By David H. Martin
One minute I am digging head down through a quartering chop, a stiff northerly wind flicking supercooled little droplets of salt water from my kayak paddle blades across my fishing shirt. The next minute, I enter the creek mouth, tucked into the lee side of a mangrove shoreline, relaxing my stroke while admiring the smooth ripple of protected waters curving into the early morning sun. Someone has flipped off the wind switch that was kicking my butt all the way from the closest launch point.
Sitting there and sipping on the drink tube of my CamelBak backpack — yes, even in winter, hydration rules — I allowed myself a little glide stroke or two to recover and check the water clarity and movement. December is our driest month, and the lack of rainfall means the water is at its clearest. I was glad to see the broad-mouthed creek’s water color was tolerable for the dark bronze backed, brown buck-tail and gold sparkle weedless skimmer jig, about a quarter ounce, on 15-pound test leader on my light tackle spinning rod. No need for a hundred different lures in here. This is slow-down-be-stealthy-and-make-no-noise-because-there-could-be-a-red-sunning-himself-right-under-your-bow-like-that-big-hump-wake-you-just-spooked-because-you-slammed-the-cooler-lid fishing.
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