Hunting
Opening day is the one of the days we await all year long. Its the time when we gather family, friends, dogs, favorite shotguns, and trade in our everyday lives for the woods. If we’re lucky the day falls on a weekend and, we don’t need to make special arrangements; but if it’s during the week, many of us succumb to unforeseen illnesses. The country’s gross national product might drop a bit, but it’ll rebound. If we miss the opener, though, there is a good chance that our spirits won’t.
Belling the dogs and walking through our coverts is the start of something special. Bird hunting ain’t all that it’s cracked up to be; it’s much, much more.
As school kids count down the days until summer vacation, bird hunters count down the days until our seasons begin. Reloading shells is a great way to kill a few long winter days. We’ll make sure that we’ve got enough l ounce #9’s in 20-gauge to get us through even the worst string of misses that we’ve ever encountered. Then we’ll load a few more to pass around to our friends who haven’t yet tried them.
If we don’t have time to reload, then we’ll order a couple of flats of our favorite shells from an ammunition company. The nice thing about making a call like that is we usually engage in conversation with a fellow bird hunter. If you don’t know what I mean, then try having a meaningful conversation with someone at the end of the phone line when you order some kitchen glasses or a new pair of pants.
Dog work is a year-round endeavor. Like us, bird hunting runs in their blood. After the season ends we’ll give our dogs a well-earned break. But when mud season draws to a close we’ll start conditioning programs. Whether it’s running through coverts, field trialing, or roading them behind a 4-wheeler – we’re looking to help shake off their extra winter weight. Training seminars are great for dogs that have picked up bad habits that seem impossible to break. We pour through dog supply company catalogs and magazines for replacement gear, for new products, and for tips and tricks.
On a hot summer day we’ll place our waxed cotton jackets, vests, and chaps in the direct sun and let them heat up to perfection. While we’re waiting we’ll boil a can of reproofing in a pot of water. When the wax is soft and fluid we’ll buff the fabric to a nice finish. Well-worn areas get extra attention, and while we’re at it, it’s also a great time to waterproof our boots.
Some time around the middle of August we’ll see a new development in our own routines, and it’s oftentimes a reduction of food. To our family’s surprise we pass on the extra helping of dry-rub ribs and limit the number of scoops of ice cream at a backyard barbecue. Add, or increase, exercise programs and by the time opening day rolls around hopefully we’ll more closely resemble a running back than the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Dropping a few pounds and getting strong means only one thing: we can hunt longer without fatigue.
Fine-tuning our reflexes comes by popping caps at the skeet, trap, and sporting clays courses. Except for the first few rounds where we miss a bunch of gimmes, breaking clay is far more fun than pull-ups. After a round or two our reflexes come back. Shooting is like riding a bicycle, and in no time flat we’re back on track. When backyard songbirds flush from the bird bath in a left-to-right flight pattern we sometimes swing our empty hands to our cheeks. My family used to chuckle when they hear me say, “bang” but they understand. They’re even starting to do it, too.
My first day in the woods is always in Canada in mid-September, and on that day time stands still. I don’t sleep much the night before, and I awake without an alarm clock. A day without bird hunting is a gloomy day indeed, but on opening day the sky is the limit. I wonder how the dogs will work, if there are birds in my favorite coverts, if the new coverts are as good as they look. Dogs always seem to know that difference between opening day and general field work. They know it’s their turn to shine, and they willingly rise to the challenge.
It’s been a long time since I missed an opening day. Indian summer rules the roost on most opening days, and the best part is during the morning or later in the afternoon. Midday temperatures are often hot, and when combined with high humidity even the fittest hunters bog down. Dogs that normally shy away from water flop down in any stream, seep, pond, or mud hole. Just before I complain about the heat, I think about my quail hunting friends down south and my pheasant hunting compadres out west. They know what heat is all about more than me, but that doesn’t stop them from getting in a few licks. Tropical storms or hurricanes sometimes drop tremendous amounts of water, downed trees, or silt in the coverts. I’ve never seen a first frost before opening day, and the woods are chockablock with foliage. I’ll only get a glimpse of a flushing grouse as my friends and I break up a brood from the spring. Young of the year are not as wily as the elder statesmen, but the leaves and the branches keep us from getting off many quality shots. Woodcock are a bit more predictable, and if we move our shotgun through the tree tops after the bird has disappeared we’ll drop enough birds to make the dogs happy. I’ve never come close to filling a bag limit on opening day. Come to think of it, I’ve never much cared.
Opening day is about something quite different. It’s about the tremendous feeling of possibility. It’s the start of a magical season, one full of hope, opportunity, and certainly redemption. We trade in work clothes for brush pants and boots. There are no offices where we go, just coverts and fields. Meetings with colleagues are replaced by a day spent with family and friends. The lunch room is no longer on the second floor; it’s by the river or on the tailgate of a muddy truck loaded with dog boxes. Folks might be late for meetings, but they’re never late for opening day. And it’s coming up. Like you, I can hardly wait.
This article originally appeared in the Fall 2012 edition of Ruffed Grouse Society.
Sporting Travel
Quail Hunting is a treasured tradition in the Red Hills
Somewhere between the morning mist rising from the lake at False Dawn and the skeins of Spanish moss drooping from the cypress trees is a space of air where the quail fly hard. When a covey erupts from the broomstraw not far from a staunch pointer’s nose, the birds waste no time in making their escape. If they can slip past the bicolor lespedeza that favors the moisture in the draws, then they’ll sail past the slash and loblolly pines, finding safe haven near the bigger pines and live oaks. Not much will hassle them there, certainly not a pack of pointers and setters or a pair of bird hunters. When the commotion caused by the shooting entourage passes, they’ll come out of hiding and resume feeding. Bobwhite quail are a staple in the Red Hills region of South Georgia and North Florida. They always have been and my guess is they always will be.
February 16th was a vastly different day for me. I exchanged a Bay State winter sea duck hunt in my back yard for a mixed bag of quail, bass and bream at northernFlorida’s Honey Lake Plantation Resort and Spa. Instead of slip-sliding on the ice in my driveway as I hooked my truck to the boat trailer, I was enjoying a light breeze and 60-degree weather. The similarity is that I had awakened well before dawn, waiting on my friends to awaken at a more civilized hour. That time delay made my pacing around the Hunting Lodge living room akin to a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. It’s a character trait that has been passed down to me, and it occurs only on days that begin with fishing or hunting.
I had time to kill and so I grabbed my camera and went for a walk. There was a winding boardwalk along 80-acre Honey Lake. The walkway zigged and zagged along the shore of what looked like a great bass lake. Steam rising from the surface reminded me of a cup of black coffee in my layout boat back home. I was in shirt -sleeves here, and just when I wished for that cup of coffee, I heard a loud boil erupt at the edge of some lily pads. It didn’t leave a dainty ring like a trout sipping a mayfly. It was a bulge of water made by a huge fish. The motion was deliberate, pre-meditated and perfectly orchestrated. I watched for a good 15 minutes but never saw another boil quite like it. That I did not was probably a good thing, or I would have missed breakfast and our morning hunt.
The morning light, a beautiful blend of pinks, blues and purples, illuminated the woods and waters, just as it has for more than a century.
The resort’s story began in 1896 when Melville Hanna of Cleveland, Ohio, purchased Pebble Hill Plantation in Thomasville, Georgia to escape the harsh mid-western winters. The Hanna family, among others, transformed old cotton plantations into magnificent winter retreats. They established a rich sporting legacy of quail, turkey and deer hunting, and equestrian activities galore. Golf and tennis were also introduced in the region, and an active social season finnly estabhshed the Red Hills as a premier winter destination for sporting families.
Over time, Hanna’s granddaughter, Elisabeth Pansy Ireland Poe, inherited Pebble Hill. An avid sportswoman, Miss Pansy created Honey Lake Plantation primarily for quail hunting and horseback riding. Before long the plantation was included in the prestigious Georgia-Florida Field Trial map. (Other marquee properties include Dixie, Pinckney Hill, Pinion Point and Avalon.)
Land that was home to Apalachee and Seminole Indians was soon hosting a veritable who’s-who of sporting dignitaries, including President William McKinley, Cornelius Vanderbilt, B.F. Goodrich and Alexander Graham Bell (who knew Bell was a hunter?). Whitneys, Mellons and Archibalds were frequent visitors, and notable sporting artists such as Ogden Pleissner and A. Lassell Ripley painted oils and watercolors after their morning hunts. In fact, the hunter featured in Ripley’s Turkey Shooting is none other than Pansy Poe who also commissioned the notable Clifton Sheppard to paint the museum-quality mural, Honey Lake Seminoles, which adorns nearly the entire upper wall in the Gathering Hall. Legend has it that following JFK’s assassination, Jackie Kennedy was secreted in the little cottage on the secluded shore of Honey Lake.
More recently, entrepreneur Bob Williamson expanded on the plantation’s rich outdoor legacy and created a not-to-be-missed sporting venue. Williamson’s remarkable life story (which he chronicles in his fascinating book, Miracle on Luckie Street) brought him in search of a plantation that would preserve an exquisite piece of land. Over a three-year period Williamson visited nearly three-dozen plantations, none of which resonated with him. But the first time that he toured Honey Lake Plantation, he knew he was home.
Bob Williamson’s original goal was to preserve and enhance the plantation’s grounds and waters. Entrepreneurs are seldom at rest, and little by little he began to expand upon the property’s rich sporting traditions.
Williamson brought in his son Jon to oversee the operation and to manage the wide array of sporting opportunities that now include hunting for quail, turkey, waterfowl and deer, horseback riding, fishing for trophy bass and bream, and kayaking. By adding a full resort and spa with conference center, the Williamsons now have a world-class venue that spares no detail when it comes to business, pleasure, or a combination of the two. In recent times, Honey Lake Plantation has served as a backdrop for weddings, celebrity sporting competitions and special culinary events.
A stately gate marks the entrance to the Gathering Hall, the plantation’s epicenter. To the left is the Equestrian Center, a newly built lodge overlooking a stable that’s home to a number of Tennessee walkers. Close by are two ponds, each chock-full of largemouth bass and big bream.
On that February morning I noticed the little lakeside chapel across the road bathed in golden sunlight. Bob Williamson transported the chapel’s iron bell and exquisite stained glass windows piece-by-piece to the plantation.
As I stood in the circular driveway by the Gathering Hall, a hunting vehicle rolled up, the likes of which I’d never seen on a quail plantation. It had a long front hood followed by a bench seat that staged up to a platform with four leather executive chairs. Underneath it all was a Suburban chassis and a Chevy 350 engine. There were two dog boxes in the bow and six more in the stem. Driven by hunt-master Rick Almarode, the vehicle contained a half-dozen English pointers and setters and a pair of English cockers.
Responding to my inquiring look, Rick said, “It’s called a Bird Buggy. We had it custom made. Check this out.”
Much of the buggy was self-explanatory style and comfort, with the captain’s chairs up high, coolers full of water and soft drinks, and bench seats, but there was a flip top on each side of the hood.
“Custom gun racks, velvet lined, protected by the steel lid,” he noted. “They’ll keep your shotguns safe from the bumps and clean from the dust.”
”What does one of these rigs cost?” I asked.
”You don’t want to know.”
There are other vehicles for carrying shooters through the quail courses at Honey Lake Plantation. Bird Buggy #2 is a custom-developed trailer pulled behind a Jeep and there are several Polaris six-wheelers, much like the de facto buggies on most plantations. A traditional option is to hunt on horseback and there is no finer Red Hills mount than a Tennessee walker. The horses are cool and calm, easy gated and demure in the line of fire. Ride in a vehicle or follow the dogs on horseback, take your pick.
During our stay we enjoyed the company of some truly interesting sportsmen. One was Steve Bartkowski, the former Atlanta Falcon quarterback. I remember the 197 4-75 pro draft like it was yesterday. I was in middle school playing linebacker and slot back when Bartkowski was drafted number one over Walter Payton. Seeing Bart walk down the front steps of the Gathering Hall wearing an orange vest and carrying a 20-gauge Beretta was about as much of a stunner for me then as it was when he beat out Sweetness back in the draft.
Another special guest was Bob Svetich, the former Pittsburg Pirate baseballer. My uncle lived in Pittsburg, and I remembered Bob and his twin brother Ron from the old Three Rivers Stadium days. Svetich now owns a company in Colorado called The Outdoor Group. His brother is a coach for the Colorado Rockies.
Sporting Classics Publisher Chuck Wechsler and Advertising Director Brian Raley had driven down from South Carolina with their vehicle loaded to the gills with fishing and hunting gear. Brian had brought his sweet little Brittany to complete some of the dog’s early training, and I was eager to see him work.
Rounding out the group were Richard Jordan, president of the Christian Sportsman’s Alliance; singer/songwriter Wayne Galloway; and Robbie Payne from Horizon Software in Atlanta. Robbie has an impeccable knowledge of sporting literature and can quote passages like a pastor references Bible verses. Michael Williamson, Bob’s second son, a software entrepreneur and an outstanding sportsman, played host to Bart’s group. It was about as interesting a team of men all pulled together for a walk in the woods as I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.
Bob Williamson stopped by to greet us before our hunt. Bob is a turkey-hunting fanatic, and with the upcoming season and a number of hunters already booked in, he was getting a jump-start on scouting.
“I heard a number of really good gobblers this morning,” he said. “‘I’m a little nervous about the mild winter combined with the early spring, and hope the season doesn’t kick off too soon.” (As it turned out, Bob didn’t need to worry because a number of 20-plus-pound birds were harvested in March.)
Running our hunt were guides and dog trainers Ed and Sheila Hart. The Harts manage the plantation kennels, and field trial enthusiasts will instantly recognize their names from the winners’ circles. Ed and Sheila are sticklers for developing top-notch dogs. If part of your reason for quail hunting is watching the bird dogs, then you’ll be in for quite a show.
Chuck, Brian and I loaded up in the Bird Buggy, with Ed and Sheila out ahead on horseback. Whenever the dogs pointed, Ed would raise his orange hat. Some things don’t need to be said twice, and not once did he need to repeat the movement.
A morning covey rise is one of the best ways to start the day, and we had our first point in a mix of loblollies and milo. A covey of some 15 birds rocketed out of the grass, followed by a few shots and a few birds.
“There was a genuine hat-blower right around here the other day,” Ed said.
“A hat-blower?”
”Yes sir,” he said. “A hat-blower is when we get two or three normal coveys that sort of merge together. Instead of a dozen or so birds we’ll see forty or fifty. The breeze coming from all of their wings can blow the hat off your head! I hope we see one of them this morning.”
“Me too.”
We followed up some of the singles and doubles, walking at a leisurely pace around a stand of pines and over to a planting of Egyptian wheat, wiregrass, lovegrass, broomsedge and Johnson grass. Oats, clover and soybeans rounded out the mix.
A setter pointed and a single bird went up and flew straightaway. There were a few shots and the bird continued flying away.
“A lollipop,” Ed said. “They’re the easiest shot in the book. A straight, going-away single. No explosion like you’d find in a covey rise … no confusion caused by birds flying across shooting lanes … and no trees to cloud your vision. Just a single bird flying away with no cover. It’s so easy that most hunters consider it a gimme and miss. Just last week there was a shooter who doubled a few times with a .410 and then whiffed on two lollipops. That’s how it goes sometimes.
“But y’ all shouldn’t worry. There’ll be more birds … many more in fact. You can trust me on that.”
Ed was right, and our morning hunt was filled with fast-flying birds in a variety of picturesque coverts.
After lunch, we stood on the veranda in the back of the Gathering Hall mulling over our afternoon plans. One option was to follow up our spectacular morning with quail, quail and more quail. Option two was to grab a case of shells and break some clays at the expertly manicured skeet, trap and 5-Stand courses. Option three was an afternoon duck hunt. Because of the warm winter along the Atlantic Flyway, ducks numbers were a little low for the Williamsons’ liking, but that’s more indicative of the high standards they’ve set for the plantation. There were lots of teal and woodies in the shallow-water ponds rimmed with soybeans and com, but the usual influx of ringnecks, baldpate, blue bills and redheads had yet to arrive.
As we gazed over the waters of Lake Hayhaylala, we suddenly saw a boil even bigger than the one I’d seen at first light, That did it! Quickly we gathered up our fishing gear and made plans to try several different ponds.
The water had warmed up to an absolutely perfect temperature, and while there were good bass and big bream breaking the surface, there were even more a foot or two below.
Honey Lake is best fished from the plantations Carolina Skiff, a shallow-draft boat that’s maneuverable yet stable. Lakes Obo, Hooking Bull and Hayhaylala can be fished from shore or by kayak. Angling aficionados instantly recognize the clusters of lily pads and flooded timber as meccas for bass and bream.
I fished with Bob Svetich and made a critical mistake. Bob made a cast while I was rigging up and instantly hooked up. I offered to release his plate-sized bream. He hooked up on his next cast, and then the next, and before you know it a bunch of time went by with me releasing his fish.
“You’re on your own now, pal,” I said and walked away. In short order I was having similar success on bream and bass.
Later that afternoon we met up with Chuck and Brian at Lake Obo. Chuck claimed that he’d hooked an astonishing 37 big bluegills on 37 casts, all from the same spot on a grassy bank, and Brian backed up his friend’s boast. Meanwhile, Bart put the ball in the end zone with 13 pounds of bass spread out across two fish.
A bright blue sky and outstanding fishing, what’s better than that? Ending the day with a culinary masterpiece and a good night’s sleep in amazingly comfortable guest suites, that’s what.
William Mann is the plantation’s executive chef, and if you’re not careful, his three decades of culinary experience will put a bulge in your waistline. He calls his style Plantation Elegant, which means a new twist to favorite Southern classics. Breakfast ranges from eggs any-style to omelets or French toast. At lunch, a pulled pork BBQ sandwich, southern fried chicken or a gourmet elk burger are a few options. And for dinner, by a bone-in filet mignon, andouille-stuffed chicken, lamb chops with a pomegranate reduction and smashed turnips, or an herb-roasted pork loin with roasted apples.
Chef Mann is a firm believer in the “direct -from-the-farm-to-table” concept, so guests will enjoy some of the freshest foods available. Quail, venison and fish are harvested as are five types of lettuce, two varieties of greens, vegetables like squash, carrots, turnips, potatoes and broccoli. A plethora of spices are homegrown as well, and eggs are gathered daily from the Honey Lake chicken coop. And we haven’t even talked about the delicacies coming from the smokehouse or his dessert menu.
After dinner, it’s off to socialize some more before bedtime. We stayed at the 3,600-square-foot Honey Lake Lodge, which has five luxury guest rooms, each with king-sized beds and private baths.
Bob Williamson designed every building himself, and he spared no details in the process. Heartwood pine floors and gorgeous cypress walls were milled from fallen trees on the plantation. The full kitchen, breakfast counter, wet bar, leather couches and fireplace add enough space and atmosphere for sports to end a perfect day in comfort.
There are other lodging options as well, including the 24-bedroom Equestrian Lodge in addition to Five Pines and Two Oaks Cottages, which offer two suites, each with private baths and a shared living room. And if you’re looking to tie into the Honey Lake Plantation tmdition, then stay at the Pansy Poe Cottage where Jackie Kennedy once stayed.
If you have an opportunity to walk along the quaint streets in Thomasville or around the energetic Florida State University in Tallahassee, you’re likely to find yourself thinking about things unrelated to quaint stores or cheering fans at an FSU home game. It might be the boil of a bucketmouth bass, a hat-blower of seemingly endless numbers of quail or the lollipop that you missed. When that happens, you can smile for you’ve just become part of the Red Hills legacy.
This article orignally appeared in the September/October 2012 edition of Sporting Classics.
Fishing
FISH PATTERNING IS a modern term for a very old methodology. It is a reasonable, deliberate and highly effective way of fishing. It depends on understanding the dynamic relationship between predator and prey in their environment. The phrase describes the essential survival approach to fishing that enabled commercial and professional fisherman to succeed in their day-to-day quest for a good catch that would ensure their livelihood.
Patterning fish behavior is similar to hunting. With all methods of hunting, you must study your quarry to understand their behavior. Many modern sport anglers simply arrive at a familiar spot and hope to catch fish. Their fishing strategy is limited to chance occurrence. Anglers who fish that way are dependent on happenstance alone rather than observed, fact-based knowledge. Fish, like all successful predators, base their feeding routines on the habits of their prey. Fish do not starve to death because of poor luck. They have an intimate knowledge of how to find food. Like these fish, the best fishermen are familiar with their quarry’s routines and use this knowledge to form strategies that enhance their chance of success. Learning how fish find bait in their environment is fundamental to becoming a consistently successful angler.
Develop a Plan
The fast lane to learning how to pattern fish is to study the flats. Flats have finite borders that are filled with classic structures like bars and channels, coves and points, rips, basins, and various bottom types (mud, sand, cobble and grass). And fish are restricted in their ability to move. They are subject to the boundaries of the environment. Flats are first and foremost laboratories for observing fish behavior. The first task is to develop a plan or a strategy that you can use to find fish. Simplicity is the order of the day. Start by heading to a flat at slack low tide so you can study its structure. Fish move along structure lines, and it is critical to note where the bars drop into channels, where one bar ends and another begins, where there are grass beds and where there is higher ground. The bait will follow those edges when the tide floods, and larger fish will follow the bait.
Then start at the shallowest edge that you can get to and move along, and head into the current, parallel to the flow. This will do several things for you in short order. It will eliminate water that is not holding fish in a matter of minutes. Using a depth line as a guide and following it allows you to observe and quantify the life on the flat. This is the most important skill you can master. If you cover an edge thoroughly and find no baitfish, move to a slightly deeper edge. You should spend at least 45 minutes to an hour scouting out the depth line before wetting a line. Resist the urge to cast, even if you see fish. After several passes, you will begin to notice the baitfish moving along an edge, and you will see their relationship to the water’s surface or the bottom. You’ll see how they move along the edges of current seams created by bottom structure and moving water. You’ll notice their depth and whether they are high in the water column (closer to the surface), low in the water column (closer to the bottom) or somewhere in between.
As you move along the depth line, you will come upon shallow bars and edges that focus the current, consolidating the bait into dense schools. These schools will pause and gather together to move over a bar or through a small rip as they move into the current. Observing the patterns of how individual schools of baitfish move is significant; this determines how the predators locate bait in order to feed easily. The patterns of bait change daily, depending on water temperature, light levels, wind velocity and wind direction. Once you locate the bait and register their patterns, it is natural to look up-current and notice where the water flow provides an easy place for predators to ambush them. Use your GPS to mark spots, or do it the old-fashioned way and take ranges (line up two vertical landmarks, one behind the other, like in a rifle sight, such as a house chimney in the back and a flagpole in front of it). Once you have identified the baitfish’s patterns, repeat the same steps, with the focus turned toward predators. Return to the shallowest water you can get into, and this time move quickly along the edges and start looking for your quarry. Move along an edge until you have eliminated it, and then move incrementally into deeper water until you find the depth that the fish are moving in. The difference between your shallow-depth runs and your deeper-water runs will probably be only a matter of inches. Note the depth in which you find fish, for they will stay at that depth as the tide rises. That means if you find them at 21/4 feet, they will constantly move in a depth of 21/4 feet, regardless of their physical location on the flat as the tide rises. If the depths are uneven, then the fish will reposition to move at a depth of 21;4 feet. They will mill at a bar and only pass over it when the water rises to their preferred depth of 21/4 feet for that day. They may go around the bar rather than wait, but that type of movement is not hard to notice. Once they go over the bar, they will continue to move at their preferred depth and search out baitfish as they go along. This depth orientation is one of the most amazingly consistent patterns fish display on flats and an important one for you to know.
Here’s the tough part: To learn how to pattern fish, you’ll need to leave fish in order to find fish. Now is the time to see if the pattern you observed is correct. If you find fish on the southeast corner of a point bar at 2 1/4 feet, go to the next southeast corner of a point bar at 2 l/4 feet and see if they are there. They probably will be. As the tide rises, the bait and the bass will also move up the bar in that 2 1/4-foot zone. They will follow the structure line until it ends. Then they will use a current line to bridge their move to an adjoining structure, always maintaining the same amount of water over their head. Leapfrog your way across the flat, and observe as you go.
Pay Attention to Subtleties
If you have a pattern that is producing consistently and you find a similar structure or current that does not produce fish, do not assume that the pattern has changed. So why is this area barren of fish? Try to discern a difference. You’ll likely notice something, like the current has changed or your pattern was for offshore bars and this one is an onshore bar. Perhaps there is a point bar forming an uptide rip current that pushes the flow into deeper water. Remember that bar, because it may fit into a different pattern that you learn about later on. While that bar did not contain fish on the flood tide, it may be an escape route for the fish once the tide ebbs.
Now you can make your first cast. Because you patterned the fish, you can station your boat or yourself so that you can catch them consistently. You’ll know where they are coming from and where they are moving to. You can deliberately position yourself above them to make a proper presentation. You will not spook them because you are waiting for them, not chasing them.
By patterning fish, you will notice the different mannerisms of fish. You will become aware of whether fish are positive, neutral or negative. Positive fish are easy to catch. Negative fish are spooky fish, jittered by even a sea-gull shadow. Neutral fish are inquisitive and can be caught if you make them interested enough to strike. Hunger governs positive fish, wariness governs negative fish, and indifference governs neutral fish. Positive and neutral fish can be caught through patterning. Negative fish can be caught if you use patterning to intercept them with stealth.
When the tide drops, the direction of the current reverses, and fish will slowly drop back off the flat, always facing into the current. They will move off the flat at the same depth in which they came onto the flat. To learn to pattern fish, you must get rid of your preconceptions. Just go to the water and observe. Avoid routines. If you return to the same spots you always fish, you won’t broaden your skill set. Instead, notice the current, examine the wind, and note how the two interact. Watch how the current and the wind move on structure and form edges and pathways for fish. Look for those edges, and look for bait. If you incorporate observations like these into your fishing, you’ll be able to read water and understand the structure of every flat you encounter.
Fishing is much more than just catching fish. If it were passive, then we might as well go and watch a spectator sport. Sometimes when we go fishing, we spend the entire day and make only a handful of casts. Our day is spent studying the baitfish, the environment and then the fish to see how they interact. When we do make a cast, we hook the fish deliberately. As you spend time patterning fish, test out all hunches, no matter how irrational they seem. If you are wrong about a current or a location today, you may find that it is useful tomorrow. When you are right, log the pattern. You’ll quickly become a savvy angler.
Current Events
When the water begins to move, study the current to see which direction it is going. The fish will move into the current. Note if the current is moving to the left or to the right. Observe how the wind interacts with the current. An onshore wind will push the current and the fish closer to the structure, while an offshore wind will push the current and the fish farther out. A wind that blows into the current slows it down, and a wind that moves with the current increases its speed. If the wind is faster than the current, it will form a surface current that predatory species might move into. Notice what speed of current the fish prefer. See if they favor the hard currents around the end of a point bar or if they prefer the softer current in the middle of a shoal. Look for edges where currents meet and join or where they separate and split. Cardinal points are critical; use these compass directions to note how fish approach bars and which side of the humps they use to move into the current. These behaviors may seem random, but they are patterns that are predictable and consistent.
This article originally appeared in the September/October 2012 issue of Fly Fishing in Salt Waters.
Dogs, Hunting
My heart skipped a beat when my wife told me she loved Albert. He was a young, muscular, good-looking tricolor setter of North Carolina quail stock, part of the field-dog rotation at The Webb Farm. Bill Webb owned him, Wade Meacham trained him and Kenny Rabb hunted him. One day, Albert tore a ligament, and despite surgery he would never get back to the rigorous hunting schedule required of him at the farm.
Bill knew the setter still had a lot more bird-chasing years in him. If Albert were worked out regularly and hunted for shorter periods of time, he’d be just fine. And so it came to be during our annual winter hunt at The Webb Farm. Bill could think of no better fit for Albert since we work our dogs regularly and each of our coverts takes about an hour to hunt. We were shoeins for the Adopt Albert program, and everyone wanted the dog to find a home in our kennel – except for me.
How do you take a big running dog whelped on fields full of wiregrass, lovegrass, milo and bicolor lespedeza and get him to like the tight, harsh New England coverts? The term “exercise in futility” came to mind, and I was concerned that I could take the dog out of the South but that I wouldn’t be able to take the South out of the dog.
Any protest I may have had was over by the time my daughter met Albert. She liked the tan and black patches around his eyes, and she smiled when he flopped into her lap. I folded like a house of cards, and we picked up Albert on an 85-degree, Carolina-blue spring day. Love was in the air.
The dog adjusted just fine to his new life above the Mason-Dixon Line. I ran him in the woods, we did casting two-a-days to shorten his range and he showed a lot of promise. He was a smart, experienced, well-trained gun dog, and it helped that our summers reminded him of his days on the piedmont. Albert proved that you can teach an old dog new tricks.
There was just one hitch. As horses balk at jumping fences, field dogs usually reject thick cover. Unless it’s in their blood, hat dog – or for that matter, what hunter – would trade the softness of wheat, milo, and barley fields for the impenetrable white birch runs, the stabbing Hawthorne tines, the shrouds of bull briars, and the snarling tangles of raspberry vines? Dogs usually don’t volunteer to run through that kind of mess, and Albert was no exception.
Anything done in moderation shows a lack of interest, so I tried a mentorship program. I ran Albert with one of my cover dogs, which made about as much sense as socks on a rooster. I had one dog in the cover and one dog in the field, and I was in the middle. If you’re wondering about that patch of gray hair on my head, it blossomed on that day.
I like to build on successes, and Albert’s came slowly. His first win came in the Ed Gray covert. The covert was one of Ed’s favorites, and it is a delightful old farm with a hillside slope that was chock-a-block with apples, high-bush cranberries and haws so thick you could barely see daylight on the other side. A river runs through the bottom, and alder and white birch are everywhere. On a good day, you could shoot grouse on your way down to the bottom, and on a great day you’d find a few woodcock. A tremendous field separated the two sections, and that was where Albert flash-pointed his first grouse. Later on I shot a pair of timberdoodles over his points, and my friend Cabe shot a few woodcock over Albert in the King’s Covert, too. But when we were slow to find birds, Albert headed straight for the nearest field.
Albert didn’t much care to get shredded and stabbed by the bush and briars. When it’s hot and the birds are tucked away in the shade and the moisture of the thickest of thick coverts, you’ve got to have the patience of Job to work your way through. At the end of a season, my double-faced chaps are shredded and I’ve got scars on my face and wrists, but my scrapes pale in comparison to a dog on the ground. Albert wanted no part of the jungle, and the only way I could get him into the coverts was to show him a benefit. That magic arrived when the woodcock flights were heavy.
I looked forward to the full moon at the end October. The temperatures would be lower, and a killing frost would open up the woods. The heavy west-northwest winds would knock down the leaves from the trees, and there would be more chalk on the ground than on a teacher’s blackboard. I decided to put him in Freight Train, my best covert, and hoped that a flight of woodcock had dropped in for a visit.
Albert was cranked and ran over the first few before he settled down and got to work. It helped that the woodcock were spread perfectly throughout the covert. His casting tightened up to a 30- to 35-yard range on the whistle, he figured out the difference between ground and body scent and he found the birds where they always are – right in the thickness. Repetition makes the master, and after 24 birds in under an hour, Albert was well on his way to becoming a New England cover dog.
Birds make a bird dog, and for the rest of the season old Albert ran as good as my other setters, Ocracoke and Rowdy. Sometimes he ranges a little too far, and when he does he stands back off the bird a ways to let me catch up. When I get done zigzagging through the woods, he’ll reposition closer toward the bird; when I find a space open enough to take a shot, he’ll lock right up. Albert has added grouse and woodcock to his repertoire, but he’ll forever be a Southern gentleman, just the way we love him.
