Power

I love my little 15.

I say that because I have to.  I mean I do love it... though I was going to trade up to a 25 except the weight made me nervous that I'd sink my boat.  The Battle Skiff has a short transom and the current breed of 4 strokes weigh A LOT.

My hull is rated for a 30 hp tiller but the Coast Guard required weight limit sticker (that they stuck to the inside of the transom and then fired 4 rivets through to make it either, A. look official, or B. conform to some insane law that requires a boat's weight limits to be permanently affixed to the hull and if it's a sticker please rivet the corners anyway....uh, what?), says that I probably shouldn't hang a 4 stroke 25 on the boat.  Point being that a new 25 hp is 155- 190 lbs and I am already dancing the freeboard waltz.

What I am getting at is that "Can" and "May" mean totally different things.  Basically, I "may" put a 30 hp motor on my boat but I "cannot".
So then what?

In order to run in skinny water I made a transom riser.  I could have just bought a jack plate except for two reasons.
1. In an effort to keep this thing as light as possible,  I don't have a battery to run the hydraulics of the jackplate on my boat
2. Just about every Jackplate has an "offset" that places the motor further away from the transom in order to give the prop better water to grip.  The offset means that the boat would be too long and thus, I can't close my garage door.... ergo, my boat might be get stolen...sheeesh.

I was going to have this "Riser" built, but finally decide to just do it myself.  The finished riser is two plates of 1/4" 6061 T6 Aluminum plate sandwiching some UHMW.  With a little work I found a local supplier for plate aluminum.  Another stop at my friendly neighborhood plastic shop and the hardware store for some stainless steel bolts, nuts and washers and away I went.

I originally shot for a 3" rise, thinking that it would be too much but knowing it would be relatively easy to cut more off than to sell myself short on the front side.   The 3" rise turned out to be a little too much.  I was grabbing air at Wide Open Throttle (WOT).  Before I chopped it down,  I added an SE Sport 200 Hydrofoil.  A Whale Tail is what the dissenters call it.  I chose not to bolt through the Anti-Ventilation plate and buy the "Sport Clip" which allows you to affix the foil without drilling through the motor...

My results are thus...
With the hydrofoil the the hole-shot (time to get the boat on plane) was reduced but so was top end speed.  Plus the deal breaker was that the bolt-on sport clip pushed a pile of water and I wasn't cool with that.  I unbolted it and and decided to knock an inch off.

Meanwhile, $12.95 from Amazon got me a cheap tachometer that told me if I was running in the optimal RPM range.  From everything I could read on the matter the goal is to balance, hole shot, with top end speed and make sure that you are running your RPMs in the upper end of the suggested zone.  My motor called for 5000-6000 RPMs at WOT. 

With the whale tail removed and the riser chopped down 3/4" to put the motor  2 1/4" higher than stock, I was hitting 5600 RPM's and a top speed of 25 MPH.

The only thing left to consider was the prop.  Every forum I read online kept suggesting that a dialed in prop was critical, and they all suggested the same guy to get the job done.  I assembled my data and shot an email off to Ken at Propgods.com.  The next morning my inbox held the detailed answer from Ken, who not only responded promptly and thoroughly, but did it even though he didn't actually sell the prop that I needed.

Following his advice I ordered a 9 1/4 x 10 cupped prop and waited.

When the box arrived, I swapped out the prop, trailered to the river, dropped the boat in, fired up the 15 and found improved hole shot, top end still at 25 mph and a  RPMs at 5820.

When I got home I took out my drill, fired two new holes on the transom and bolted the 15 in place.

Dialed in.

Spring

It was one of those days. 

I even Googled it to make sure. 

High 60's low 70's, just a puff of breeze.  I knew the water was clear and I knew I had to go. 

So I did.

The dog kept looking at me.  I have a weakness.  I can't idly stand by when I know I can make somebody's life a little better.  The dog looked at me and I thought..."You can stay at home and sit by the window and watch the day go by or you can join me and sit in a boat and watch the day go by".

Obviously a boat is waaaay better than a window.

So, he jumped in the truck and we drove down the road.

I launched the Battle Skiff and we headed south instead of north.
I stood on his leash so he wouldn't jump over the gunwale at every goose or mallard that we passed.

When we got to the channel just west of the flat, I powered down, kicked the motor up and started poling.

We got into position near a dip in the flat that I know carp like to inhabit.  I dropped both rocks and waited only a short time before the first fish arrived.  I pitched and waited. Pitched and retrieved.  No dice.

This was not my eater. 

I stood on the poling platform with my 6 wt in the "ready position"...waiting.

A fish swam up from behind and when I turned my head to scan the water behind me it left a telltale puff and was gone.

I pulled the rocks and let the slight breeze push us around while I stood on the platform.  Watching.

The dog walked fore and aft, leaning starboard and port.  It was like a poling platform training day for me, constantly shifting my weight to allow the dog to do what dogs do.

The breeze puffed from the west and then the north and then from I don't know where.  We almost drifted in a "Z".  Not enough "oooomph" to make us go anywhere specific.  We settled into a holding pattern and I spotted a cruising fish.  I pitched but the weight of the dumbell eyes kicked the cast too far left, I re-pitched too late.

The dog liked to study the bubbles and mud from the fish that got too close to the boat before bolting.

One fish, a nice heavy golden specimen, was finning right toward me.  I led him by 2 feet and the fly sank perfectly.  When the fish was close, I started to nudge it back, the carp tracked it for 4 feet, inhaled and when I felt the tension I strip set.

The weight of the hook pricking the mouth of the fish was affirming, but it didn't stick.

 Damn it.

You can say they are ugly, you can say they are invasive, you can say they are trash fish.

You can't say they are easy to hook with a fly.

Not around here anyway.

Thor...boat dog

Puff

Dog: "They are jumping right over here!"

"...and over here"

sliding by

Bogey

Those eyes say..."you really, really suck at this."

Canadian SeaGull launches off.

Florida

Spring Break when you are 43 means something totally different than spring break when you are 20. 

My daughters, 7 and 11 were off from school this week and the family boarded a Frontier flight (we flew free on vouchers issued from the Mexico debacle from November), and this time I brought my rod tube on board, without apology, and pulled it off with no questions asked.  As we have for a number of years, we flew into Fort Myers and drove down to Marco Island.

It appears 20 year olds on spring break don't go to Marco Island, which is why I go to Marco Island.

I didn't bring my work lap-top and when my work cell phone battery died on day 2 I didn't bother to plug it back in.  It was tennis with my wife, ice cream with the kids and sunset cocktails with the in-laws.

And a day of Tarpon fishing.

I spent a morning wading the Tigertail Beach lagoon but the recent cold front left it void of fish.  I fished the jetty on the south side and despite seeing 3 pompano caught, I was blanked.  I stopped by a local boat shop and inquired about fly guides.  The guy at the counter said, "yeah call OC...Captain Drew".  He gave me Capt. Drew's number and when I got back to the condo I gave him a call.  He said he had a family fishing trip booked for Wednesday that he "might" be able to get another guide to take it.  He said he'd give me a call back.

The call came about an hour later, he was "in".

The plan was to meet at a gas station on Marco on Wednesday morning.  I was without wheels and he agreed to shuttle me to the launch in Goodland FL, about 15 minutes south and the entrance to the 10,000 Islands.

At the prescribed time on Wednesday morning, Captain Drew pulled in for gas and I jumped into his Tacoma (boat in tow).

I'd put him at 27 or 28 years old.  Young and eager.  I like that.

He said he knew a spot where the tarpon were laid up and we'd likely get some shots.

We pulled off the dock, idled through the manatee zone, and jumped up on plane.
I'm sure if I spent as much time in the 10, 000 Islands as he did, the labyrinth of creeks and mangroves would seem less labyrinthy...but if would have told me to steer the boat home (without electronics) I would have been in tough shape.

He cornered the skiff into a mangrove bay that looked just like every other bay we had seen, cut the motor and jumped up on the poling platform.  I took the casting deck with his 11 wt (I only brought 8's) and fired off a few test cats to get a feel for the rod, line and fly.

It was 7:40 AM.

At about 8:15 AM he spotted his second laid up tarpon, I pitched and the fish ate...I strip set and the fly popped out.  To give you some perspective, these weren't babies.  Averaging 100-150 lbs these giants seem like more of a threat than a quarry.  They pull into this channel and settle into the bay to rest on their migration north.  A number of them exploded on the surface as the day progressed, a few charged hard for no apparent reason, leaving a thick wake in the shallow water.  Others simply floated up to the surface, took a breath and sunk back down.  The water was tinged with green making visibility tough but it was better than it had been for months, or so said Capt Drew.

We spent the day poling and looking, peering and hoping.  I can't remember how many fish we saw, threw flies at or simply lost sight of.  It occurred to me at one point that 100 pound fish shouldn't be that hard to find or that difficult to see once we located them.   It was steady a steady and baffling hunt.  Unnerving and exhilarating at the same time.

The early grab would be the last eat that I had from a Tarpon that day but the hunting action was constant and when things would slow down for 10 or 15 minutes a giant silver king would blow up 300 yards away and keep us on our toes.

By late afternoon we made our way deep into a corner of the bay when the finger mullet started freaking out.  I took a long shot at a cruising shark that followed but didn't eat because I failed to keep the fly in it's zone of vision.  I was watching the mullet explode around me when I small school blew up a 10 yards off the bow.  I false cast and pitched into the settling water, stripped three times and then watched a hole open up under my fly.  The jack turned and I set.

The backing screamed off the reel and I felt like giggling.  I've always liked jacks.  I have only ever caught some 10" fish off the beach but I deeply admire their hunger and strength.  This one was a little over 10 inches.

In the course of the battle the jack put the 11 wt into a deep arc, made me tighten the drag and kept lining a laid up tarpon 80 yards out.  A saltwater gong-show.

I know that Capt. Drew was hoping I'd land the jack and get a shot at the tarpon but I was having too much fun to worry about a 100 lb tarpon.  When we finally got it on the Boga-grip it weighed in at 16 lbs.

I love jacks.

I had been standing on the deck for 8 hours when I asked Capt. Drew what the plan was.  He replied, "What time do you have to be back?", I said, "Dinner in Goodland with the family at 5:30".

He said, "With the tide down I know where we might be able to see some snook or redfish..."

OK!

Before it was over I had shots at Trapon, Jacks, Snook, Redfish and Black Drum.  Capt. Drew fished me for close to 10 hours and I had a great time.  I've been to Andros where the guides started looking at their watches at 4:15.  Not the case here.  I think he would have fished me until dark.
I like fishing with guides whose love of fishing supersedes the time clock or the 8 hour window printed on their brochures...such is the case with Capt. Drew.

We got back to the dock at 5:45.

If you are ever down in Naples or Marco Island and would like to fish the 10,000 islands I can highly recommend Capt Drew and his company Mangrove Maniacs.

shallow draft boats

Pelican

Grackle (?) attacks Osprey

Mullet...the other white meat

natural chum...

walk the straight and narrow

Bike to the beach

Beach Still Life

Morning

Tarpon Water

Jacks are awesome

Capt. Drew on the release.

Carp Patrol (with backup)

I headed back out to the flats under high sun and more wind that I wanted.  MK joined me which was nice since it's way easier to fish with two guys in the boat, the boat poles cleaner and the another set of eyes on the water is worth it's weight in gold.

We poked around the upwind side of the flat and then gradually dropped into the wind whipped side where expansive muds were in evidence and we unknowingly blew up fish everywhere.  In places we were in less than 2' of water but still we couldn't spot them. 

We tried fishing blind for a few half hearted minutes and then circled around to the clear water where we spotted a fish, gave chase and MK got off a couple of shots before it vanished.

We learned a few things during our daylong tour of the mudflats...
1. There are a ton of carp on this flat in late march.
2. They are schooled and making mud which makes them really tough to see.
3. There are some smaller fish in the muds, drum perhaps?
4. we have a ways to go before we have this dialed in.

More to come.

Carp Patrol

I was thinking about trout, then thinking about carp.  I went back to trout and then right back to carp.  I pulled the Battle Skiff out of the garage, threw in my 8 wt and headed to the river.  I was all alone at the launch.  The river was looking cold and the ice caked in the shaded parts indicated that it probably was not a great day to get wet.

It felt good to be afloat again.  I fired up the Yamaha and stood straddling the rear seat holding the extended tiller handle I just built.  I gave the grip a twist and damning all the torpedoes...blasted upstream.  It's been awhile since I've been up here and I was watching the water close for new wood or shallow spots.  I thought I remembered the channel, but soon found myself on a giant mud flat in scarcely a foot of water.  I carved "S" turns keeping the prop as high as possible before dropping into a trough and straightening out the plane.

I dropped into a slow idle upstream, scanning the shallow sand bottom for signs of carp.  I ran about 1/2 of a mile up one bank and then down the other.  Nothing.  Back-tracking downstream I went the other way around the island down to where a spring dumps into the widening in the river.

I found the carp.

The downwind side of this section of the river was teaming with fish.  They were possibly feeding but certainly moving, as the water went from gin clear to chocolate milk.  I estimate there were perhaps hundreds of fish in here.  I backtracked and got upwind of the pod (easily a 100 yards wide, this pod of fish).  I dropped the anchor and slowly worked my way down wind into the school, trying to find the edge between clear and stained water, hoping to anchor upwind of the edge and cast to heads moving out of the mud into clear water.  I

It was a nice theory but it didn't work.  I saw mud boils when I got to close but I never saw a fish move through clear water.

I eventually gave up and motored down river, where, after poling around, I found another pod of fish on the downwind side, making the same kind of mess.  I tried to pull my stunt off here too, but again I was foiled.

It looks like I need a new idea.

Early Season Day 2 - less bushwhacking

One half of a mile.  That was all that was left of the little stream.  We could say we fished it from the source to the confluence...all on opening weekend.  It seemed a shame to leave it undone.

I've determined that part of the reason that fish exist in this creek is that you CANNOT get to them.  The bottom is treacherous and the banks are impossible and the stream is a jumble of downed wood.

But still, we tried.

On a positive note, we saw fish.  There was one in particular that I spotted before it spooked.  It held in little over 12" of water and I would have missed it if its shadow didn't offer a mirrored shape of the fish.  It reminded me of bonefishing when the fish are so well camouflaged that the easiest thing to spot is their shadow.  Instead of attempting a cast (which would have invariably been cut short by the bank side brush) I opted for my camera.  I screwed on my polarizing filter and blasted away.  A few minutes went by before JP showed up on the opposite bank and I suggested that he try to get a picture too.

He was almost in position when the fish and the shadow evaporated into a puff of silt.

The story of our day...

The 2015 Opener - Bushwhacked

January over, February gone.  Many look to the robin or the groundhog for news of spring, I look to the trout.

JP and I spoke a few times over the past couple of days and decided to hit the small trout stream nearest our homes for the opener of the trout season.  It might have been fine to just hot spot from known holes and take what was given, but instead we opted for a full length tour.  We drove two vehicles and dropped one at a bridge access before taking the second to the headwaters, a section neither of us had ever seen.

For the first time in months I was overdressed and ended up stuffing gloves in my pack and leaving an extra layer or two behind in the car. 

It ended up being 2 miles of hiking.  The first mile crunching through the snow next to a mostly iced over trickle surrounded with gnarly undergrowth.  I know that no small part of that mile was spent on my knees trying to steer a 9' fly rod down a rabbit path. 

In retrospect, I think that finding the source of things is a good idea.  On the lower reaches of this spring creek, the water flows crystal clear through prairie land.  The channels, undercuts and watercress offer safe haven for more trout than you would expect.  The culmination of these upper end trickles and rivulets, seepages and springs form a sweet little creek.  But, to come away with the "knowledge of the source" we paid dearly in what a friend of mine recently called "Brush Rage".
The first thing my wife said to be when I got home was, "Are those scratches on your neck?", followed by, "Is that blood on your ear?"

So we came and we saw and we soaked up the sun and cursed and bled, we let our hands hold cork instead of shovels and we almost got skunked.

We were 100 yards from my truck at the end of our long slog, when my line came tight and I landed a 12-13" brown. 

There was no small amount of irony in all of that. 

But then again, perhaps that fish needed to be earned and maybe it was attracted to the blood and elbow grease on my fly.

ways and means

aaaaaaahhhhhh!

Spring movement

Lunch yesterday (for somebody), Muddler today.

Headwaters

Don't forget to look around

This one held still for the shot...

Bushwhacking

upper reaches

The end.