Words by:Kevin Main
Photography by: Nate Paradiso
Someone once told me that frustration is a product of expectation. I should’ve kept this in mind when Troy, our friend, and local guide, said, “the fishing’s been pretty tough,” as he picked Nate and me up from the airport. We brushed this ominous greeting off while we climbed into his truck to begin our four days fishing the flats of the Laguna Madre.
A few weeks prior, a red tide had bloomed just outside the lagoon, and we had been warned it would be un-fishable if the tide entered. And that was pretty much all we knew about
Laguna Madre or the flats. The trip was a reunion of sorts – three friends living in different parts of the country who had last seen each other on the flats of Christmas Island nine months prior. Maybe that was part of the problem: we had high expectations because the last time we were together, the fishing was phenomenal.
The weather was beautiful when we arrived, and we headed straight from the airport to the boat launch. Troy is an outfitter on South Padre and guides in Alaska during the summers. His warnings of tough fishing on our drive to the boat launch were easily dismissed as a classic undersell: always try to manage expectations. Nate’s a photographer by trade, so we decided I would get the first crack with the rod and he would man the camera as Troy poled the boat. We saw fish in the first channel we entered. They were sheepshead, a spooky fish that Troy explained almost never eats, so we probably shouldn’t waste our time. Usually his clients that spend time casting at them ended up missing an opportunity at a passing redfish. As if summoned to confirm this theory, a redfish swam into view. Eleven o’clock, twenty feet. My first cast at the shadow was no good. Go again. The second was better, and Troy said to leave it. Strip, strip, the shadow moved towards the fly. I heard Troy yell “he ate it,” and a split second later I felt the tug. I made a half strip set, half trout set, and boom. Fish on. We landed what turned out to be a small redfish less than an hour into the trip and cracked a round of celebratory beers. It was going
to be a good reunion. Nate was on the bow now, rod in hand, while I sat in the middle waiting for him to land his first fish. Some clouds began to move in, and we struggled to see redfish shadows in the low vis, mullet-disturbed water. We saw a few almost directly under the boat and at bad angles. We threw at a bunch but didn’t hook any more fish, partly due to the challenging conditions and partly because of the rust that Nate and I were still knocking off.
We returned to the ramp through pods of dolphins – a perfect way to end our opening day on the water. After trailering the boat and an hour long drive back to Troy’s place on South Padre, the exhaustion from our 3am flight out of Denver set in with force.
We chowed down burgers, toasted to better fishing, and called it a night. Day two was rough. We headed out from the local South Padre boat launch with hope after hearing that some fisherman had caught reds the day before. At the first area, we saw tails and nervous water right away, but the tails all turned out to be sheepshead. Ignoring yesterday’s advice, we stayed for a while trying to hook one without any luck. But, we were seeing and casting to fish – exactly what we wanted. We eventually moved on and continued the quest for reds, spending the day dealing with a disappearing sun and trying to find water that wasn’t too muddied. It was the definition of a grind. Our limited opportunities were followed by some mediocre casts from anglers who still hadn’t quite perfected flats fishing. The day’s total as we trailered the boat that evening: zero fish landed, and zero fish hooked. The icing on the cake was the news from Troy that today could possibly be the only day he has ever been skunked. With Nate and me questioning our abilities as anglers, we decided it was time to visit the local bar and forget about fishing for a while.
With headaches and bloodshot eyes, we wrote yesterday off as a fluke and headed out into day three, motoring to some nearby islands that looked promising. The cloudy sky made our chances of spotting fish slim, but not long into the day we saw a few showy redfish tailing straight off the bow. It was the shot of adrenaline we needed. Troy poled us into position, and I shot a cast a little farther right than I wanted, but in the ballpark. Strip, strip, bam! Fish on! The feeling was short-lived; the line went limp just as quickly as it had tightened. The split-second view of the fish confirmed it wasn’t a red, but instead a sea trout. At least we had some action! Before I had time to ready myself again, we saw a trail of mud kicking up and moving towards the boat. I cast, again not quite perfect but good enough that another couple of strips I had another fish on. I brought the fish to the boat, only to discover that it was a little catfish, not a red. I took my seat in the middle as Nate stepped onto the bow. We spooked a couple of black drum hiding in the grass and glimpsed a few redfish but didn’t have any real shots. Nate had yet to land a fish, but that afternoon he made up for it. Nate spotted a fish from the bow, made a great cast, and landed the only sea trout of the trip.
Day four, our final day in Laguna Madre, was more of the same. A couple missed shots, a couple close but not close enough casts, plus clouds and muddy water. We spent most of the day lounging on the boat, drinking beers, and enjoying the company of dolphins. Four days on the flats, and I had landed two fish, while Nate only landed one. It was the perfect storm of bad luck: anglers used to trout streams instead of flats; cloudy weather; murky water with low visibility; and strange tides. Furthermore, although the red tide hadn’t made its way into the lagoon, its signs were everywhere. You could see it with the hundreds, if not thousands of dead mullet, flounder, and redfish that were swept into the Laguna Madre on the incoming tide. You could feel it in the back of your throat as you walked outside on South Padre. And you could feel its effects with every difficult day of fishing.
In the end, none of those things mattered. It was an excuse for three friends to get together and spend time on the water. Besides, our next trip should be more productive: I know where there’s a great steelhead run and they’re pretty much a guarantee.
