2000fish's Blog – Steve Wozniak's hunt for fish species

DATELINE: MAY 12, 2022 – DEFUNIAK SPRINGS, FLORIDA

Most trips have at least a few successes, although there are exceptions to this. But oftentimes, I remember just as well the things we didn’t catch. (Especially the ones that were supposed to be slam dunks.) Marta tells me that I obsess about these fish, and that I stay up late at night plotting “revenge” trips to catch them. It’s how my mind works, and if we get a therapist involved, they might be able to explain that while this outlook motivates accomplishment, it can be a dark place to live.

My constant fishing companion, Freud believed that obsessional neuroses is a defense mechanism against unconscious conflicts. But what the heck would he know?

In looking at the 2021 “Schrödinger’s Collie” trip, I was thrilled at how many species Dom and I had gotten … but I was also keenly aware we missed plenty. The brown darter was still out there – and we had seen a few of those. So was the bronze darter, and a host of others. We got talking about a second round, to get after these points of diminishing return, but the schedule Gods were not favoring us. We both work full time, after all.

We eventually agreed that I would fly to Miami and fish a couple of days with Dom. I would then drive myself back through the panhandle, Alabama, and Mississippi, then meet Marta in New Orleans for a few days. That part of the trip will be the next blog, and it will involve science and romance, so stay tuned.

Dom is fond of saying “Steve, you’re a hard guy to buy a gift for.” In the fishing world, he’s right. It’s tough to find anywhere I have a big batch of uncaught species, especially in Florida. So we will ignore the aforementioned law of diminishing returns, and point out that there are still a few creatures near Dom’s house that have eluded me. Dom generously took two days off, and we did some very selective targeting – and just hoped for a bit of luck.

The first day was on Dom’s boat, which should be named “Proof of Tracy’s Patience.”

I also discovered that Dom owns a dog. Her name is Phoebe. You can take it from there.

The weather report looked great, but those people LIE. The first few hours were nice, and we gave it an honest shot for a deepwater scorpionfish, which were unfortunately outcompeted by blackbelly rosefish.

The saltwater equivalent of creek chubs. I will come back for the scorpionfish – see a pattern here?

As we headed back inshore to try for some shallower critters, it got windy. Really windy. Not quite Wizard of Oz, but enough to push up a sloppy chop. 

I’m usually immune to throwing up on boats, because I fear that some terrible person will take pictures of me and post them on social media. I knew this particular afternoon would be challenging, not the least because it was hard to actually fish and hold on at the same time. (And you can imagine how difficult this made bathroom trips. It’s a feat of athleticism to hit a target while you and it are both moving, especially if you’re facing the other way with your pants around your ankles.) 

It was late in the afternoon, just when I was ready to throw up the towel, that we had our first success. We got onto a group of striped grunts – a species Dom explained he had only caught on this one patch. That’s what local experience will do for you.

Species 2063.

The water continued to worsen. The big sandwich I brought was out of the question, but I got by on Red Bull and chips. Dom cheered me on and told me if we could make it past dark we had shots at a couple of other species, so I hung in there. His enthusiasm is boundless and inspiring.

As the light faded, we moved over to a couple of small reefs, quite close to shore, and rigged up tiny sabikis.

Those are fires off in the Everglades. Note the south wind. No, it never looks as rough as it really was, but trust me, it was icky out there.

We made a few chaotic drifts, then tried to tie up, which was even bouncier. Thankfully, somewhere in there, a small squirrelfish climbed on the hook. It was a dusky squirrelfish, we had our second species of the day, and, thank goodness, we could go home. But there was a whitespotted filefish still out there for me someplace. Dr. Freud would be concerned that my main takeaway was missing a fish neither me nor Dom had even seen, but there’s only so much time to do this. I’m not Jung any more.

The dusky squirrel, which would also be a good name for a drink. Or a bar.

We were up early the next morning to pursue another “grudge fish” – the sand drum. EVERYONE I know has caught dozens of these shallow-water croakers on their first try. I just never seemed to find the right day. We did everything right this time – we went to Hobe Sound, we used light rigs and shrimp, we cast in very thin water just off the beach.

Dom works the shoreline.

And I caught … mojarras. And more mojarras. I moved the bait, I let it sit, I tried big and small pieces. I dealt with a local who demanded I stop fishing because “the hooks might hurt my dog.” Johnny Cash should have written a song about “A Man Named Karen.”

An hour later, I had a better bite and saw elongate, non-mojarral silver flashes at the end of my line. I said a quick anti-Atlantic croaker prayer and lifted the fish up. The sand drum has vertical bars – I didn’t see them immediately, but after the fish was out of the water just a moment, the stripes became evident. I had done it, with a huge assist from a very patient Dom, who was now getting an earful from the same male Karen. Folks, it’s legal to fish on this beach and we are always fastidious about litter and equipment. Lighten up. (With all apologies to anyone really named Karen.)

Species 2065.

We then headed down to Phil Foster Park, on the intercoastal in Riviera Beach. This place is a gem, but get there early – people are many and parking is scarce. Dom generously dropped me off, parked back across the bridge, and walked back. 

The place was jammed with screaming picnic raves, but there were a number of species in evidence. My new one for the day was the savage eyed flounder, taking me to 2066.

I am always thrilled with a flatfish that can be identified. I have at least six in my “mystery” file.

I also got some other cool stuff, like a trunkfish and a rosy razorfish, but alas, these are already on the list. Of course, I missed the dusky jawfish and the orangespotted filefish. But I’ll be back.

These things fight like crazy.

If I had to pick one shore spot in this part of Florida, it would be here. As long as you can find parking.

Redtail parrotfish with some of the other pier anglers. These were the locals, here to catch dinner, and they were the most savvy and fun group on the pier.

Dom and I parted ways, and early the next morning, I headed north. Well, not very far north, because I just had to make a brief stop at one of Ben’s mountain mullet spots. How hard could it be? Sigh. They were hard to find, but I eventually found a culvert stuffed with them. And that’s how I spent the rest of my day – watching those awful fish half-heartedly examine my bread offering until a Mayan cichlid or bluegill raced in and ate it.

To top it all off, I forgot my phone in the car and thought it had fallen out of my pocket – there is no panic like lost phone panic. (Freud would have a field day with modern society and the cell phone.)

The next morning, old friend Ben Cantrell generously took me for a morning session of shark fishing, with an eye on finetooth. (Be aware that Florida requires a special shore-based shark fishing license, which requires an online course, which I ended up doing in the middle of the night.)

Ben Cantrell, world-class species hunter and all-around good guy.

We ended up with two fish, both blacknoses. There are very few things as exciting as a shark strike on surf gear.

My first blacknose was in 2012 with Martini, and was about as close to losing a fish I will ever get without losing it. But I still didn’t have a finetooth.

This news was greeted with great joy in Ben’s house. His girlfriend Ally, also a species hunter, had never caught a blacknose and was eager to get out after one. She got hers the following weekend – and she also got a finetooth the same season. Dr. Freud would tell me to take joy in her accomplishment.

There’s Ally’s blacknose.

 

And a shore-caught spinner. Just because it’s an awesome photo.

I kept heading north. Florida is a big state, and it can be hours and hours between spots. I tried one lake for redface topminnows. I caught plenty of fish, just not the right ones, and wading with snakes and alligators made me slightly nervous. But I would still come back and try again. I already see a “Revenge on the Revenge Tour” in my future.

Look at all the hiding places for dangerous wildlife.

Topminnows are so cool, even though they are sometimes hard to differentiate from killifish. This is a lined topminnow, a species I also added with Martini.

After my third snake sighting, I got out of the water and headed for the main event – a rematch with the brown darter, this time at Rum Island Springs. 

One of Florida’s most beautiful places, until dusk, when it turns into a mosquito-infested hellhole.

Browns are a tricky darter. They like heavy vegetation close to shore, and when they spook, they tend to spook right back into the heavy vegetation. It took a couple of hours to prod one out where I could see it, and then, of course, I botched the presentation and it spooked right back into the heavy vegetation. As the light grew crepuscular, (Marta taught me that word,) I finally got a shot at one more. The bait laid down perfectly, the fish pounced on it, and I swung it up onto the shore before the hook could fall out.

This was a big deal. And the fifth species of the trip. Another big thanks to Dr. Alvin Diamond of Troy University – he coached me and Dom in the behavior of this species, or I would still be looking for one.

The next morning started in Northern Florida, where I opened up with a fully confirmed metallic shiner. This replaced the Pteronotropis from last year’s trip on my species list, for you fellow fish nerds. That fish was likely an Apalachee by location, but my photos were bad enough where I couldn’t ID it on meristics, so it goes in the mystery file. And on the list for the next tour. Sigmund would be shaking his head sadly.

Photo tanks sure do help. My pics aren’t Ben or Eli-level, but these are still a gorgeous species.

It was then back in the car for several hours and at least one stop at Arby’s. The destination – a small creek in Southeastern Alabama, which was supposed to have several darter species (especially the bronze.) I got there midafternoon, and it was truly a special location. 

A la Estillfork, there were darters showing on every step. That seam on the left still makes me drool.

I got a few speckled darters, then a mystery one I couldn’t immediately identify, then a Tallapoosa. 

The speckled. My first one was also in Alabama, and I never get tired of photographing them.

The mystery darter. It turned out to be a bronze. If I had known that at the time, it would have saved me a lot of driving.

The Tallapoosa, species number eight of the trip.

A local couple came down to the creek with gold dredging equipment, which could have clouded up the water and ended my day, but they very courteously asked what I was doing and offered to move downstream.

Disaster averted. Very nice people.

While we spoke, they asked what I was targeting. I told them, and they both lit up – “Another guy came by last year doing the same thing. Nice fellow, from Chicago, and he was wearing some kind of wetsuit-Cosmonaut thing.” These people had met Gerry Hansell.

My favorite snorkel-fishing picture of Gerry, because, despite distractions, he remains focused on the fish.

As it got toward evening, I kept missing big bronze darters, but I also had a spot about 20 miles away reputed to have rare shiners, so I reluctantly drove over there. I fished that for about an hour and got some lovely shiners, although I was losing quite a few at the surface.

I could walk around creeks like this every day for the rest of my life, unless the Red Wings are in the playoffs. And I have to come back here, because there are Tallapoosa shiners that I missed. Some of you might say my glass is always half-empty, but I say it has enough water to hold a fish.

I finally figured out that the point of my micro-hook had broken off. Duh. That’s why I was losing all the darters back at the other spot. Throwing schedule to the winds, I drove back to the original creek, arriving just as it got dark. Checking my hookpoint and headlamp, I waded in and immediately caught several beautiful bronze darters.

Now that you mention it, I shouldn’t have missed the ID in the first place. I was still thrilled with the bigger specimens.

My evening ended when I somehow buried a hook in my nostril and had to dig it out with pliers and the selfie view on my iPhone. Kids, beware the tenago – they are sharp and difficult to extract. And I had to do this while I considered that I hadn’t caught the muscadine darter. Somewhere, Dr. Freud is smiling patiently.

The following day had a travel plan so stupid only I could have concocted it. I had a spot in Mississippi, but I needed to end up back in the Florida panhandle. A smart person would have waited for another trip, but I drove three hours one way, fished three hours, and then five hours back to the panhandle. (All without passing a single Cracker Barrel, which is where I had wanted to eat all darn day.)

The creek was a gem, perfect for wading. It produced quite a few darters and an assortment of shiners.

Another perfect back country creek, although this one was actually in the middle of a decent-sized town.

Example darter – a blackstripe, which I had added in Alabama last year.

In sorting through the photos, it was determined that only one of the fish was a new one – the aptly named pretty shiner, but this alone made the day worth it. Even though I could have gotten a couple of others.

The ninth species of the trip.

In the midst of all this driving, I bought Marta a souvenir. She hasn’t worn it yet – she swears she is waiting for the right outfit to match it.

Late that evening, I pulled into DeFuniak Springs, Florida, and got some rest. The next day would be the last fishing of this episode, but I had some very big plans.

At a reasonable hour of morning, after several plates of Holiday Inn eggs and sausage, I headed out to a local creek to flesh out my Pteronotropis list. This shiner family are gorgeous if difficult to differentiate, but I had some excellent intel and a well-worn Peterson’s Guide. First, I added the flagfin – the easiest of the group to identify.

They do make a nice photo.

An hour later, I got what ended up being a sailfin. I can’t thank Dom – and all the other folks who passed along these spots – enough.

This fish would not pose in the photo tank.

There was one more place to go that afternoon, and a very old score to settle. 

The Dixie chub can be an aggravating creature. It looks enough like a creek chub to make you doubt yourself, and its range is always 100 miles south of where you are. I thought I had one several times, only to find out the scale count was wrong and that I was 100 miles north of their range. This spot – a small creek winding through a country neighborhood – was definitely in range and also may be the one place in the universe that doesn’t have creek chubs. 

It wasn’t dramatic – these are chubs. I got one on my first cast, counted and recounted the scales, and just like that, I had added what I thought was the 12th and last species of a very successful trip.

Finally.

But I always have a second look, and after a few more chubs, I noticed there was a long, slender fish keeping to itself at the top of a riffle. It looked and behaved like a darter, so I gave it a shot. It bit, and it wasn’t a darter at all – it was a longjaw minnow, an unusual member of the overall shiner/minnow complex I had only seen in books.

That was 13 for the trip, taking me to 2075. I was thrilled, momentarily.

I put away the fishing gear, pulled out a Red Bull, and set the map for New Orleans. I had avenged myself on several species, but there were still a good few I hadn’t gotten. (Of course I thought of this immediately. Sigmund would have an explanation, but I’ll just keep fishing and leave the analysis to the professionals.)

There would be more fishing in a few days, but not before at least 72 hours of romance … and science.

Steve