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John N. Felsher's Saltwater Fishing Adventures
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For a real blast, try enticing lunker
rampaging reds with topwater baits
rampaging reds with topwater baits
Capt. Mike Frenette, a professional redfish angler and guide from
Venice, La., shows off a big bull redfish he caught in the Louisiana
marshes by using a Creek Chub Knucklehead topwater lure.
Venice, La., shows off a big bull redfish he caught in the Louisiana
marshes by using a Creek Chub Knucklehead topwater lure.
To the north, water, marsh and sky merged into one colossal swirling,
flashing grayish, black mass, erasing any trace of a horizon.
Safe for the moment in the bay, we listened for our quarry. Ahead of
the storm, water around us slicked into a quiet greenish-gray sheen in the
oppressive late summer afternoon heat. Then, we heard it. Crunching,
slurping sounds emanated from water churned coppery red, the color of
mud washed down the nearby Mississippi River.
In this case, the reddish color did not originate with Iowa clay or
Colorado silt washed down the mighty river. This color stemmed from
rampaging schools of bull redfish devouring anything they could grab with
their crushing jaws. Sticking their heads above the water like the mullets
they pursued, these redfish advanced in compact pods, terrorizing anything
that happened to swim in the area.
“Redfish in the 15- to 35-pound range often stick their heads out of the
water in the shallows as they herd baitfish,” said Mike Frenette, a
professional redfish angler. “They can go a long way like that. We call
them ‘rock munchers’ because they eat anything that gets in their way.
They might even eat rocks if given the chance.”
Some distance from the shoreline, waves generated by acres of
marauding redfish crashed against a sandbar rising from the now muddy
bay. The powerful fish made telltale wakes as they pushed pogies, mullets,
crabs, croakers and any other hapless creatures toward the sandbar where
they cut off their escape.
In such shallow water, few baits work better than topwater baits. Few
angling experiences compare with tempting big redfish on topwater baits in
water barely inches deep. Topwater baits come in two basic categories,
true floating baits or sinking baits that anglers may work over the water
surface or matted weed tops. True topwater baits, usually made of hard
plastic, pop, sputter or “walk” along the surface.
Popping baits rest on the surface and make a popping commotion
when an angler jerks a line. Concave openings in the nose splash water.
The harder an angler jerks a line, the more noise such a bait makes.
These baits work best in rough weather or when redfish become highly
aggressive. Some examples include Knuckle-heads, Chug Bugs, Skitter
Pops and similar baits.
Prop baits, lures with smaller propellers attached, thrash over the
surface. Propellers spin when pulled or retrieved through the water.
Examples include Tiny Torpedoes or Devil Horses.
Among the most popular topwater baits, walking baits include Top
Dogs, She Dogs, Super Spooks and Skitter Walkers. These attract fish
with vigorous side-to-side motion. Anglers usually make continuous
retrieves, but may use the stop and go method.
Sometimes, even redfish require subtle baits. A Texas-rigged soft
plastic lizard or jerk shad works well over thick, matted grass. Although
they sink, anglers can dance them over the surface like topwater baits.
With wind starting to kick up from the approaching storm and giant
redfish acting overly aggressive, I selected the largest popper I could find, a
Creek Chub Knuckle-head that closely resembled a mullet. Mike picked a
Tsunami walking bait, but with so many huge fish feeding in a frenzy, it
probably didn’t matter what we threw at them. Seconds after our lures
landed near the compact cluster of fish, two large eruptions exploded on
the surface.
“A double hook-up of 25-pound class redfish on topwater baits; it
doesn’t get any better than this when it comes to fishing,” Frenette said.
“I’ve caught a lot of big fish offshore, but nothing compares to catching big
redfish on topwater baits in shallow water for pure fun and excitement.”
The big bulls stretched our lines and challenged our light tackle almost
to the breaking point as Mike and I did the “Venice Waltz” in the boat to
avoid entangling our lines. Near the boat, we could see several hundred
redfish smashing into each hooked fish. Greedy and not interested in
sharing, big redfish often attempt to steal apparent meals from their
brethren. With our hands already full of all the fight we could handle, we
didn’t dare toss another bait into the copper maelstrom.
After about 15 minutes of adrenaline-rushing combat, we subdued
these beast. It didn’t take us long to find the school again. We could track
the redfish by the wakes and commotion they made as they chased
baitfish. We could hear the munching and crunching sounds as they
gulped morsels. Frenzied, squawking birds dove on any baitfish swift
enough to avoid the munchers.
Again, we hooked up a double. The bull that pulverized my
Knucklehead rocketed toward the Gulf of Mexico with my reel screaming for
relief. The straining 12-pound test line hummed as breezes generated by
the approaching storm began to blow.
Near the boat, my fish dove under the hull and wrapped the line
around the trolling motor shaft. I didn’t think I would ever see it or my lure
again, but the Berkley Trilene XT help firm despite such awesome
pressure. When we untangled the line from the trolling motor shaft, it still
refused to move.
“Mike, the fish must have gotten off, but now I’m snagged on something
else,” I said. “Is there anything else under the hull of the boat? I’m trying to
pop it loose, but it won’t budge. Maybe I snagged on an oyster reef or an
old stump or something. It won’t come out from under the boat.”
“Let me back the boat off a bit and maybe we can see what you’re
snagged on,” he responded.
Mike backed the boat and the “snag” took off charging toward the gulf
again. The massive spot-tailed muscle with scales never broke the line or
slipped the hook. It merely buried itself in the soft silt beneath the boat and
dared me to yank it out of there. It spooked when Mike moved the boat.
After 20 to 25 minutes, we landed a redfish in the 30-pound range and
released it. We caught several more until our muscles and equipment
could endure no more strain. Finally, a fish bigger than any we had yet
encountered annihilated my topwater bait in an explosion of water
reminiscent of depth charges attacking a submarine. It too raced for the
gulf, but this time, the fish proved too massive for the light line to hold. The
fish kept my new favorite redfish lure as the approaching storm warned us
to race toward the marina.
flashing grayish, black mass, erasing any trace of a horizon.
Safe for the moment in the bay, we listened for our quarry. Ahead of
the storm, water around us slicked into a quiet greenish-gray sheen in the
oppressive late summer afternoon heat. Then, we heard it. Crunching,
slurping sounds emanated from water churned coppery red, the color of
mud washed down the nearby Mississippi River.
In this case, the reddish color did not originate with Iowa clay or
Colorado silt washed down the mighty river. This color stemmed from
rampaging schools of bull redfish devouring anything they could grab with
their crushing jaws. Sticking their heads above the water like the mullets
they pursued, these redfish advanced in compact pods, terrorizing anything
that happened to swim in the area.
“Redfish in the 15- to 35-pound range often stick their heads out of the
water in the shallows as they herd baitfish,” said Mike Frenette, a
professional redfish angler. “They can go a long way like that. We call
them ‘rock munchers’ because they eat anything that gets in their way.
They might even eat rocks if given the chance.”
Some distance from the shoreline, waves generated by acres of
marauding redfish crashed against a sandbar rising from the now muddy
bay. The powerful fish made telltale wakes as they pushed pogies, mullets,
crabs, croakers and any other hapless creatures toward the sandbar where
they cut off their escape.
In such shallow water, few baits work better than topwater baits. Few
angling experiences compare with tempting big redfish on topwater baits in
water barely inches deep. Topwater baits come in two basic categories,
true floating baits or sinking baits that anglers may work over the water
surface or matted weed tops. True topwater baits, usually made of hard
plastic, pop, sputter or “walk” along the surface.
Popping baits rest on the surface and make a popping commotion
when an angler jerks a line. Concave openings in the nose splash water.
The harder an angler jerks a line, the more noise such a bait makes.
These baits work best in rough weather or when redfish become highly
aggressive. Some examples include Knuckle-heads, Chug Bugs, Skitter
Pops and similar baits.
Prop baits, lures with smaller propellers attached, thrash over the
surface. Propellers spin when pulled or retrieved through the water.
Examples include Tiny Torpedoes or Devil Horses.
Among the most popular topwater baits, walking baits include Top
Dogs, She Dogs, Super Spooks and Skitter Walkers. These attract fish
with vigorous side-to-side motion. Anglers usually make continuous
retrieves, but may use the stop and go method.
Sometimes, even redfish require subtle baits. A Texas-rigged soft
plastic lizard or jerk shad works well over thick, matted grass. Although
they sink, anglers can dance them over the surface like topwater baits.
With wind starting to kick up from the approaching storm and giant
redfish acting overly aggressive, I selected the largest popper I could find, a
Creek Chub Knuckle-head that closely resembled a mullet. Mike picked a
Tsunami walking bait, but with so many huge fish feeding in a frenzy, it
probably didn’t matter what we threw at them. Seconds after our lures
landed near the compact cluster of fish, two large eruptions exploded on
the surface.
“A double hook-up of 25-pound class redfish on topwater baits; it
doesn’t get any better than this when it comes to fishing,” Frenette said.
“I’ve caught a lot of big fish offshore, but nothing compares to catching big
redfish on topwater baits in shallow water for pure fun and excitement.”
The big bulls stretched our lines and challenged our light tackle almost
to the breaking point as Mike and I did the “Venice Waltz” in the boat to
avoid entangling our lines. Near the boat, we could see several hundred
redfish smashing into each hooked fish. Greedy and not interested in
sharing, big redfish often attempt to steal apparent meals from their
brethren. With our hands already full of all the fight we could handle, we
didn’t dare toss another bait into the copper maelstrom.
After about 15 minutes of adrenaline-rushing combat, we subdued
these beast. It didn’t take us long to find the school again. We could track
the redfish by the wakes and commotion they made as they chased
baitfish. We could hear the munching and crunching sounds as they
gulped morsels. Frenzied, squawking birds dove on any baitfish swift
enough to avoid the munchers.
Again, we hooked up a double. The bull that pulverized my
Knucklehead rocketed toward the Gulf of Mexico with my reel screaming for
relief. The straining 12-pound test line hummed as breezes generated by
the approaching storm began to blow.
Near the boat, my fish dove under the hull and wrapped the line
around the trolling motor shaft. I didn’t think I would ever see it or my lure
again, but the Berkley Trilene XT help firm despite such awesome
pressure. When we untangled the line from the trolling motor shaft, it still
refused to move.
“Mike, the fish must have gotten off, but now I’m snagged on something
else,” I said. “Is there anything else under the hull of the boat? I’m trying to
pop it loose, but it won’t budge. Maybe I snagged on an oyster reef or an
old stump or something. It won’t come out from under the boat.”
“Let me back the boat off a bit and maybe we can see what you’re
snagged on,” he responded.
Mike backed the boat and the “snag” took off charging toward the gulf
again. The massive spot-tailed muscle with scales never broke the line or
slipped the hook. It merely buried itself in the soft silt beneath the boat and
dared me to yank it out of there. It spooked when Mike moved the boat.
After 20 to 25 minutes, we landed a redfish in the 30-pound range and
released it. We caught several more until our muscles and equipment
could endure no more strain. Finally, a fish bigger than any we had yet
encountered annihilated my topwater bait in an explosion of water
reminiscent of depth charges attacking a submarine. It too raced for the
gulf, but this time, the fish proved too massive for the light line to hold. The
fish kept my new favorite redfish lure as the approaching storm warned us
to race toward the marina.