Loxahatchee Snook Slam
By
Jan Stephen Maizler
Captain Butch Constable eased his twenty five-foot center console towards a seemingly solid wall of mangroves about fifty yards away. As his onboard anglers, Jon Cooper and I looked at each other as if to mutually wonder where Butch would find an entrance. As we got closer, the wall dematerialized into groups of bright green mangrove islets that rose out of the coffee-colored backcountry water. Butch chose one opening out of a maze of possibilities.
As we passed through, the aperture gave way to a meandering canal. As we turned the first corner of our serpentine path, we spotted a large heron perched on a jagged dead tree limb. In moments, the bird saw us. It gave a disgruntled shriek, crouched, and lifted off into the air- no doubt, to fly to more peaceful parts of this jungle. Jon chuckled at the bird’s histrionics.
As Butch piloted his vessel into another turn, he said, “look”, and pointed to a mud bank forty feet off in the two o’ clock position. We were delighted to see a huge alligator sunning itself on this radiant afternoon. Since the tide was falling, it would have plenty of time to rest and warm itself. As we watched the armored creature in this wild world, I had a feeling that this moment could easily be occurring a million years ago: a humbling yet exciting feeling for any angler!
Butch started talking and this popped me out of my reflections. He noted that it was a bit of a surprise to see a ‘gator in such brackish water, but understandable given that the salt water was pushing further into the backcountry due to the lack of rain. He said we’d be reaching our honey hole in about ten minutes and we could be sure that we’d have all the action we wanted. I could feel my heart start pounding at this prospect and I looked longingly at one of the overhead fully rigged ultralight spinners and I readied myself…
As we traversed the final distance, I thought back on the inspirations, challenges, and details of our quest. While Butch and I had caught and released hundreds of large common snook in his home waters of Jupiter Inlet, the topic of the “other” kinds of snook had not come up. One night when we were discussing our mutual plans for the spring and summer fishing, Butch mentioned he’d caught over forty snook that very morning. Since this was only April, I pressed him for further details. He told me that he was fishing the brackish mangrove-lined waters of the Loxahatchee River. He added that he was fishing further inland because the common snook were still on the “inside”- this was particularly so since the absence of rain and “invading” saltwater allowed the fish to stay deeper in the brackish backcountry. But the most interesting topic was his mention of the fat snook and tarpon snook he’d caught amongst the common snook.
This really got my attention, since my only experience with the rarer species of snook was limited to an occasional tarpon snook in north Biscayne Bay. I asked him if he could repeat those fantastic “ three-snook” results and he said he could do so without any difficulty. Butch mentioned that the fourth species of snook- swordspine snook- were scarce, but they could be found at times under brackish water boat docks. I decided to organize this snook trip immediately and so, the Loxahatchee Snook Slam was born. It took little convincing to lure my friend Captain Jon Cooper away from his drafting table and flats skiff to join us a photographer and fellow adventurer.
A week later, we were boarding Butch’s boat at Jupiter’s Sea Sport Marina. We’d timed the trip to coincide with a full moon spring tide and an afternoon ebb tide. The optimal conditions of a fast tidal flow and dropping water would hopefully combine to assemble concentrated numbers of snook feeding on forage that pours out of the backcountry.
As we idled away from Sea Sport Marina, Butch said we had one last step, which was filling his huge livewell with live bait for chumming and fishing. He opined that his number one choice when using bait for a snook slam was live minnows. Firstly, minnows “matched the hatch” that existed in the brackish mangrove waters of the Loxahatchee. Secondly, minnows are just the right size as bait for the rarer and smaller snook species: fat snook generally top out at about seven pounds and tarpon snook do not exceed four pounds. Butch was convinced it made sense to use live bait small enough for the above species, while acknowledging that common snook up to twenty pounds gladly gobble up these tiny baits with relish. Lastly, live minnows last longer on the river than scaled sardines, which often prefer highly saline bays and beaches.
Butch eased his boat over to the shoreline pilings that supported the bridge next to the marina. He pointed to countless small flashes going off in the water column barely six feet from the shoreline. Butch opened up his minnow cast net, got in position and threw a perfectly unfurling “strike” over the hapless baitfish. As he pulled in the cast net, it was clear from the countless silver flickers in the “bag” that he’d be hauling a load of minnows into his livewell. After apprising the numbers of baitfish, he made two more throws of his cast net, thereby filling the livewell with minnows numbering in the thousands.
After this was accomplished, Butch told us we’d have about a half hour ride westward on the Loxahatchee River as well as another half hour ride through the mangrove backcountry. The first portion of this ride would be routine and would give him a chance to tutor Jon and I on the differing characteristics and habits of the different species of snook that we’d be catching.
Butch made it clear that the most important factor for having ongoing and viable as well as large snook populations was optimal habitat. This always consisted of having the longest possible stretch of salt water that begins as fresher brackish water with mangroves far inland, then transitions into an intermediate huge bay or river in between, and culminates as extremely salty water at an open ocean inlet or cut with surrounding beaches. He continued: “ the more the habitat conforms to these guidelines of lots of miles of water with a big and rich salinity transition, the higher the chances that you’ll have not only all the species of snook, but potentially huge numbers of them.”
Butch theorized that Lake Okeechobee and some of the canals of the South Florida Water Management District (SFWMD) create the heart of the fresh water feed that transitions into long rivers and canals of brackish salt water where Florida’s snook populations begin. He cautioned that the SFWMD can hurt the snook distributions that are poised for feeding and spawning when they dump (disproportionately) sudden huge quantities of fresh water into transition areas to prepare for the flooding of an approaching hurricane. He believed that the secret to a great snook area is a stable salinity transition. He felt that three of Florida’s best areas were Stuart and the St. Lucie River, Jupiter and the Loxahatchee River, and the Fort Myers region with its Caloosahatchee River. He said, “ these are the places you’ll likely find the best chances for all the species of snook.”
He then told us to try to visualize the different snook species having a different and specific range along the water transition from inland out to the open ocean.
Butch started with the common snook, which has the highest capacity to spend and tolerate the saltiest of salt waters. That’s why this large snook – which can grow to over fifty pounds in Florida- is found quite often under ocean piers all the way out to artificial and natural reefs offshore. When the common snook seeks warm waters as winter approaches, some of the fish travel inland, yet some of the fish seek refuge in the offshore depths. The common snook is the one snook species that spends the least of its time in the fresher parts of brackish water: this is obviously a guideline and there will be exceptions. Common snook gather at the ocean inlets during the summer months to spawn.
The next snook species Butch discussed was the fat snook. This species is the second largest species with most of the fish in the three to six pound range, although an occasional and rare fat snook can range from seven to ten pounds. Fat snook habitually live farther inland than common snook and they are encountered on inside marine waters rather than the open ocean. Butch has observed that fat snook often move towards the ocean inlet to spawn some time in January and February. He mentioned that he used to catch huge numbers of them on live shrimp during the winter at the very same bridge that we’d netted our minnows. On a year round basis, fat snook are often taken further up brackish marine rivers than are common snook. A fat snook looks simply like a common snook that is very fat- hence, the name.
Tarpon snook are smaller than common snook and fat snook. They rarely exceed four pounds, yet they are larger than the much rarer swordspine snook, which is generally no larger than two pounds. Tarpon snook are extremely distinctive as a snook species and they actually do look like a cross between a tarpon and a snook. Their bodies are tarpon-like, featuring a thin slab-sided body that gives way to an enormously upturned jaw that is set off by an extremely huge eye. Tarpon snook have the largest eye of any of the snook species. Butch felt that the tarpon snook’s eyes made it a very predatory snook that loved to feed in the dark at very focal ambush points. He also mentioned that tarpon snook seemed to be the species that was most comfortable foraging into the most inland parts of brackish marine rivers. Like fat snook, there are times of the year when tarpon snook travel into open bays to feed around docks and other cover.
Butch began to slow down as the open river portion of our trip ended and a solid wall of mangroves appeared in the distance. He said, “ that’s all you need to know about the different snook for now…soon, we’ll be entering the wilderness where I’ve been finding these fish.”
These recollections served me well as a foundation for our adventure as we took in the marvelous sights we saw on the way to his hot spot. Butch shut off his engine and drifted towards a large dead tree that hung over and into an undercut bank of rock, mud, and shells. As we got within twenty feet of the target area, he made his vessel fast to the bottom with his wishbone style anchor.
Butch laughed at the way I’d been staring longingly at his ultra light spinning rods. “Now’s the time”, he said. He handed an outfit to each of us. The rods were graphite and would aid in strike detection as well as load the power of the strike directly to the fish. The reels were new Penn spinners loaded with six-pound monofilament line. Butch mentioned he chose these reels for their fast retrieve ratio: this was an essential quality that would help get the snook away from their protective cover when we hooked up. The terminal tackle on these rigs sported a short leader of twenty-pound fluorocarbon and a very thin wire #2 hook. Butch wanted the business end of our outfits to be a light as possible so we could make a short cast with live minnows as bait. The aforementioned leader material would also keep our presentations as natural looking as possible.
He flipped open the hatch to his livewell and netted about forty minnows. After he gazed at the pace of the outgoing tide, he flipped the live chum upstream of the tree. As the baits were carried under and alongside the tree, Jon and I were astonished as the whole area exploded with slashes, splashes, and pops of snook gone wild!
Butch baited up our rods with live minnows and cautioned us to cast our baits very gingerly. He told us to wait until he flung out more live chum and to place our baits in its midst. Both Jon and I followed instructions and were hooked up within seconds. My fish smartly ran about twenty feet into the center of the canal then made a half-jump out of the water. It was a nice common snook of about ten pounds. Meanwhile, Jon was struggling at the stern with a bulldogging fish that took him close to the engine prop. He quickly stuck his rod tip into the water and steered the fish away from the sharp blades. As the fish surfaced, its’ huge girth to length ratio made it clear Jon was tight to a fat snook of about six pounds. In another minute, both of us had our fish alongside Butch’s boat for photos and release. As Butch continued live-chumming, the snook got closer and closer to the boat: we actually reached the point where casting a live bait was no longer necessary, since the marauding snook were literally under our rod tips! The mix of snook was about sixty percent fat snook and forty percent common snook. After we caught about forty fish, we were thoroughly sated- but we still longed for our Loxahatchee Snook Slam.
Butch seemed to read our minds as he said, “ there’s another spot you’ll be able complete your slam with as many tarpon snook as you like.” As we gave Butch a “what are we waiting for” look, he smiled and weighed anchor. He cranked up the engine and eased around yet another corner. He pointed to a fallen tree log that extended into the canal for about twenty feet and said, “ there’s our spot.” He again anchored about fifteen feet away from the log. Butch said he’d only chum with a handful of minnows this time, since these were smaller fish that were highly predatory and needed less exciting. His chum landed on and around the log. In a replay of the first spot, the water around the structure became a maelstrom of boils. We both cast right against the log and were hooked up in moments. Rather than the hard pulls and runs of the fat and common snook, the tarpon snook took to the air and thrashed themselves around the surface in half-somersaults. As we released these beautiful specimens, we toasted our snook slams with handshakes and ice water under the hot springtime sun. After we caught another twenty tarpon snook, we were exhausted and more than happy to call it a day.
We topped the day off feasting on fried and sautéed cobia that Butch had brought to Schooners restaurant near Jupiter inlet. We finished our Key Lime pie and coffee, and said goodbye to Butch. It was time to head home as the Florida sun dropped over the western horizon on a day two happy anglers and one great fishing guide would surely remember.
CONTACT DATA
Captain Butch Constable
1-561-74SNOOK
Jupiter Sea Sport Marina
Jupiter, Florida
Jan Maizler
http://www.flatsfishingonline.com
http://www.fishingfloridasflats.com
http://flatsfishingonline.blogspot.com
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