Whole Fish

Gulf Seafood + Southern Food


Tripletail

West Matagorda
has always been my fishing home base. One of the unique things about this bay is the large number of inshore gas platforms that offer great surface structure in an otherwise structure-less bay. Each rig reaches 12 feet down to the bottom of the bay and has become a reef of sorts; the large oyster shell pads that were built on the bottom to reinforce the platform, although man-made initially, have become alive over the years, creating an eco-chain of life out in the middle of the bay. They are also the reason why West Matagorda Bay is the Tripletail capital of Texas.

Tripletail (aka Black fish, Drift Fish or Buoy Fish [Lobotes surnamensis]) gets its name because the second dorsal and anal fins that extend far back on the body make it look like it has three tails. Although it is the only representative of the Lobotes family in the Gulf, many wrongly believe it is related to the Cichlid family because of its striking resemblance to the fresh water “Sac-a-lait” or Crappie. Tripletail is a surface fish that hangs out next to any kind of top water structure like platforms, sargassum, buoys and flotsam and jetsam. I caught this one last week off of a large piece of driftwood about one and half miles offshore of the Galveston jetty.


That's me with a Tripletail

A Tripletail will lie on its side, as if it was part of whatever floating material it’s hiding in; floating and moving with the current and waves like a large leaf, it even has the ability to change its color, like a chameleon. Years back, most people would steer clear of Tripletail as table fare thinking that these characteristics meant that the fish was sick. But it’s not sick, it’s smart: it lays in wait, ready to spring on its prey. When it attacks, it rushes, swimming on its side just like a flounder. But once it is hooked, it rights itself, turns that broad body and uses it against you. They are infamous as tough fighters that will frequently return to their former hiding spot, wrapping you around the seaweed or driftwood or whatever they were using as cover, and breaking your line. Tripletail feed mostly on menhaden, herring, anchovies and some crustaceans and live in subtropical and tropical coastal regions and estuaries from Massachusetts to Argentina. Rarely traveling in groups of more than three, they reach sexual maturity in just a year, making it an easily sustainable and recovery species. When large enough, they yield a wonderfully flaky white fish reminiscent of a giant speckled trout or weakfish. Although difficult to cook on the grill, they are excellent on the flat top or in a sauté pan.


Roasted Tripletail, Smoked Dr. Pepper Glaze, Buttered Bok Choy, Grapefruit Soda

The first day of Snapper season was a good one but the story of the day belonged to 13-year-old Ryan Smith.



Ryan with snapper and father Cameron

When we reached our Snapper quota, our focus shifted to Kings and Cobia. We had already landed a couple of Sand Sharks, a Bonnet Head and busted off on a pretty big Cobia when one of the reels began to scream. Ryan quickly grabbed the rod, flipped the bail and set the hook, but this big boy wasn’t turning. He kept peeling off line like a freight train and wouldn’t stop. Quickly, John cut us loose from the rig, I fired up the engines and tried to give young Ryan a bit of help. Ryan had been putting the screws to this hoss for about an hour before we even caught our first glimpse of him: it was a Black Tip Shark and Lord was he big -- between 6 and 7 feet, a true monster tipping the scales at about 150 pounds. A good match for Ryan, who weighs about the same.


Ryan Doing Battle

My friends, I must tell you, the fight that Ryan put on that fish was of epic, Hemingway proportions. This young man was truly a sight to see: his hands were cut up and burned, back aching and the butt of the rod had started to wear a hole in his gut, but he refused to give up. One and a half hours after our first hook up, we got the first pass on the monster and we all took our stations, ready to do battle. Once close enough, I went in hard for the gaff and, as soon as I made contact, the shark flipped and dove hard, leaving my brand new gaff in shambles, bending the metal shaft straight as an arrow. He made a second and third pass and, on the third, he thrashed, spun on the leader and cut the line. I wish you could have seen this one but unfortunately, when the bite is really on, everyone picks up the rod not the camera.

Two hours had passed and, as we watched that monster slowly swim off, I wanted to cry. I looked over at Ryan -- he didn’t say a word, just set the rod down, walked to the front of the boat, lay down and passed out, exhausted. It was an inspirational fight.



Like many Houstonians, I lost a lot to Ike but none as painful to me as the loss of my 22.5 foot Marshall. It wasn’t so much the boat itself as the peace of mind that going out gave me – it was a kind of therapy for me. That boat kept me on an even keel in my life on land.

In my family, we traditionally greet each Hurricane headed our way with a party, making the rounds to one or two houses in our neighborhood to have cocktails before the big storm hits. Last year, the hours before Ike were no different: drinks at the McLemore’s, then it was off to batten down the hatches at home and ride out the storm. I was rounding third with my Turkey & Soda when I glanced at the T.V. and saw the thick black smoke bellowing from a coastal building in Galveston. My heart sank to my stomach – is that the dry storage at the yacht basin? It sure did look like it.


And it was.

Heartbroken I was, she wasn’t even a year old. Earlier in the year, my brother Mike and I bought the boat together from Norman Marshall of Marshall Marine out of Port Lavaca, TX - they craft one hell of a boat.

Last summer, I fished more than I have in about 15 years. I enjoyed the hell out of that Marshall. But, thanks to Ike, I haven’t been out for almost 8 months - the longest I’ve ever gone without a trip.

I have been running boats since I was 8 years old. When I detach from the shoreline, it’s as if the cord that tethers me to everything else has been cut and I run only local channels: no calls, no emails, no texts and no more everyday problems. It’s just clear, pure thought - freedom for just a while, true serenity, a bit of peace. There’s nothing but me, the crew and our mission.

Here are a few pictures from last summer’s excursions:






Heaven on Water, 2008

It has taken me some time, but we have commissioned a new vessel, as yet to be named but definitely seaworthy: the legendary, unsinkable Boston Whaler.



Boston Whaler

At a solid 26 feet, she’s a big ‘un! My largest ever, technically a yacht (this is the classification for a boat that breaches 25 feet), this boat breaks new ground for me -- now the fabled Flower Gardens, Boomvang, Tequila rig and The Claypiles, all 50-100 miles offshore, are within my grasp (all of these are underwater goldmines for fishermen).

After two prior failed attempts due to small mechanical difficulties, Monday, June 1st marked the Whaler’s maiden voyage offshore, to the tune of about 25 miles. With my buddies -- Farrar, Cameron Smith and his 13-year-old son, Ryan -- we headed out for the opening day of Snapper season. If it’s Duck, Dove, Deer or Snapper, for a guy like me, opening day is always mandatory attendance.

This year, I’m pretty sure I’m going to need a lot of therapy.

Farrar & me, double hookup
Here's to many tight lines for my brother and I in the future!!