Low and behold, I’m spending my winter/spring transition in the salt. Captain James “Grand Poobah” Snyder (a.k.a. Commander-In-Chief, Primal Fly South), is my host. Before we begin I’ll note for the record that the ambiance down here is first-class through and through (or maybe GP and his sidekick Sissy “The Brains AND the Beauty” Sessanna are just happy I do my own dishes). Either way, it’s nothing but a steaming pile of tasty Sunshine State goodness. And the weather ain’t too shabby either.
The first week was filled with nothing but work, and despite a holiday shortened week Friday was welcomed with open arms. Then this morning we embarked on a critical first mission: find out if all the fish in Tampa Bay were killed by last month’s cold snap. We are now happy to report they were not. While we didn’t spot any “spots” all day, we did have a couple hour period around the tide change where we chalked up some serious sea trout counts. Adding to the fun – the boats around us weren’t even snagging debris, and at least one of our crew (cough cough) was throwing flies to boot.
Yes, the previously mentioned devout fly tosser is yours truly. Even sadder than it seems, Captain Snyder (a.a.k.a. Trout Lichtenstein) has gone from slaying the freshwater derivative of Salmo trutta morpha trutta with a fine 4-weight and size 20 Jujubaetis to slinging jig-headed plastic with something called a “spinning rod.” I watched this wretched device in action with my own two eyes – while it can be used to catch fish I find the methodology uncivilized…actually borderline criminal. The fish I caught were generally smaller, and I did mar up Captain “Should I Stop For Some Live Shrimp Before We Hit The Ramp” Snyder’s boat deck with my dry-rotted wading booties. Nevertheless, my heart remains pure.
Tune in next week, where we debate whether the stuff Captain James “My Boat Is Pink…How Bout That Bitches” Snyder coats on his plastics before each and every cast is called Lunker Lotion, Bottled Bait Breath, or just plain ol’ cheating.
MG signing off (to keep casting flies, like a good boy should)