-huggers produce sounds, substances and obscenities that could only be conceived by Satan himself. Furthermore, it's a frightening fact that prolonged efforts to keep the eyes fixed on the horizon invariably result in 360-degree head rotation. Though I'd much rather not, I can vividly remember several white-knuckle offshore outings upon which it would have been necessary to get considerably better before being able to die. No wonder, then, that we've become so comfortable with expressions like "devilish seas," "sicker than the devil" and "rough as hell."
Well-adjusted people will spend the better part of an hour picking away at even the most hopelessly tangled bird's nest and never utter a word of complaint. On the other hand, those with dangerous psychological tendencies go straight for the fillet knife, all the while cursing profusely and blaming the incident on either their fishing partner, inferior centrifugal brake systems or errant breezes. If, as a test, criminal psychologists would hand suspected serial killers and mass murderers a bait-casting outfit rigged with a featherweight balsa wood plug and instruct them to cast directly into a strong oncoming wind, we could save a lot of taxpayers' money Just a thought.
They're scared to death. We've all heard of "nervous water." Considering that even the water is nervous, you can imagine how a mullet must feel. If being eaten alive was on your mind 24 hours a day, you'd be jumpy, too. It took many, many years to figure this one out. Thanks to a less-than-complimentary coach, I grew up thinking "mullet" were actually junior high school football players. Considering the way our team was regularly slaughtered, it wasn't a difficult theory to accept.
The biologist who named the cobia, wahoo, robalo and mako obviously had fine taste in watercraft. Who, after all, would want to spend hard-earned cash to run offshore in a 25-foot "Black Drum"?
Give me a break. If I hear one more fishing show host say, "Nice fish!" I'm going to hire one of those aforementioned serial killers. Or, better yet, give the billy club to the fish.
The moral here? Don't continue to fish while an electrical storm is approaching, even if the fish are biting like drug-crazed piranhas. Do something safer, like playing chicken with a supertanker, or maybe going for a morning swim in your chum line.
Fishermen have a regrettable reputation as stretchers of both the truth and the size of conquered fish. (Thus, the term "fish story.") As a result, when a victorious angler tells his tale, the listener automatically deducts a minimum of 25 percent from the reported weight of the fish and 10 percent from its length and girth. Therefore, a bona fide 10-pound, 32-inch speckled trout is immediately reduced to a 7-1/2-pound, 27.2-incher. Adding inches to the ruler and poundage to the scale is not the answer. Doing so will only be used against you as "proof" of your lack of integrity. Sooner or later, it will also get you arrested, because you'll forget about it. The game warden, unfortunately, will not. So, left with no socially acceptable option, the only alternative is to "verbally compensate" (not to be confused with lying).
The only way to determine the impact of this or any other supposedly effective fishing practice is to give it an objective test in an actual field situation. In that spirit, a close companion and I recently experimented with different presentations of identical topwater plugs. Before making a cast, he would say, "Now, for your qualified perusal, I respectfully submit to you this 5/8-ounce blue-and-silver broken-back floater/diver." I, on the other hand, would holler, "Here it comes, you no-good, mud-rustling, spot-tailed shrimp-suckers!" Regardless of presentation, we experienced the same results. Neither one of us got a strike all day. Illustrations by Mark Mantell
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