Corpusfishing.com

[Towboat Trash]

"Weather came a fresh wind and heavy surf rolling in-however Field and I made an attempt to get to sea with the boat, for we knew if we could only get through the breakers we could make Corpus Pass by night and then expected to obtain provisions from a Mexican who they said lived there, but a heavy sea struck the boat throwing her on her stern end and the gunwale hitting as it flew off knocked me into the water...and...Fields and I walked across the island to Levely's ranch to try if possible and kill some meat, and the other followed with the horses. But we could see no sign of getting any thing to eat. We had had no breakfast and were getting very weak not having eaten but a biscuit apiece for several days....to fight mosquitoes we all climbed onto the roof of the house and lay there it being very flat and the mosquitoes did not trouble us much. Before lying down we turned out all our wallets to see if we had any old biscuits left. We ate up all the crumbs and a little coffee we had left.

--"Diary of my Life," (Saturday, July 16, 1865--Excursion down Padre to salvage a wrecked vessel)
Commencing Janr'y 10, 1858
Thomas John Noakes


The mosquitoes last night were awful, and this morning our horses looked jaded out, we protected ourselves against them by by getting in the hut, closing it and .....smoking ourselves with smoke and want of air. I had very little sleep, after getting our breakfast off the pig we had killed, we continued our journey down the beach, our discoveries yesterday consisted of over twenty bales of cotton, most of them badly buried in the sand, but today we saw nothing more valuable than empty barrels of bread boxes, water caps, can of spoilt vegetables and two boxes of spoiled tea biscuits, with a cask containing about four gallons of very good vinegar. We passed the wrecks of two vessels, and several boats and a good deal of rigging and things belonging to a ship, together with about a dozen chairs. We took our dinner at a water hole on the island which we had a good deal of difficulty in finding. We then rode and rode till after dark trying to find water at which to stop for the night, our horses being so tired that we had to walk and drive them before us but being unsuccessfull in finding water we had to turn down on the beach and content ourselves with a dry biscuit apiece for supper and tie our horses up for the mosquitoes to feed on during the night after a thirty miles ride.

--"Diary of my Life," (Monday, July 10, 1865--Excursion down Padre to salvage a wrecked vessel during the height of the Smuggler's road cotton days)
Commencing Janr'y 10, 1858
Thomas John Noakes

"Well, hey now, I ever tell you about Wade's Place? No!? Well, by golly, yes sirree, sit down and I'll tell you all about it! It was called WADE'S PLACE! THAT'S RIGHT! WADE'S PLACE! Well, you see, an old Mexican fella friend of mine had a little place over there down the way and you see, they came on hard times and he needed him a partner! And you just can't get no better partner than ole' Ralph here! No Sirree! See, he couldn't even give away no beer anymore and the place was always empty but I had just the fix! And I figured on sharing it with him! So I says, "Well now, lookie here, I'll go partner for halves with ya, but FIRST we GOTTA get some better MUSIC in that joint! The thing of it is, when people want to drink some COLDBEER they want to hear HONKYTONK! NOT NONE OF THAT DOGGONE ACCORDION MUSIC!" So we turned the place into a honkytonk allright, and we played Ray Price and Ernest Tubb and Porter Waggoner and Webb Pierce and Jerry Lee Lewis and the rest! And folks came by allright, and the joint was always HOPPIN', and even though the paint was still pink and purple, that sign out front sure enough said WADE'S PLACE!"

Big smile...

--Ralph Wade, Padre beach legend and WWII hero. Telling stories, 2010.


"You can take me to paradise,
And then again you can be as cold as ice...
Your mood is like a circus wheel,
You're changing all the time...
Think I'm looking on the dark side,
But everyday you hurt my pride...
Oh, but it sure feels nice...

--"Over My Head,"sung by Fleetwood Mac, Fleetwood Mac album, 1975




There's a place way way back in my mind that remembers every story, every word, every emotion, and every mannerism of those I've looked up to in my life. Their stories are burned into memory, never to leave, and every experience and memory they've shared with me becomes in some small way mine as well. And maybe that's why they shared those things to begin with. Or maybe they were just blowing off steam, killing time, quickening up the passage of the hands of time, the sand in the hourglass. But we'll never know, because men don't talk of such things. We laugh and we curse and we dream of better fortunes for our offspring and sometimes, late at night on an empty beach, we sit and remember stories like "Wade's Place," and think of those who came before us but are now gone.

I almost didn't write this one, but ya know, these fingers like to let it out, and these stories and these memories are too much to keep bottled up. Call it cathartic, call it hot air, heck-call it a story of the ones that got away, but like always, what something means to one man remains something else to another. One thing we can all agree on, is that maybe every one of us has lost one fish, two fish, three fish four...and maybe this remains the story of the great phenomenon known as having a "monkey on the boat," when a man can't actually land a thing he hooks for the entire trip. But then again, maybe it's not. Maybe this story is nothing more a tale of bloodthirsty Padre mosquitoes carrying people off and of one man carrying on like tomorrow isn't a consideration.

There's one thing for complete certainty. Padre has never asked for much but humility. Spit in the face of the Ocean and she'll never forget it. I seem to keep hearing and being told that "guides" have to know it all, have all the answers, be able to explain the way the Ocean works and when she'll see fit to allow this wave to go that way or those fish to swim this way. Be able to explain why the sun rises in the sky and the birds of the sea do the things they do. And I suppose this trip made it clear. Never. I want the stars of the sky and the creatures of the deep and the waves of the sea to forever remain an enigma and forever remain mystical and sacred. I'll never be that man and somewhere deep inside I suppose I already knew that. I want the birds to fly and I want the animals of the night to roam those dark stretches of beach and I never ever want to know it all. If that means admitting that in writing so be it. I'll never spit in the face of the Ocean and she'll forever see a humble man alone on her shores or on her waters.

Full of questions and still wondering which course to take, I headed to the beach for the 3rd beach trip, the first two cut short by catching massive amounts of shark bait in the first day and having to come home to fill that 22 cubic ft deep freeze.



And mourned the loss of more virgin land on the Padre's Island to the development that just won't stop, continues unplanned and unabated just like the disaster that used to be Lake Padre...


That as time goes on, will find us more and more shut out from our beach access and our ability to enjoy what is here. That there is always a "reason" for but always ends with the same result. No access. No driving. Or in the case of the GLO land, not even any WALKING back in there.


And I took a spin down Bob Hall Beach just to see.


And after a quick run back to the house to pick up a forgotten rod, I was on the most sacred stretch of Island we'll ever get to experience, Padre. For another expedition-not a fish slaying-not a self glorifying picture ceremony-not for points in a tournament-but to search for truth, for answers, and for the hidden man within each of us that hides his face from us when we're back in the real world, just trying to put food on the table and fit in and conform to society. And that's why it's an expedition, because growth and self awareness and finding out who we really are and what kind of limitations our minds and bodies really have is as painful as a needle to the thumb. And I know I wouldn't have it any other way.


So while some fellow planned his illegal dirtbike adventure....


I hit the beach with a ever strengthening west wind. Something I NEVER DO. EVER. Not only was it foolish but it was against my handbook of staying alive for another day...


And I looked back and the clouds over Padre were downright creepy...


Yes they were....





And the further I got off that beach the worse the seas picked up, and I knew better, but I was searching for what I knew not...I just knew that I had to see if the Jacks were in some of my spots and how this West blow was affecting them...And my first cast a massive Jack blew up a rather large topwater just to run below and I let him do it as the boat spun around broadside to the swell and the chop....and sure enough he wrapped that flouro around something down on bottom and broke me off, and I was left with only a glimpse of him striking my lure. Second cast, 8 Jacks ran underneath the boat to see what I was about, and I cast down range from them but in their path, and they ignored it and went back down to the depths below. So after a while, I changed lures and hooked up again, only to be broken off by a blue striking at the fluoro, again losing the Jack and the very last Kevin Eager handcrafted tuna popper I had left to this world. AHHH!!!!! I screamed in frustration so loud that the birds about fell outta the sky around me. And then the bite shut off!!! Knowing I was in the wrong, I headed yet further offshore, and around 3 miles out, all fish from Jacks to Snapper were absent....and it was rough. Very rough. At Idle speed only headed out, I knew it was time to get back west towards the beach. With spray coming over the bow and a confused sea from an East swell and a West wind, it was quite the uphill slog. Around two miles out things finally improved, but the winds were still continuing to pick up from the west and the tiny window I had was over. With two lures lost, and only three Jacks even striking at my offerings, it was over before it began. But yeah, somebody just HAD to pop off about catching Jacks last week so the "monkey" jumped on my boat before I headed out this day!! Never, ever, brag or you'll get skunked the next go round!!! Foiled by my own big mouth!!!


And making it to the shore emptyhanded, I found a washed up... Roseatte Spoonbill feather?! Cool!




And myself and "Old Sinky" loaded up and headed south.


And fished Steve's Harnell 534 a little bit!


And I just haven't ever fished something so darn shiny!



Beautiful!


And I felt good because I don't know the history of this 40 year old stick, but I know I won't do it's old owners wrong, she's gonna spend many a day and night down those sands with me...


But the visibility remained poor.


And the wade gut and 1st guts quite full with dead weed.


Stopping at Green Hill for a bit, I just couldn't quite place anything except the fact that I had never been more unsettled and I just didn't know why. Just couldn't place it. And as I stood there, I realized it was Ralph's spirit and his memory. And I reached into the glove box and pulled out something that he gave me right before the end. His old beach knife.


And emotions ran through my mind as I thought about things.


And I was so thankful for this old knife that he wanted me to have and for his stories and friendship. I never have been a darn thing more than a lone soul in this old world that is prone to wandering, and I think he always knew that about me.


And just because, I headed on up to the "window" to take in all that lay around me as the winds blew.


And as I lay there, pelicans flew and the wind whistled...




And a pod of pelicans swooped on the draft over the foredune ridge...


And all lay quiet at the old Green Hill line camp....


And only cowboy ghosts remained...


And my old washed in houseboat...


But it became time to go, and I silently fished my way south, finding that the afternoon bite was only getting better, as is oft the case in summer, with the morning bite quiet.


And as the cloud rolled in and the skies grew dark, I knew the time was near to run shark baits.


And the Island grew closer to nightfall.


And finally, not having seen any bait all day, I found a school of Atlantic Bumper thicker than any I had ever seen.






And my perseverance was rewarded with a quick undersize red...


And another, and then it was over.


Heading south, I quickly shot two nice baits out over the bar at a quite special location. Knowing I had not the advantage of having day shark fished, I knew it would be a crap shoot if they would hold, and I wasn't willing to run massive weights to force things.


And quite literally, after having run those lines so far upcurrent and down the beach that the line never touched the water, they still began to collect old weed very quickly.


But just like old days, after about 12 minutes, the most northernmost bait was NAILED by what was likely a rather large Bull, and drug about 50 feet. But the weed on the line helped to pull the large 28/0 circle from his mouth, and I slacked the drag off completely and waited. And sure enough, his ornery butt came back around and nailed it again, this time taking quite a bit of line before I set the drag to him. And as the hook set, and I strapped in, I felt the hook pull and that was that. Hmm. Big 28/0 circle hook fail?


And things lay just like you see them.


And I didn't know why then, but I know why now. Something just pulled me back north, and I quickly loaded up to roll out north! And quickly bumped into Steven Kennedy. Who was kind enough to hand me quite a few awesome new weights and hooks, that are NOT ridiculous 28/0 circles. Thankyou bud, I really appreciate it. And before we went our ways, he said something to me. "There's two types of people on this beach, you know?" Glance right, then left. Then out over the water. Short pause, then, "There's campers, you know-that set up on a spot and sit. And then..." Long gaze over the rod rack on the front of my truck, "There's hunters. You're a hunter. You're hunting. You won't stop until you find what it is you're after." Wow. Truer words never spoken. And as he left, I thought about how right he was. And I wished that I was going to follow him and sit by his campfire that night and do what all the others do. But I couldn't, because the Indians have been calling for a long time and once you hear them you can't make them go away...


And I fished my way back to the Bumper hole, and pulled some bait for the next morning, and threw topwaters at that spot until well after dark, working that hole until I was sure there was nothing in it, but about 5,000 skipjack, who about 50 of are currently vacuum sealed all nice in the deep freeze of everlasting bait slumber! The bumper? They were for offshore the next morning!




And then smoked that beach out a few miles north, ready in the morning to continue the hunt with topwaters and finally make a offshore excursion to a quite historically productive spot!


And man was that ribeye good!




Beach grub! And off to bed for an early start in the morning.


And the morning brought me before sunup hitting all the appropriate spots with topwaters and the like, but the bite would be later in the day and I knew it was time to get offshore.


So there we went! Trolling all the way...


And surprisingly, the cold water was present, even on the Northeast flow that continued to blow.


But I had a cooler full of Bumper and ribbonfish and a box of lures and a pound of shrimp to boot. And even some sliced hardhead snapper candy!


But as I approached the spot, a 1,000 horsepower offshore boat pulled right up on it and dropped the hook with 7 customers aboard.


Ain't been nothing but life in the big city ever since the Feds closed those outside waters. But I tell you what, you give ME that boat...and my hiny will be right out there at the 8.9 mile line after those big ones, not all up on the beach with the kayakers and the Nutty Zodiac idiots! And I trolled ribbons, I dropped every bait I had, I tossed topwaters until I was blue in the face, but it just wasn't happening! And I kept on eye on old boys. And in three hours I saw them catch literally one fish. What happened to what used to be one hot mama of a fishing spot! Argh, it's like that sometimes. Totally emptyhanded even by the usually ever present Triggerfish, I headed back in to the beach.


And my heart wanted lures, so I got after it. This picture taken right before tossing off into this gut and having a SOLID Jack wallop this topwater to pieces. Argh! I watched the line shoot off this tiny 2500 trout reel so fast I thought I'd never get it back. Up in the dunes fighting this fish, more than once I had to beg turtle patrol to STOP before they ran right into my line and broke me off, but they just don't understand sometimes. I think 3500's is all it's gonna be from now on though!


And my GOSH were there jacks in the surf just nailing topwaters in the blind!




And on and on I hunted, and on and on and on I sorted through the holes, the suckouts, the pinches, the breaks over the bar, and spots like this where a nasty rip current is pulling water right back out over the bar and directly offshore.


And the beauty of the Padre's Island took my breath away, as it always does, and I was alone still, with Steven's words ringing in my ears.


And the winds picked up as they do, but it didn't matter.


And first cast that afternoon with the big boy Harnell, a massive Jack quite literally devoured my 2 ounce holographic spoon!


Steve, your rod is lucky old buddy!






And I got worried, as a decent man and father will do, and I went to get a phone call out to check on little baby, who had been teething with her molars earlier the week before but had been ok again before I had left town. And Kathy said she was ok, but that we weren't out of the woods yet. To stay down. Don't worry about us, just stay down. And I guess it was the Indians again, I just dunno, but something told me that this trip was over. A voice somewhere back in the cobwebs said it was time to go. And with the tide finally dropping out for the week, it was gonna be a midnight low water.



I made the call to save my shark baits for another time and place, and fish my way off...and every single inch of these waters called my name, and the hunt was on, and it was going to be a good one.




And as I looked up from that dune line, I watched clouds and thought about what was really important to me that day. And little baby Elizabeth is at the top of that list, every time, all the time.


And as if in agreement, the white-tailed hawks flew and the breeze blew and there wasn't a soul around but I to watch and fish and see it all.




And the Royal terns flew, and all was right with my decision.


And my goodness, was that low water fine as wine...




And I quickly caught back up to the Jacks again...




And Steve's rod was just the ticket.


And as the day wound down, I knew-you're a blessed man buddy.




And now that it's all over, I can look back and see the truth. Family comes first before everything else and sometimes a man's instincts are spot on. I got home well after dark, and around 4am little baby began teething again and spent the night curled up against my side in our bed just hurting. And all the next day she refused to be put down, and spent all day curled up against my chest with her favorite show on the tv, "Puppy Dog Pals." And I realized-Ralph told me more than once that he was never ever able to have any children of his own. And here I was, with such a special time with a special little girl that I wouldn't trade for all the fish on Padre. And I had already had my time on the Isla De Malaquittas and that now was time to be a man and care for little baby. And besides? Who wanted to get bit by one more cottonpicking mosquito? Lol-they were even following me out into the wade gut. And forget about it after nightfall! At least we know that 152 years ago folks like Thomas Noakes were dealing with them too, and that Padre was just as harsh, as brutal, as unforgiving as it remains today. Which is one great thing for folks that need, that want, that have to know their limits physically and mentally...

If only "Wade's Place" was still around. What a great place to tell fishing stories that would be. And maybe a few fishing "tall tales" too. Well, I guess as long as nobody turned on the "accordion music." Lol. What a laugh. Guess we always did share the same darn sense of humour. Ya'll take care and tight lines.

--Colin
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Protect Padre at all costs for future generations to use and enjoy and never forget our freedoms aren't free.

www.padreislandexpeditions.com

[awesum]

Good reading .... thanks!

[deputydawg]

Loved every word and picture! Its always a good day when you post a new adventure!

I've had a rule for a long time to stay out of bars unless someone is paying me to be there. I'd make an exception for Wade's Place though, sounds like I place I would like to be!!!

Hope the baby girl gets over the teething soon! Stay safe and take care of that family my friend!

[Central Scrutinizer]

[Towboat Trash]

[Central Scrutinizer]

I stand corrected! Should not doubt an Old Salt like yourself.
I'm in, if you want to relaunch the "Joint" !!!

[Rebecca of Sunnybrookfarm]

you'll all be sad to know that they pulled down the old Coastways the other day....I almost took a picture, but didn't....
becky
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[Towboat Trash]

[Central Scrutinizer]

[HungerBuster]

WEST wind? In the summer? Now THAT is bravery. I'm surprised the blood suckers didn't carry your rear end back over the dunes and set up a buffet! Great pics as usual-- and glad to hear your wife encourages a little down time for Dad...though I've learned that when MY wife says, "no really, we're fine, stay," she means "I am in hell and you will be too when you return...so get your fun in while you can."
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Fish ON!

[Towboat Trash]

[shallowsport]

Awesome report! Great photos and exceptionally educational. Keep them coming.
_________________
"I do hunt and I do fish and I do not apologize to anyone that I hunt and fish." - Norman Schwarzkopf

[prod1816]

Live in SA, and wish I could make the trip more often to the island. Three kids and a wife keep me at bay, but I do enjoy reading your posts. Keep up the good work.

[panthera]

if you would have taken a video of that ribeye, it would have felt like we were right there with ya. good job as always.

[DawnPatrolVeteran]

Great job as always.
If I can't make it out to the Isla, I always have the vicarious path.
_________________
To have a right to do a thing is not at all the same as to be right in doing it. - G.K. Chesterton