Fishing in the Manatee River in September brings rewards, as well as insight into what it’s like to fish “old Florida.”
The Manatee River headwaters begin at Lake Manatee, winding and twisting 18 miles in a westerly flow before emptying its dark sweet waters into the aqua waters of Tampa Bay. Its nutrient-rich waters gently meander, creating a brackish habitat that is most appealing to a variety of flora and fauna. And although development is taking a toll, a lot of the shoreline remains untouched.
Mangroves and oysters thrive in the river habitat, creating nesting and foraging areas for many species of birds and mammals, including manatees. Fish also thrive there, especially those tolerant of low salinity levels: snook, tarpon, redfish and trout.
Vast amounts of bait gather at the mouth of the river, attracting predators.
Other species, Spanish mackerel, jack crevalle and mangrove snapper are attracted to the plethora of food, which adds to the diversity of the marine ecosystem.
The beautiful-yet-fragile river provides a perfect recipe for exceptional fishing and, if you indulge me, here’s an example:
The sun had not yet risen Sept. 7 as I dropped my anchor on a grass flat in Anna Maria Sound. It was still dark as I mixed up my chum, preparing to throw the cast net in hopes of finding bait. The tide was beginning to trickle in as the morning twilight settled in advance of sunrise. The shorebirds began their morning flight in anticipation of the bait schools that would show up near the surface at first light.
I began to chum small amounts behind the boat to attract the shiners.
Within five minutes the water began to dimple.
The sun was just below the horizon, as orange and pink clouds gathered in the east.
I put out another bit of chum and gathered up my 10-foot cast net, preparing my throw. The bait was behind the boat as I threw my net. It quickly sank, engulfing the shiners. I could see them flashing underwater as I pulled the net.
It was a good strike.
As I emptied a hundred or so baits into the baitwell, my mind filled with anticipation for the day and the fish I might catch. I put more chum in the water and threw the net again. Another full cast.
It was time to clean up the boat and go fishing.
I aimed the bow into the sun, now creeping over the tree line. As I accelerated, the boat quietly skimmed the calm waters of Anna Maria Sound, making it hard to tell where the water ended and the boat began.
Upon arrival in the river, the water was still glassy, reflecting the sun into my eyes. I laid the boat down and idled toward the mangrove shoreline where I planned to fish.
I pulled close to shore, watching the bottom finder, I saw 8, 6, then 4 feet. It was low tide. I killed the motor and coasted. At 3 feet, I stealthily dropped anchor. As I looked over the rail, the darkness of the river prevented me from seeing the bottom. I could tell the tide was just beginning to come in by the flow of the grass blades and leaves around the boat.
It was time to fish.
I threw a handful of live shiners behind the boat — chummers — and watched the explosion on the surface. And then another and another.
“They’re here,” I thought to myself.
I grabbed a medium-light spinning rod and prepared my rig — a new 4-foot 20-pound fluorocarbon leader with a 2/0 circle hook at the terminal end.
I gently hooked a shiner and cast.
Nothing.
I reeled, switched out the bait and cast again.
On this cast, I nearly threw the bait in the fish’s mouth. The bait barely hit the water.
Bang!
The line jumped and instantly the rod bent. The drag screamed out and a snook broke water.
It was airborne, then with a splash, the battle commenced with the 26-inch linesider.
Not a bad start.
As the tide increased, the bite did the same.
Spotted seatrout and redfish came to the party.
It was one of those days — I felt warm inside. Happy and satisfied by a good morning of fishing.
After a few more fish, I got a hard strike. As I pulled back, reeling fast to drive the circle hook in, a 30-inch tarpon erupted from the water.
The cackle of his gills as he shook his head in the air and fought the hook echoed over the surface of the calm water. I prayed my 20-pound leader would hold up. The fish jumped again and I heard the pop. The silverking broke the leader, winning the fight.
With my hands and arms shaking in excitement, I slowly reeled in the bare line.
After a couple of curse words, I re-rigged and cast again.
Another quick strike. Was it a tarpon again?
No — the way the fish fought was not right for a tarpon. In fact, it was not right for any of the fish familiar to me.
As the fish pulled out drag, it shook its head vigorously, jerking the rod in my hand.
And then I saw it.
A huge beak of teeth slashed back and forth above the surface of the water.
It was a long-nose Florida gar —a true exotic catch for our waters. And what a battle it was. Once boat-side, I netted the fish, lifting it into the boat. Its hard body armor was rough on my hands as I held it tightly to avoid getting nicked by the sharp teeth along the long nose. The hook was visible halfway up the nose and was easily removed with pliers. He measured out at 34 inches.
It was 9:30 a.m. and the sun was in full force. I was drenched from head to toe in sweat and ready to go home. The dark, sweet waters of the Manatee River had rewarded me with a great morning of fishing and I was satisfied by the cool breeze as I headed back to the marina.
I hope this river never changes. I’ve been fishing its waters since I was a boy and I hope to fish them for the rest of my life.
It’s a fishing life for me.
As for this week’s reports, Jim Malfese at the Rod & Reel Pier is seeing respectable numbers of catch-and-release redfish during the morning tides. Pier fishers using live shrimp as bait are frequently hooking into reds measuring 20-30 inches. Using a bottom rig, consisting of at least a half-ounce egg sinker and a 1/0 hook, is proving most effective. Casting this rig under the pier and letting it sit on the bottom in the shaded waters among the pilings is resulting in a bite.
While targeting the reds with shrimp as bait, pier fishers are hooking into mangrove snapper and an occasional catch-and-release snook. Most snapper being caught are keeper-size fish measuring 10-14 inches. Limits of these tasty fish are attainable by patient anglers who have an ample amount of live shrimp in their bait bucket.
As for the catch-and-release snook, some large linesiders are taking residence under the pier. And, they are not opposed to lazily meandering over to enjoy a small snack of live shrimp.
As the old saying goes, elephants eat peanuts — don’t be surprised to hook into a 30+ inch snook while using shrimp as bait.
Capt. Johnny Mattay of Anna Maria Charters is finding plenty of fish in Tampa Bay to keep his clients busy, where catch-and-release action is consistently good for snook and spotted seatrout. Both species are responding well to live shiners as bait. Mattay added he’s seen quite a few redfish mixed in on this bite.
Fishing structure in Tampa Bay is proving to work out well for clients who want fish to take home for dinner. Mangrove snapper and Spanish mackerel are the predominant bite while structure fishing. And some lucky anglers are reeling up an occasional gag grouper or cobia, says Mattay.
Send high-resolution photos and fishing reports to fish@islander.org.