Corpusfishing.com

[Towboat Trash]

"I wonder how you're feeling, There's ringing in my ears
And no one to relate to except the sea...
Who can I believe in?"

--Peter Frampton, "Show me the Way," Frampton Comes Alive album, 1975

"Coe-Linn, it's all going away, it's ALL going away...yes, the beach. It's all going away...just going right away, going away...

--Captain Billy Sandifer, late fishing guide of the National Seashore discussing the wild untamed beach of old and the present day crowds every single day of the week, R.I.P...


"You remember me calling on the phone telling you to wait for me," daddy asked. "Yessir," I replied as we ate dinner and I could hear my baby son baby-talking in the kitchen. "You remember me hollering get ready from the back door when I got home?" "Yes sir," I replied. "And then I'd get to the stairs on holler up that I was coming. Huh? And how about when I would take the door right off the hinges, just kick it right in? Huh?" Big grin. "Then you'd be like a scared rabbit bawling out but I'd get ahold of you anyway, didn't I? Huh?" But it was too late, I was already lost in memories of growing up on a dirt road in South Georgia in the 80's and early 90's. Of the sound of my bedroom door getting kicked in right off the hinges, of daddy powering right through it. "I raised you boys right, sure did, that's why you ain't pansies like all these millennials and @#$%#@ out here today, whining for handouts and a free phone." Of the splinters, of the door jamb catapulting into 10,000 smithereens of airborne blistered wood particles. And of the pain that followed. Always the pain. A world of hurt when that strap came out. You never escape the strap. Never. And the only thing worse was if he left next and went over to my younger brother's room. That was worse. But the whip-poor-wills and the crickets would carry you off to sleep, and the sounds of the night in the country coming in through the open window. And in nature, there's peace.

--reminiscing during family dinner, and visiting with my drafted Vietnam vet daddy, who I love dearly, and I reckon can still whoop a$$

I could hear the old green 1980's Dodge ram truck of Marshall Shirah's daddy roaring down our dirt road and I knew that couldn't be good. 17 year old Marshall was dead then though, killed on the jobsite of the new bridge out at I-95 after he dropped out of school to work with his daddy. A bridge piling block base just dropped right on top of him when the cable snapped, with his daddy as crane operator. Took them 3 days to dig him out and his daddy never was the same. What was left anyways in the bottom of that swamp bottom. If he had been a terrible older bully, his daddy was worse since his boy was killed. Bad on the bottle. But at this moment, he came sliding to a grass eating halt in the front grass of our property, bringing the fight to our front door. His daughter had been driving at 13 in the family car and almost killed our youngest brother on his big wheel out on the edge of the dirt road and daddy had said something to her. Marshall's daddy was big. Real big. As I ran to the shed, I saw daddy slip his bat out out from behind his back seat in the truck. The handle was cut off, and it was about right I suppose to really crack a few skulls, and that's why he kept it there. The two separate worlds collided out in the dirt, nose to nose, chin to chin, sweaty and neither backing down, loud words being exchanged. I had a screwdriver I had filed to a knife point with a duct taped handle hidden in my right palm, that I had hidden away in that shed. I had already taken a few lickings from the older boy Marshall before he died, and I figured if his daddy got over on my old man, I would get close. Real close. He might even push me down. But by then I'd be close enough to run that screwdriver clear to the handle up into Marshall's daddy's neck. I figured I knew right where to put it. Nobody was gonna hurt my daddy. Nobody. But I never had to, because by that point all there was left to hear or see was the sound of grown men grunting and daddy's bat, and Marshall's daddy's head getting busted down to the white meat. And it was so hot that the mid-day dust wouldn't even swirl on that brown dirt road, and the cicadas were so loud in the summer sun that I can hear them right now as I type this. I learned something that day. A man only fights to protect his family. And by that point, there's no mercy.

--early 90's on a dirt road in South Georgia

"The lights of Captain Billy Sandifer's "Coyote Lair" office were unusually dim, but then again, it was 2100 hours, or 9 o'clock at night. I sat across from him, defiantly staring him down as he gave me the same look. The silence was palpable. I wanted to hear what he had to say, but he was going to make me wait, and there was no way I was going to appear to actually want to hear him tell me much of anything. Being my daddy's age and era and all. Finally, out it came. "Coe-Linn I've been trying to figure you out for years, although I now doubt you are able to be figured out. And I suppose that's ok. The surf is where folks go when they want to get away from the world and they need to leave it at their backs and they need to turn around the other way and face Mother Ocean instead, Billy Sandifer declared. He waited for my response, but I had none. He was right.

--Conversation with Captain Billy Sandifer, guide on Padre Island National Seashore for over 20 years. R.I.P. Billy.



I almost don't even know what to write, my head's been swirling with so many thoughts and memories since our son was born. So much different than our daughter. When I look at him I can't believe the distance we've all come and the way things have changed from years of yesterday. Thus the memories above. I been trying to put these write ups on my site at http://www.padreislandexpeditions.com and keep Tyler's board from bogging up with my nonsense but i haven't really done much more than blogs yet on there. I know you guys said you enjoyed the reports of old so I took some photos of a quick 4 day 3 night personal trip last week to share. A pre-warning however, nobody won the rodeo and there's no 18 foot hammerheads, but I do hope you enjoy the pics.



Charters wrapped up, I was able to take off for the beach to test some new hooks and some new gear. And into the distance I went....




The wind was howling just like it was supposed to, not going to lay until the next morning. Perfect night to stand the night watch for casted bait sharks.


And somehow my replacement camera started taking pictures all on its own?



Too cool but not happening today!





And I stopped to drop off supplies for my old timer.






Beautiful when it's stormy...


And hit Yarbrough for a little while.


I hear a new company is getting these houseboats out now.




Left with bait, caught some more fresh bait, and hit the night's shark spot near the old timer's camp, who was away at the moment.




I hear you, old Kronks…


And the night driving was ridiculous with those led light bars.



And soon I got what I was after.


Under the full moon.


Ole blacktippy, and if I told you how close he was to the water's edge, you'd be horrified. I love fishing this way, it's almost a hunt like those trout can be....which pinch, which bar, which bait, which rip or suckout…


Man, that ain't bad!


And in the morning it was time to roll!


The war wagon rides again!



What a lure...


Look at that face....little did I know in 10 minutes something would steamroll this fella clear to the bottom in a run my Shimano Saragosa 6000 couldn't hardly stop without breaking him off....


But the kayak plague had struck again and the bottom fish were all 5 inches undersized.




And the jacks were nowhere to be found.


I got back to the beach before mid morning, and finally got that cup of Joe.


And hit the road with Hank to try out my vocal chords. Lol!



I wanted to spend some time with the old timers. With the ghosts of yesteryear. Every late summer I do this. They're there. And they wait for my return and they want to be remembered and they don't want to just fade away...




I miss when these wind turbine blades weren't here....my first time in these places was so special, it really was like dropping off the earth where no one could find you, no one could take from you, no one could even touch you or disturb you...


It's a shame how our view has been totally defiled, not to mention the migrating birds, of which there are many that pass through the Coastal Bend. And ain't seen the power bill go down a single cent.


There's the shimmering distances I was looking for....




And I paid a visit to one of the WWII bombing range line up arrows.


Such an interesting material they were made from. Almost like plaster o'paris.






I see you looking there Louis and Viola Rawalt…






Algal mats of the Laguna Madre shoreline.


And the 2nd arrow.






The least terns nest here, but it's late in the year and the birds and chicks are all gone now...


I left there, and took a ride to one of the old line camps. The was was Green Hill line camp, part of the Dunn Ranch operation.


This was one of the old corrals. The cabin and dipping vats were in the far distance, as well as the well.






Very old gate, gone now.


Notches etched in.




And in another location...


I came across one of the old bombs.


Some were called Mark II, etc etc....there's a lot of info out there about them all.


And some of the old WWII trainer plane Autocannon shells.


Left as they landed.


So that you and I could be free to live as PATRIOTIC AMERICANS. NOT WHINY FLAG BURNING PANSIES.


Many have lost their lives, their limbs, their souls and even themselves so that WE COULD BE FREE. Some lived and have never been the same since coming home. We should NEVER forget their sacrifices or let their actions be in vain. If only my generation had all gotten thier a$$es beat they might understand that....


Shimmering reality in these places...






And I need to check with my dear historian friend on this one...a scary looking piece of munition...




A trail as they fell...


Where have we been, where are we going? Does it matter? No time, no reality in this place...


You cant erase a dream, only wake up....



I left that place, taking only my thoughts, and bid the old ones goodbye until next time. And returned to where we came, the sea.


How I missed thee.



And later, after some scouting, got with the program.






And night turned into morning and I headed out for a little bit to play and round up dinner for the house.








And the red ball minnows and glass minnows were balling up every afternoon, surrounded by Spanish and a few kings and some sharks.













Good eating pan seared, parmesan encrusted on hot iron.




And the afternoon bite was frantic.


And there we were with a nice 7' bull.








Dermal denticles....VERY rough like sandpaper....








And I do believe this is my new favorite picture! You just haven't LIVED until you catch a 5 ft blacktip on a 130 Tiagra with 100 lbs of drag!


This little guy had heart. He charged the beach with the bait so hard that the line dropped like a bridge jumper. See him charging the bar?






And time crept on and the wind blew and the waves crashed and I realized I hadn't seen another person in 12 hours. Which is just what I needed.











Alone.


Fishing with history and surrounded by it.





And Billy and Ralph and even the Kronks were there, and they were watching.









And I watched from atop the dune.






And the sea oats rustled in the breeze.




And as I threw topwaters for fat trout in the gut I was sitting on, light from the dune caught my eye, and it was beautiful.









And it got to be that time!


Shrimp flavor ramen of course!






But around midnight, sure enough, another human up to no good, night driving without a single fishing rod. I won't even go into what he said to me when he of course almost head on ran into my boat trailer and truck. Something in Spanish about "where's the party, I hear this is party central, eh?" After he completed his Mansfield up to no good mess he was gone.



And I couldn't believe my eyes, but 200lb Jerry Brown hollow core began to break off, one by one.


I heard and felt something swim into this one, tear arse, and then break it off...weird...


The morning brought three rods left in commission only.


And peace.


But a beautiful sunrise.


And scalding hot, fresh percolator coffee from good and black grounds.


And I retrieved my break offs, and packed up to go help with the kids for Friday.


Sianara old friend. Home for 36 hours.


And every ten miles took water temps since someone had been spreading a cold water upwelling tale. The 45.


The 35.


The 25.




And after a visit with the old timer at the 6 who is now on a mission to get prisoners to pick up trash on the beach here, that was a wrap. Sorry for the long winded tale, if you made it this far. I don't have all the answers but I'm starting to realize from being a daddy to my own son that as we age we find ourselves looking back and reflecting and thinking on things. It seems like another universe in which grown men would meet face to face and fight out their differences with fists. Today I guess we get the internet and social media, with grown men hiding behind keyboards and gossip. And I don't reckon they make whippings like they used to, and I never want young Jonathan to get one, to be honest. But at the end of the day, the greatest joy we can have I'm realizing is peace, just living with our families and loved ones in this great country. Our forefathers gave us that as they sacrificed all during wartimes. And I sure am grateful for the greatest beach I've ever ever known, where there's no free phone, no free ride, and every day features a mighty swift kick in the pants. God bless you all. See you on the sand. Until then, tight lines and I leave you with these two thoughts.

"Although internet is by far the fastest and cheapest way to advertise your services to the largest number of people, it actually comes at a dear price. The more self-promotion a guide does on internet, the more pressure he brings on a particular area or fishery and, often, it is an area already overburdened by the number of current users. The reality of it is that the more guides promote certain locations, the tougher fishing becomes there.

Several non-productive charters as the result of crowds that read your stuff on the internet will quickly outdo any good the internet promotion may have originally done. And what about the fishermen who learned of the spot and were enjoying it long before the internet guide who is basically fishing for customers told the entire world how many he caught there yesterday? More than likely he is going to arrive at his sweet spot to find it looking like a boat dealer's parking lot.

It is for this very reason that you will most likely find the fishing report on my website outdated. I made my mind up many years ago that I would not put my personal gain over the well being of the resource. I call it turning the wolves loose. I've observed for many years that one good fishing report on internet can dramatically increase the number of users the following weekend and that traffic can ruin the fishing. The crowds are their own worst enemy; their very presence brings an end to that which they seek. So, the fishing is good but the catching varies from day to day. So do the conditions. But we're still having lots of fun and there's not a whole lot of people down there."

--Captain Billy Sandifer, guide on Padre Island National Seashore for over 20 years, article from 2007. RIP Billy.


"Loose lips sink ships!"

--My dear friend and mentor Ralph Wade, WWII vet and beach fishing pioneer. Rest in peace Ralph, you are missed every day.


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

www.padreislandexpeditions.com

[Donnie]

Thanks Colin.
_________________
Don - permanent prescription of salt water therapy.

[ratherbefishing]

Glad you posted here again Colin.

Spend as much time with your kids that you can. There will come a time soon when they will no longer want you to pick them up and carry them.

Post again when you can...
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[fri8632]

Very nice, loved it.

[Transplanted]

I have seen shark rigs with the large floats on them before but you have a pretty good picture shown in the front of your boat. How are they attached? Could someone show a complete rig? Or maybe draw a picture of how they are setup?

[Transplanted]

And thank you for the report. Very nice as usual.

[parttime]

Another great read, thank you.
_________________
Parttime fishing, parttime wishing...
https://www.youtube.com/c/AJOutdoors1

[deputydawg]

Great read and pictures! Glad your world is going well!

[BayFly]

Enjoyed the trip Colin, and especially the photos. Your equipment is impressive, and I think you about have it figured out!

[Transplanted]

I stopped by and talked to the old timer in the tan trailer. Gave him 20 gallons of water I didnt use. He said hes been on PINS for a month now. Also said he gets money from the government for being a vet or disability. I think he said hes divorced and his x wife lives in his house in San Antonio.
I told him I heard about him from a guy online. He knew it was Colin who was a tugboat captain.
The stories he told me made me think he may have a touch of mental illness but if hes a divorced Vietnam vet.....
He served our country in a crappy place at a crappy time. Hope for the best for him.

[Towboat Trash]

[Transplanted]

My wife just pointed out something funny. Your forum name is towboattrash. The licence plate on my camp trailer says NOTRASH. Ill try to get her to put a picture on our blog and link to it.