My seventh and final new species of the day made for a grand finale. This was my third-best day for new species, taking the Bronze to Croatia’s Gold and California’s Silver.
The final species was one of my top targets, the Bowfin. Along with tarpon and gar, few things were up so high on my list.
Though Bowfin aren’t considered trophies by most, they are aggressive toothy predators often compared to bass and snakehead, though I find them cooler than either of the other species.
I’d struck out several times, mainly because catfish and gar and bass kept getting in the way. When I finally did hook one, it was short-lived. Almost immediately, the beast broke me off in a submerged snag.
I tied again and hoped for the best.
I didn’t have to wait long. My rod doubled, and I reeled in my first Bowfin. It wasn’t huge and 20 inches long and just over three pounds, but I was stoked.
As I was taking the above picture, my other two rods doubled over.
Unfortunately, one of the fish broke off and the other just came free. I have a feeling one was more than twice the size of my little three-pounder, but I was just happy to add a new species.
Heck to the yeah.
#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard
Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #144 — Ladyfish.
Species: Jack Dempsey Cichlid (Rocio octofasciata) Location: Orlando, Florida Date: July 8, 2018
The Jack Dempsey Cichlid was one of a few “longshots” I had on my Target List for my visit to Orlando. I knew they’d been recorded, but based on my research, only in scattered pockets, isolated ponds, and the like.
In fact, their range is supposed to be decreasing, rather than increasing.
Well, if the half dozen or so I landed are any indication, they’re still holding out in a few places, prancing around the ring and refusing to give up.
Apparently, they’ll need a knockout punch rather than a judge’s decision to finally admit defeat.
Species: Black Acara (Cichlasoma bimaculatum) Location: Orlando, Florida Date: July 8, 2018
I was told these would be easy to catch. Once I found them, that proved true. Unfortunately, I struck out several times before finding the sweet spot.
Alas, it was worth the wait.
When I did find them, I also found half a dozen other species, including sunfish, killifish, and two more cichlids.
The Black Acara doesn’t get very big, but is is a pretty species. Since cichlids are generally a hot mess in terms of genetic purity and capable of hybridizing with dozens of others. This made identification even more difficult, but I managed.
It was actually Ryan Crutchfield of fishmap.org who helped me identify it, as well as the surprise species I caught minutes later.
Species: Coastal Shiner (Lepomis auritus) Location: Little Wekiva River, Florida Date: July 8, 2018
One of my favorite professors in college used to say “If you haven’t ____________, you haven’t lived.” He honestly had a lot of great catch phrases, but this was my favorite — especially as it relates to fishing.
If you haven’t waited chest-deep in the tannin-stained waters of a central Florida stream in pursuit of a tiny minnow species, gators be damned, you haven’t lived.
One caveat: if you have done this and continue to make this type of choices, you probably won’t live very long. But hey, at least you’ll be living both sides of the best line from Shawshank Redemption: “Get busy living, or get busy dying.”
When I arrived at the river, the sunfish came faster than I expected, but that happens from time to time.
With one fish marked off so quickly, I had to figure out how to spend the rest of my time. Darters are shiners were both present, but the river was running really high.
Orlando had seen a lot of rain, and there was no way I could sight-fish darters in the dark waters when I couldn’t even see the bottom.
After catching all of the sunfish (yes, all of them) in that stretch of river, I grabbed micro gear and decided to look for greener pastures or at least clearer waters.
The shoreline flora was impenetrable, and I’d already spent a lot of time and energy finding this access point to the water, so I was SOL (that’s Spanish for “sun”, kids).
I did a quick check for gators, and, seeing none, jumped in.
My first thought was “I really hope I’m far enough from the city to be out of hypodermic needle range.”
My second thought was “No, I’m good. This is Florida. Nothing bad ever happens here.”
Used hypodermic needles are endemic to Florida, but they tend to occur in isolated pockets around the state, closer to population centers. In recent years, the range of the used hypodermic needle has contracted due to prescription opioids. Pills have out-competed the less convenient and infinitely less sanitary method for destroying brain cells and soiling perfectly good spoons.
So S/O to pills.
Fortunately, apart from some broken glass, the creekbed was fairly forgiving, and the sandy bottom actually felt good between my toes, so long as I didn’t think about all of the reclaimed water that was flowing over them.
I waded across with a fluid grace you would’ve been impressed by and began moving in the shallower water along the bank, searching diligently for water moving slowly enough to hold micros.
Gators must not like white meat because I survived long enough to find what I was looking for: happiness.
Well, sort of. I found a small school of shiners which made me happy.
The current was so fast that I struggled to keep the bait in their face in the middle of the water column, but I finally did it and caught a Coastal Shiner.
Wading back across the river and busting brush to the paved trail wasn’t great, but neither was my last colonoscopy, and I survived that.
If you’re not a Species Hunter, you probably laughed nervously as I told this story, wondering why some dumbass would risk his life for a tiny fish. If you are a Species Hunter, you’re nodding quietly to yourself as you look around to fistbump me only to realize this is a story, and I’m not actually there.
That’s okay. If you haven’t forgotten one of my stories was just a narrative while reading it on your phone or computer at least once, you haven’t lived.
#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard
Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #140 — Black Acara.
Species: Redbreast Sunfish (Lepomis auritus) Location: Little Wekiva River, Florida Date: July 8, 2018
Though I was born and raised in Oregon, I’m a flip-flop man. I would’ve said I’m a thong man, but some of my students read this blog, and this isn’t the 90s anymore; “thongs” don’t have anything to do with feet these days.
This is a family-friendly blog, and this post is already about Redbreasts, so I have to choose my words carefully.
I have a confession to make, and this is a good platform to do it on. Here goes: I’m afraid I haven’t caught a lot of really common species.
I know, it’s shameful. I try to not to talk about it, but in the Species Hunting community, there are a lot of species most everyone in the community has but me. Cool cool.
Redbreast Sunfish, common across the United States, were one such species.
For that reason, I decided to target them in the same place I hoped to catch a few darter and shiner species.
And I’d done my research.
Pierce Sanders, who I met by stalking Instagram (@finnafishfl) and Fishbrain for hours and hours prior to my trip, gave me the down-low on the spot.
I’d watched his YouTube channel, Finna Fish, as I compiled my list of target species. I watched the video in which he caught darters, shiners, and sunfish from an overhanging tree branch in the very river I intended to fish.
It was “finna” be lit.
As I parked and walked to what I thought was the river, I struck out a few times. But hey, it’s Florida. You have to bring your A-Game, or you’re gonna strike out.
Fortunately, I got lost just as an attractive jogger stopped nearby to stretch. I used my best lost tourist face as I approached.
We flirted just a lot, but I had work to do, so I stopped appreciating Florida’s greatest natural resource, took her directions with a smile and a nod, and headed to the river through the jungle that was almost as thick as the jogger.
Growing up in Oregon, I never really feared poison oak. I fished all of the time, and I’d been exposed to it dozens of times. It didn’t affect me at all. Until the day it did.
On my first attempt at steelhead fishing, I managed to get exposed and suffered for weeks afterwards. It left physical scars in the short term, but the emotional scars stuck with me.
Thong man, err … flip-flop man that I am, I found the thick vegetation separating me and the river was unnerving. My bare legs and feet brushed up against vegetation I couldn’t identify but knew wasn’t any of the the “Big Three” urushiol-producing plants, so I pressed on.
Miraculously, I made it to the water unscathed.
Bluegill came first because of course they did, but Spotted Sunfish followed suit. I had both, but at least Spotted Sunfish are cool fish and something I don’t catch every day. Bluegill, on the other hand, are pretty mainstream, so I opted to leave the main stream.
Right where a small spring fed it’s trickle into the larger water body, a log split the river and made a small but deep pool.
It promptly yielded a Redbreast.
I landed half a dozen shapely, sun-kissed trophies, and I caught some fish, too.
I’m kidding, of course.
According to Steve Wozniak, my friend and legendary Species Hunter Ben Cantrell is the only Species Hunter “rampaging his way through … swimsuit models,” so I guess I’ll just have to stick with pretty fish instead.
Species: Seminole Killifish (Fundulus seminolis) Location: Urban Park, Orlando, Florida Date: July 8, 2018
My first killifish would prove to be one of the largest found in North America, but in order to catch it, I had to do some legwork.
I was told they could be found all over Orlando, and though I ended up catching 15 across two locations on the first day I targeted them, I almost gave up the hunt just minutes in.
My first day in Florida yielded five new species, and I wasn’t about to waste hours chasing a species when there was still so much low-hanging fruit all around me.
I tried two footbridges at the park where the tiny, pike-like fish were supposed to dwell and pulled in a lot of Bluegill before I saw my target.
I’d never fished for killifish before — let alone seen one — so I didn’t know what to look for. Suddenly, a small group of snake-like fish that resembled tiny pike more than anything cruised up.
I was use a small jig tipped with worm because I was told Seminole Killifish didn’t require micro gear. The ferocious little beast that smacked my jig proved that in a hurry.
I quickly landed the fish, grabbed a photo, and put it in my photo tank.
It promptly jumped out and started wriggling toward the water. I had the photo tank is flooded grass, and it almost made it. Though my dexterity isn’t on par with my brothers, both of whom were Division I athletes, I’m still pretty dexterous. Not to brag, but all other things held equal, I’m more comfortable on land than a fish.
Bold claim, I know, but I can back it up. I’ll sign autographs later.
In short order, I landed six of the golden missiles, and I was hooked on killifish. They’re small but not micro, and any time I can avoid tiny, pre-snelled micro hooks that lodge in my skin and clothing seemingly at will, I’m okay with that.
Killfish are incredibly unique fish that can live in freshwater, saltwater, and brackish water with different tolerances depending on the species.
Apart from sculpins, they’re probably my favorite family of micros, and I look forward to catching all of them.
Species: Dollar Sunfish (Lepomis marginatus) Location: Lake Fran Urban Wetlands, Orlando, FL Date: July 7, 2018
You don’t need to go to McDonald’s to find the Dollar Menu because Dollar Sunfish are on the menu for damn near every fish in the Southeastern United States.
In Florida, this means bass and gar and Bowfin, as well as the myriad exotics that prowl the reclaimed waters and swamps of the Sunshine State are looking for ways to make a Dollar disappear faster than Disneyworld.
Fortunately for me, a friend told me where to find Dollar Sunfish, and his directions were right on the money.
If you’d like to catch a Dollar Sunfish of your own, look no further. The buck stops here.
These pretty little fish were somewhat rare in open water, but I found Dollars to be especially common in one type of habitat: close to the bank. Go figure.
The heavily vegetated shoreline in a host of waters seemed to fill a unique niche for Dollar Sunfish. Scientists have yet to write a whole lot about this behavior, but that’s likely because more has been written about the Dollar by economists than by icthyologists.
Mysterious behavior aside, most of us are just happy getting our money’s worth, so the Dollar retains its aura.
Considering they top out around six inches, they’re not seriously targeted by anglers, but they are popular with other fishes. It’s no wonder these little fish hide in the shadows; they’re so perfectly snackable that most predators eat off the Dollar Menu in Florida.
I didn’t see any in the water, but I knew they were there.
At first, I tried micro gear and managed to catch a few. It felt like a scene out of Little Rascals or a GEICO commercial, me sitting there with a Dollar on the end of a hook, flopping around in the wind.
Nobody came to try and steal the Dollar, though, so the comedic potential of the situation was wasted.
There were a lot of other species nearby that I had yet to catch, so I stopped chasing the almighty Dollar after palming half a dozen.
It was insanely hot and muggy but I had no plans to take off anything more than my shirt in pursuit of a single Dollar, so I turned on a dime and decided to chase something else.
After all, time is money.
The trip wore on.
Though one Dollar by itself didn’t seem very valuable, I invested a few Dollars in other liquid assets in pursuit of larger fish. I learned the true value of a Dollar when I managed to catch my first Bowfin using a single Dollar. Haha, single.
Wallet may be okay to spend a few Dollars here and there, as I did in pursuit of Bowfin, I found it beneficial to save every Dollar I could. Un-American though it was, I saved almost every Dollar that came into possession rather than turning it into blood money.
Everyone knows it’s a bad idea to bet your bottom Dollar and letting most fish go keeps the population healthy.
Nonetheless, after a long day of saving one Dollar after another, it was I who was spent. So I cashed out and headed to a restaurant to grab some much needed food.
The moral of this story is that a Dollar can go a long way. I hope this tale of Dollars made sense, but don’t call me a writer. When I hand out knowledge about the Dollar, I like to be called a teller.
I’m not a rude person, so let me leave with a five-Dollar tip, or rather, five tips about Dollars. If you follow these, I promise you won’t wind up a day late and a Dollar short:
1) Dollar Sunfish are small, and one Dollar doesn’t go very far, but a bunch of Dollars, working together, help to feed a lot of hungry fish. They’re an incredibly important part of the ecosystem, and each Dollar plays its part.
2) For just one Dollar per day, you can probably feed yourself in Florida. Bowfin, bass, and gar will all happily eat one, and then you can play the next part in the food chain.
3) This is about the only Dollar you won’t see at church. They simply don’t get large enough to make a good a fish fry.
4) If you didn’t like this column, I apologize, but I have to churn out stories and sometimes I get complacent and just look at work like it’s another day, another Dollar.
5) If you like fish puns, check out my blog, www.caughtovgard.com. It has a ton of other, typically shorter stories about fish that are pretty interesting even if they don’t fetch top Dollar.
Species: Florida Gar (Lepisosteus platyrhincus) Location: Lake Fran Urban Wetlands, Orlando, FL Date: July 7, 2018
Gar are so cool, man.
These fish can gulp air, will take most lures as well as bait, flies, and topwaters. I once had a four-foot Longnose Gar hit a Whopper Plopper three times during the retrieve.
Not to mention, gar are more durable than trout, less pressured than bass, and have giant teeth. What’s not to love?
My first night in Florida, I tried for Bowfin and Florida Gar in vain. I spotted a few in the flooded grass as I walked with my headlamp cutting away the darkness, but they were skittish.
I returned the next day with Florida Gar atop my very long target list.
Since Florida, like most states other than Oregon, allows the use of live bait, I figured I’d try throwing on a small, live sunfish in hopes of enticing a massive Florida Bass. I’d already caught some small ones, but this was Florida. I needed a monster, and I hadn’t seen a single gar in daylight.
I tried sight-fishing my live Bluegill up against the bank to a nearby bass, opening the spool to let it run for what I thought was an inevitable take. I was standing a good 20 feet above the water, on a high bank that lined a canal connecting two sections of the flooded wetlands-turned-lake.
On my very first cast, I could feel my bait getting violated by a much larger fish, so I let it sit for just a moment, but not long enough to allow the fish to swallow — I didn’t want a gut-hooked fish, after all.
I closed the bail, tightened my line, and set the hook hard. Too hard, really.
I was using my the heaviest spinning rod I’d brought to Florida, a G. Loomis GL2 Salmon/Steelhead rod, and as I yanked on the link, a fish that was very much not a bass came flying out of the water, in a direct trajectory for my face, at easily 20 or 30 miles per hour.
I ducked under the toothy missile, just saving my beautiful face from becoming all garred up. Sorry, scarred up.
As the line reached full extension on the grassy bank behind me, the hook popped free and boomeranged the gar back at my ankles.
It landed inches away, sitting surprisingly calmly in the grass still soaked from the previous night’s rain.
All of this elapsed in about five seconds, and I was panting and shaking with fear as much as excitement from landing my first Florida Gar — unconventional though it was.
I grabbed a quick picture and let it go.
I swear the armor-plated fish gave me the ole side eye, as if to say “Are you sure you’re a real fisherman?” as it swam away.
Hooking into several more of them over the next few days using cutbait, Rapalas, and even a worm would prove to that high-flying gar that I did know what I was doing.
That is, as long as we don’t tell it that the final gar stole a worm intended for a Brown Hoplo and sliced my finger open when I tried to unhook it barehanded without the help of pliers.
Species: Florida Bass (Micropterus floridanus) Location: Lake Fran Urban Wetlands, Orlando, FL Date: July 7, 2018
I’ve made some dumb choices over the years when fishing. Putting aside the ones that caused me physical harm, wasted time, and damaged gear, I still had plenty of things I would change.
For starters, I would take better pictures.
So many of the pics I’ve taken over the years for my “Lifelist Photo,” have been great. The fish is on a solid background (preferably in water or on damp vegetation), and is fully visible, facing to the right.
Left-eyed flatfish aside, I’ve mostly been able to accomplish this for most species — especially those caught within the past few years.
But not for Florida Bass.
I caught my first one by hand at night when it wouldn’t take anything else, just to say I did.
Of course, I wouldn’t count that because it wasn’t a legitimate catch.
I returned the next day and caught four more, all larger than my initial micro. As I spoke with the local anglers and found spots to fish, they all mentioned “Florida Bass,” but I just assumed they meant the “Florida Strain Largemouth” prized for their fast metabolism and ability to attain a greater size.
In 2002, though, they gained official status as their own species, Micropterus floridanus.
Though a few organizations contest this, the consensus is that they are their own species, and the simple disparity in their size and coloration would reinforce this to the layperson.
I failed to realize that “Florida Bass” were anything special, and since largest one didn’t even break three pounds, I failed to take one picture.
I didn’t even add it to my Lifelist until 2019, fully six months after I caught them, because it was only then that I learned it was a separate species, acknowledged my most powers that be.
Since my Lifelist is only for me, really, I count it without the picture. I caught nine total that trip, and I was even with half a dozen other anglers for some of those catches for several.
Chris Fowler, an Austin-based angler who specializes in European-style carp fishing and flyfishing for bass and carp, was one of my witnesses. He caught a nice three-pounder on the fly, and I took a picture of it. Mine were all smaller, but I caught them.
I’ll just need to add Florida Bass to the list of about a dozen species I never got good “Lifelist Pics” of. It shouldn’t be that difficult, right?