Birds help point the way to fast fall fishing
Water the color and clarity of weak coffee or strong tea bled down the canal and into the bay, slowly — finally — draining large sweeps of estuarine marsh that had been swamped for almost a month by a combination of abnormally high tides associated with the fall equinox and an unusual amount of freshwater runoff from a month of heavy rain.
That brown flow carried with it a host of travelers, some driven by instinct and others simply shanghaied by the gathering current. We caught glimpses of some as we launched the boat just after sunrise a week ago. Silvery glitterings just beneath the surface. Swirls flashing white and chrome. Finger-size creatures bursting from the water, frantically skipping and snapping and skittering over the surface to refuge in the narrowing band of flooded shoreline oystergrass.
Food line starts here
We weren’t the only ones who noticed the smorgasbord served by the falling tide. A picket of herons and egrets lined the canal, stalking and stabbing breakfast.
One fearless snowy egret perched on the lip of culvert just feet away from the boat as we squared gear and readied fishing tackle, the bird’s long, pointed bill held just millimeters from the water’s surface, cocked, locked and ready to spear whatever edible the current brought it. The egret never had to wait more than a few seconds before it struck at a morsel — menhaden, silversides, maybe a killifish or two … and shrimp.
It was the sight of those shrimp that most encouraged us; they were a key to why we were there on this bright, clear autumn morning a couple of days after an early-season cold front passed and left only a slight breath of wind in its wake. Shrimp — white shrimp — were moving, leaving the marshes and estuaries where they had grown from post-larval near-nothings back in the spring to juveniles ready for the next step in their challenging life cycle. It is a step that makes life pretty good for some of the bay’s avian residents. And that connection — birds and shrimp — can trigger some of the best, fastest and most enjoyable fishing of the year for anglers on bays along Texas’ upper coast.
We idled out of the canal into East Galveston Bay and square into the middle of a scene many Texas anglers look forward to each autumn. Low over the water to the west and maybe 300 yards away, the low-angle morning sun glinted off the white wings of a couple of dozen gulls and terns, wheeling and swooping, hovering and diving into the bay water.
Another clump of gulls and terns were similarly engaged maybe a quarter of a mile from the first group. And to the south, a third flock crowded low over the bay’s surface, their wings flashing in the early-morning sunlight. Three groups of “working” birds, all within a half-mile!
We picked the closest flock, swung wide so as not to spook the birds or what was under them, approached from upwind, killed the outboard when we were maybe 75 yards or so from the tight-bunched flock and let the wind assist the boat’s trolling motor in getting us within casting range.
The birds paid little attention to us. Like hyenas trying to sneak a meal from a lion’s kill, the gulls and terns were focused on potlicking the hard work of a school of speckled trout murdering a mob of white shrimp.
Follow the shrimp
As happens each autumn as water cools and pulses of north wind shove water from the estuarine refuges rimming bays along Texas middle and upper coast, swarms of this year’s crop of white shrimp had exited the marshes and secondary bays and other shallowwater reaches of the bay system, gathered in a large concentrations and moved in groups to the open bay, slowly making their way toward passes offering them access to the Gulf of Mexico. Once in the open Gulf, the shrimp will continue growing, quickly maturing and, over the coming months, spawning. The resulting larva will be carried back into the bays on late-winter and spring tides where the cycle will continue.
But to make it to the Gulf and their spawning grounds, the migrating shrimp have to run a gauntlet of hungry mouths, both piscine and avian. And human.
Schools of predator fish — mostly speckled trout and sand trout but sometimes gafftop or redfish — patrol the bay, hunting these slow-moving masses of crustaceans. When they find a wad of shrimp, they go to work, herding the aggregation tighter, pushing them toward the surface where the shrimp have less room to maneuver and then tearing into them.
The shrimp flee as best they can, often leaping, skittering and snapping along the surface in a frantic effort to avoid being snatched by a yellowmouthed speck.
The resulting melee quickly draws the attention of sharp-eyed gulls and terns that cruise over the bay, taking advantage of their elevated perspective to scan the water for the disturbances made by feeding fish and fleeing shrimp or, if the water’s clear enough, the silvery flashes of fish ripping through their concentrated quarry.
The birds quickly gather over the feeding school, wheeling and hovering, and then diving, snatching skittering shrimp from the water and often from midair or scavenging any stray bits of torn-apart shrimp. They will follow the almost-free lunch (or breakfast or supper, as such plunderings can occur just about any time of day) until the shrimp and fish scatter and the birds do the same, cruising to find the next such opportunity.
For anglers, opportunity to plug into this moveable feast is as simple as locating those tightly grouped flocks of hovering, diving gulls and terns bird-dogging a feeding school of fish. Get within casting range of actively “working” birds, and hook-ups are almost guaranteed.
That is what happened when we moved close enough to fire casts beneath hovering or diving gulls or to the boils made by fish grabbing a shrimp at the surface. As soon as the jig/soft-plastic grub hit the water where a skittering shrimp had disappeared in a welter of welter of water, it was “fish on.”
The first fish was a modest-size speck, typical of the fish found under “working” birds. Most “bird” trout are smallish, often less than the 15-inch minimum for retaining and seldom more than 20 inches. It seems larger specks aren’t willing to expend the considerable energy required to hound shrimp in open water; larger speckled trout prefer the more considerable meal provided by mullet and other finfish to the snack-size shrimp. But, occasionally, schools of solid “keeper” specks will shadow and harass migrating shrimp. And now and then, birds will work over a school of redfish — sometimes a school of big 25-35inch reds.
Most of the time, however, count on the fish under “working” birds during autumn to be 14- to 17-inch speckled trout or often a mix of modest-size specks and sand trout, their smaller cousins. So even if it is tough to come up with a legal speck from a school located under feeding gulls, angler can easily box enough “sandies,” which have no minimum length requirement or daily limit, to make for a couple of great meals. (Sand trout do not freeze well. Keeping more than can be eaten fresh is a chancy and even wasteful move.)
Lures? Jig/soft-plastic baits are best bets as the lure closely imitates a shrimp and the jig’s single hook makes for easier, quicker unhooking so the angler can get back in action faster. This can be important as the fast fishing tends to be ephemeral.
We trailed that first school for several minutes, staying just within casting range and taking care not to push the fish or the birds too closely and sniping fish from the edge of the moving school. Then it was over, the fish and shrimp scattered and the gulls either winging away or settling on the water to rest.
No matter. There were other “working” flocks of gulls and terns to chase, and other schools of trout to snipe. And we did, hitting maybe a dozen different flocks/schools before the outgoing tide slacked and the action evaporated.
Special time of the year
Such experiences are one of the things that makes autumn such a special season for fishing in bays along the upper and middle Texas coast. The autumn run of “bird” fishing is tied to the annual migration of white shrimp, which can begin as early as late September but usually begins in earnest during October and continues until late November in most years.
White shrimp are most common in bay systems that have decent freshwater inflows, a crucial element to creating the mix of salinity levels, habitat and nutrient-rich water s shrimp require. That means systems from Sabine Lake on the upper coast to San Antonio Bay on the mid-coast offer the state’s best “bird fishing” potential, with the sprawling Galveston Bay system and East and West Matagorda bays being the premier areas.
Runoff a factor
This year, heavy freshwater runoff has significantly affected that potential in some of what usually are prime areas for fishing the birds. Trinity Bay in the Galveston system and portions of West Matagorda Bay, normally premier spots for finding flocks of gulls and terms pointing the way to feeding trout, have been swamped by freshwater runoff that has hurt what typically is redhot “bird” action during autumn. But some areas with significant freshwater runoff and low salinity levels — East Galveston Bay, much of West Matagorda Bay and reaches of the San Antonio Bay system not as heavily affected by freshwater pouring from the Guadalupe River — are seeing good “bird fishing.”
And that action should continue at least through Thanksgiving. Best conditions are a day or two after a cool front knocks a few degrees off water temperature and the north wind’s shoved tides lower, triggering a flush of shrimp from the marshes and shallow estuarine areas. The trout will be waiting for those shrimp. The always hungry gulls and terns, too. And so will anglers who look forward to those cool, clear, calm autumn days when they all come together.