Snook Under the Lights
Bernie Shapiro carefully climbed onto the casting deck of my Hewes skiff and started to unhook the fly from a snake guide on his rod. I glanced up from tying a little shrimp pattern onto a backup rod, and mumbled something through the tippet material in my teeth.
“Waddadyasay?” Bernie asked politely, with that little hint of “New Joisey” that’s almost a banjo-string twang. “I said,” spitting out the line, “sit down. I’ll tell you when it’s time to fish.”
Bernie pushed the Sherlock Holmes hat further up his high forehead, cocked his head sideways, pointed the rod at the snook like a rapier, and asked: “Why?”
“Because,” I replied, checking the knot, “it isn’t time yet.”
Bernie’s head slowly swiveled toward the dock 40 feet away. “One, two, three, four, five, maybe six nice fish just lying there. You tell me it isn’t time?” Bernie was starting to sound a little bit incredulous.
“Ya know, Bernie,” I replied, “I went through the very same mental torture the first time I came night snook fishing. Did just about the very same things you’re doing right now.
“You’ve just got to be patient. Heck, it isn’t even dark yet. Wait until it gets dark and that dock light goes on and angels fall from the heavens and land right here in the water at your feet in the form of big, beautiful snook.”
Bernie started looking at me sorta funny. So I offered him a bottle of water and told him it reminded me of a joke. “No, not another joke,” he wailed. But I launched off into yet another story about Giuseppe and Luigi. When I was done, and Bernie was wiping the laugh-tears from his eyes, I told him, “It’s time.”
When he quit whooping he looked up—first at me, then at the gooseneck light on the dock that had automatically turned itself into a fish magnet. His eyes locked on the four dozen dark silhouettes weaving and hovering and occasionally darting through the water around the dock—our point of attack.
Before I finish the story of “Bernie’s Wonderful Adventure,” let me explain a little bit about this night snook business, because until you understand some of the basics, you may not believe that fishing like this exists.
Snook Shangri-la
The southwest Gulf Coast of Florida is the snook capital of the world in terms of sheer fish numbers. According to Dr. Ron Taylor, snook specialist for Florida’s Fish and Wildlife Research Institute, that’s because of the incredible mangrove ecosystem that blankets the area from Tampa Bay south through Sarasota, Venice, and Charlotte Harbor.
“Just look at the habitat we have on the Gulf Coast,” Taylor says. “It’s ten times more than the Atlantic Coast, which is getting hit hard by development. Because there are miles and miles of mangrove islands where snook can hide and grow, the Gulf Coast is in dynamite condition. The spawning biomass is high and catch rates are high. From all measurable indices, we’re at an all-time high. In fact, the Gulf Coast has more than double the snook stock that exists on the Atlantic side.”
Anglers who worked the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) around Venice and Nokomis during the winter of 2006 certainly would agree. In previous years, a three-hour guided trip in Snook Alley would result in perhaps 15 or 20 snook ranging from 18 to 23 inches, which, by any standard, isn’t a bad night’s fishing.
But in 2006 the catch rate skyrocketed and fly anglers were hooking 30, 40, and sometimes 50 fish within three or four hours. If you do the math, that’s one fish every five minutes. When you consider that it takes at least that long to land one of these fish, it means nonstop action.
Anglers, guides, and scientists tried to determine the reason for such a dramatic increase in snook numbers. The most obvious explanation was the unseasonably warm winter of 2006. Air temperatures in the Venice area were routinely 5 to 10 degrees F. higher than normal, which had a profound effect on water temperature.
Copyright © 2012 Intermedia Outdoors
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