I was getting the crew hyped up to go fishing a couple of years ago and I posted the below on a day when I found a few Bud Lights in the office fridge. This was at Yarborough Pass (Bay side) PINS:
From personal experience, I can tell you the closer it gets to June the more trouty it gets back there. I used to do a summer Fathers day type of trip back in Yarborough that we sometimes had to do before Father's day. Occasionally I could find the birds working and load up, but generally I could average about 4 trout a day without really trying all that hard, just by working within 1/2 mile of the camp. Reds and Drum were harder to come by in June with much better numbers coming in late July early August, especially on the long rods. One of the things that can really make a trip is those long rods paying off at night. Almost nothing better than making a check of the long rods every 45 minutes or so in between jokes, shots, lies (fishing tales) and bringing back fish every time well into the night.
I can remember one such trip where my brother was unable to make it and my cousin Ronny (who was at the spring trip 3 years ago) was joining us two days later. Since my brother was not coming we had to pack all the extra stuff that he usually brings into my Tacoma, plus I had to pack my dad along who usually goes in my brother's truck. I pickup my dad on the way down and I have to reshuffle all of my nice and neat packing to accommodate the mountain of extra gear. On top of that something was bugging me about work(I don't remember what) and the pain in the ass factor put me in a surly mood. My dad was in his early 80's at the time, and although I was glad to have this time with him, I was, at the same time a just a little crestfallen that I would need to tend to him and more camp duties in lieu of fishing hard. That is not to say I don't pull my weight or cringe at doing so, but I like to prepare well, travel light and smart, and have less work to do when I camp/fish drink beer. Yeah, I guess I am selfish...so piss off.
When my brother goes on these trips, he and my dad will usually spend their efforts setting up the camp and are a little less enthusiastic about the fishing and more about the experience/beer. SO we get there and I put one long rod out and proceed to help my dad on non-fishing type of duties. We get it all done and "Island time"/beer begins to wash over me. We are alone at Yarborough. We set up a couple of chairs, I put my bait trap out, we set up some more long rods, and a couple of chairs. The sun sets and my dad accompanies me on a quick top water try just to keep me company. Nothing.
I check the long rods and discover a nice pan fished size black drum on the line. On the board and into the cooler. I think I will give that topwater another try. Same result. Check the long rods again. Dad gets two black drum on his. OK it is on old man. We rebait and work through a few hard heads and undersized blacks and reds. Allthewhile, we are talking about the coast from bygone days when my dad was a lad, those legendary trips he had back in the early 70's to the land cut, Texas history, aliens, old family scandals, and of course fishing in the here and now. The water is high and our rods are close but seemingly inactive. Yet every time we check them there is at least one keeper fish on. The water glows with motion in the process of efflorescence. We can see the water light up as mullet jump and predator eats prey as the great circle of crap unfolds before our eyes.
I check my watch. Where did the time go...it is almost midnight and we each have 3 black drum and 3 redfish. By this time we are well into the moment, as they say. We have settled into a pattern of relaxing and have a few beers, discussing our amazing smallness in the grand scheme of just the Laguna Madre, checking our lines, and collecting fish. But we have to stop and check ourselves as we have met our daily bag limits on these species. We pause and reconsider that we only have to wait a few more minutes until midnight, and then begins a new day upon which we can resume our "pattern"...and we do..with a little help from the fish.
By 2AM we repeat our catch with an oversized red to boot minus a third slot red for me. The bite dies and we recognize that it is time for bed. Once in my cot and heading into blissful sleep on this quiet night, I hear the clicker on my Daiwa SHV 30 go off and I trudge out to the set up and collect my final slot red. A good day.
The next morning we inspect the packed cooler and give each other a knowing grin, thinking the same thing ..that "Ronny is sure going to shit his pants when he gets here". Just for good measure I headed out in the kayak and picked up a limit of trout before 9AM. Upon my return, I ask my dad if he caught anything: " I sure did, an oversized red"
We would only pick up a couple more fish in the remaining 4 days down there. Hot sun and high winds would stay with us. My cousin got blanked and cleaning all of those fish was no fun. Weekend traffic picked up and it was not the quiet place we started with on a nice Wednesday summer night. The action was not fast and furious or Adrenalin inducing, but it was nevertheless a weird rush of confidence that I have not had before or since.
Now, I know this is not the end all be all of fishing tales especially amongst this group. There were no monsters, freak hook ups, fouled lines, or anything at all unusual. Just a nice night with steady action that a even guy in his early 80's could keep up with and, of course, appreciate. Most importantly, it was one of those nights that came unlooked for that just landed in your lap. We were fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time and were able to pass the time as mother nature allowed.