True north               

Like a Canadian with a love for flip flops, the first of the northern fronts are rolling into Florida ahead of winter. It won’t be long before the Jet Stream attaches a chill to the winds that clock through the northerly quadrants to remind us of the value we place on shorts as viable work attire and well-tanned feet.            

For Florida residents, the shift in prevailing winds from a southerly to a more northerly direction, is an indication that traffic is going to be bad for the next five months. For the Florida angler, the shift in prevailing winds means the winter migrants will be here any day now.            

It’s funny how the anglers take a better view of the piscatorial visitors, almost as if an increase in Early Bird Specials, permanently blinking turn signals and long lines at the grocery stores somehow equates to a diminished quality of life. While the fish aren’t likely to tell you how much better it is up north, they do have their little habits that can grind at your spirit over time.            

Like the way a school of pompano can rally around the two rods of a single surf fisherman among a full line-up of rods that dot the beach like transplanted hair sprouts along the forehead of a short body builder. Even the dramatic performance of an errant cast right into the middle of those two rods won’t produce a single strike for the rest of the players in this tragic comedy. When this scenario plays out, it’s best to try comic relief in the form of over-the-back casts or the spin around until you almost fall down and then fling it in a random direction strategy of looking for a sympathy bite.            

For the pompano angler, a north wind means casting eight ounce sinkers that are going to slowly crab their way down the beach until they tangle in another line or become one with the rocks and reef. It’s a wind that drives the fish south, so while it’s not a preferred wind to fish, it is a precursor to a shoreline full of bonked over rods.            

The most noted of our winter migratory visitors is the sailfish, an offshore gamefish known for its ability to attract successful businessmen, the independently wealthy, and anyone else with a large ego and an even larger boat. The sailfish on the other hand, couldn’t care less about the size of your dingy, and will randomly chase whatever well-presented bait they encounter, even if it’s not presented by noted member of the Republican Party.            

To the sailfish population, a north wind means “surf’s up,” and it’s time to ride the waves to the land of the endless summer. To the sailfish angler, a north wind means sight casting to fish riding the crest of the waves while the seasick on board deploy the Technicolored chum. Preparation is everything to these gamefish, which is why a well-manicured dredge will draw the ire of a pelagic species that specifically targets baitfish schools. You see, the ability to bring your own school along with the boat greatly enhances the opportunity to freespool a rigged bait to Mother Nature’s cruel version of the nose-wielding fungo bat.            

Bluefish and Spanish mackerel are notably the most common migratory species traversing the state line, and while they lack the nobility of the sailfish or pompano, they make up for it with a blue collar attitude that says, “If it’s got eyes, it dies.” From a lowly mullet to the whiting that hold in the trough, when these two species hit the beach, they bring a wrath that makes Henry the Eighth look like a metrosexual. And you know there’s more than a beheading coming when a fish would rather be on the sand than in the water. I guess gasping for air is a better way to go than being systematically eaten like a scaly six inch hoagie.            

If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that winter plays no favorites, and whether you’re a good guy or a smendrick, a cold north wind will make you as uncomfortable as an alter boy at a Senatorial mixer. Many of the migrants looking to escape the persecution of cold are already Florida residents that have more flee than fight, opting to seek refuge in the deep water inlets, which is why the concentrations of flounder at Sebastian, tarpon in Government Cut and snook in Captiva Pass are referred to as resident winter populations and not a full-blown run.           

Yes, a north wind can be hard to hide from, and though it often ushers along precarious fishing conditions, it’s the harbinger of change. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always with a kiss of winter.