Species #165 — Western Mosquitofish

I was hoping for an Arroyo Chub, but I only braved imminent death to catch this Lifer.

Species: Western Mosquitofish (Gambusia affinis)
Location: Santa Ana River, CA
Date: August 3, 2018

I haven’t written a #SpeciesQuest post in almost a year. My last one published in July while I was on my Fishing Across America trip, and I spent the time not fishing working on my book of the same now. This means I’m now almost two years behind on writing up each #SpeciesQuest post, but with COVID-19 in full swing and the trout bite still slow, it gives me a chance to catch up.


This little fish you’ve never heard of called an Arroyo Chub sent me to the heart of the Southern California desert en route to San Diego. It was supposed to be a quick and easy stop to catch one of the few California freshwater endemics. Alas, it was doomed from the start.

Not only did I have to park next to a sketchy-looking character on the side of the highway and travel almost a mile on foot over loose sandy soil, through a homeless camp to get to the river, I didn’t get the target fish.

First, there was garbage everywhere. It was almost landfill status, honestly, and it was depressing. That was before I even saw the dozens of tents, ramshackle cardboard and plywood structures, and broken-down vehicles that made up a veritable Hooverville there under the highway. Folks were at best aloof and at worst hostile. After seeing used needles, I immediately regretted wearing flip-flops, but it was too close to dark to double back.

Pressing on, I figured my safest course of action would involve wet-wading the river, but it was running very high. Not only was the flow too high for easy microfishing, but the water was murky.

The Santa Ana River wasn’t the most conducive to fish, but by wet-wading, I was able to access more water. Next time, I’ll come in thick rubber boots with a strap and a set of blinders.

As I waded upstream, I bumped into a very high, very toothless woman bathing in the river. I diverted back through the vegetation to avoid blindness, and came upon a small little oxbow coming off the mainstem of the river.

It was the first part of the river I’d come upon that had really fishable water, and I was rewarded for my diversion with a small fish I immediately recognized as a mosquitofish.

Darkness fell, and I wandered through the homeless camp hoping I wouldn’t be murdered before I made it back to the car. I made it, but only barely.

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#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard

Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #166 — Cortez Bonefish.

Species #162 — Rainbow Darter

My first darter species was arguably the most common. Unfortunately, this Rainbow Darter didn’t photograph well and came with absolutely zero pots of gold.

Species: Rainbow Darter (Etheostoma caeruleum)
Location: Smokes Creek, Buffalo, New York
Date: July 18, 2018

“Butterfly in the sky, I can go twice as high
Take a look, it’s in a book,
A Reading Rainbow!
I can go anywhere
Friends to know, and ways to grow
A Reading Rainbow!

I can be anything
Take a look, it’s in a book
A Reading Rainbow
Reading Rainbow!

“Reading Rainbow Theme Song”
Chaka Khan

As a kid, I used to love this show.

It probably helped me learn to like reading, and though I faltered during middle school, I’ve always been a reader.

In fact, I read about 40-50 books per year as I travel around chasing this fish or that. My *coughs* cornucopia *coughs* of vocabulary words overflows because of how much time I spend reading books or listening to audiobooks.

If you don’t listen to audiobooks, consider a free trial with Audible.

I love audible. I’m a long-time Platinum member, and that’s worth every penny when you drive 30,000 miles per year in pursuit of fish. Click here to try audible for free.

Driving, flying, and waiting are a lot less painful with Audible because my mind is occupied while my body carries out rote tasks like driving, bait fishing, or winning the hearts and minds of women everywhere.

I credit my love of reading to The Reading Rainbow.

I’m 90% sure this famous meme-inspiring image from Spongebob was inspired by Reading Rainbow. I know I was.

Upstate New York

 I was fortunate enough to have the evenings free after a teaching conference in Buffalo. I spent every waking moment fishing, save for the times I was eating.

The highlight of my trip from a culinary standpoint was the Blackthorn Restaurant and Pub. I got the traditional Beef on Weck, as well as Buffalo Wings. Though they collectively held enough salt to give me hypertension in a single sitting, they were one of the most uniquely wonderful sandwiches and the best wings I’ve ever had, respectively.

If you are headed there, please stop in. Sorry Skittles, but if I tasted the rainbow, it would’ve been that meal. At least, until I got slightly dehydrated from all of the salt.

Metaphors, like memes, lend to overuse. For that reason, I apologize for all of my rainbow-related jokes and metaphors in advance.

Fully satiated with salty Americana, I looked for the nearest creek. I hadn’t planned out every location as well as I do now, so I planned to sort of stumble into them.

When fishing, you’re always looking for a unicorn. Fortunately, everyone knows that rainbows are unicorns’ natural habitat.

I found a small rainbow created by a sprinkler system in the grassy rim of some sort of massage therapy parking lot. I ambled down the grass and figured there were micros to be had in the creek below.

Almost immediately, I began catching Creek Chubs left and right.

It wasn’t my first Creek Chub. I caught my lifer in a similarly blind fashion, when I fished a random creek behind a gas station in Tennessee. Read about that here.

I’d hoped they were Lake Chub, which would’ve been a new species, but they were just plain ‘ole Creek Chubs.

I quickly realized the swarm of cyprinids I was fishing to were all Creek Chub, so I shifted gears and started targeting what I hoped would be my first darters.

There was no pot of gold at the end of that rainbow, but there was a new species. Don’t worry; I’m getting to that.


They were everywhere on the sandy bottom, but they wouldn’t bite.

I played around with worms, artificials, and even killed a crayfish I found onsite and used a portion of it’s tail.

The latter did the trick, and I landed my first fish.

Unfortunately, the slippery little bugger slipped out of my hands. I’m about 90% sure it was a Tesselated Darter, but since I couldn’t confirm, I didn’t count it.

I did count the next darter species I caught. The weather was great, so I was admittedly a little surprised when I caught a Rainbow, a Rainbow Darter.

I didn’t get great photos because I was dumb, and I figured darters were easy to identify and plentiful. My phone was slightly overheated, so I was limited to two or three blurry pics.

Fortunately, they were enough to identify it.

The most frustrating part were the Tesselated Darters that just wouldn’t bite. They were there, somewhere, but I just couldn’t get over the Rainbows.

#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard

Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #162 — Sacramento Pikeminnow.

Species #161 — Emerald Shiner

Not to flex too hard, but Ontario’s DFW calls the Emerald Shiner “the most important commercial baitfish,” so catching one is a pretty big deal.

Species: Emerald Shiner (Notropis atherinoides)
Location: Buffalo, New York
Date: July 18, 2018

Microfishing is still relatively new to me, and the newness of it all is partially why I love it so much. This method has yet to hit the mainstream, but microfishing is a gem.

In combination, the ability to sight fish, to actually see the fish you’re targeting and the inherent challenge in getting small fish to bite on tiny tackle is an incredibly underrated pursuit.

Further, there are micros everywhere — even in the heavily pressured waters nearby you don’t think twice about — and given its relative lack of awareness, you can probably microfish within walking distance of your house.

Micros are tough to “fish out” because they’re typically too small to have food value to humans, and though they can be delicate, they are usually plentiful.

Everywhere you go, there are sculpins, chubs, minnows, killifish, anchovies, shad, darters, or shiners.

Play hard

One of my favorite experiences microfishing started out with me chasing Northern Pike the size of my leg and ended with me catching fish the size of my toe.

While visiting Buffalo, New York for a teaching conference, I used every afternoon to get out and fish. After the conference, I bowed out to the Niagara River faster than the Bills have bowed out of the playoffs in recent years.

Sorry, Lt. Colonel Schultz. I couldn’t resist.

Arriving at my destination, the Tifft Nature Reserve, I grabbed a heavy rod for pike and a smaller rod just in case any micros were visible.

I quickly spotted a nice pike. Unfortunately, it was more lifeless than the Raptors’ Finals hopes before LeBron went to the Western Conference.

Sadly, upon my arrival at a public slough of the Niagara River, this dead three-foot Northern Pike was the first thing I saw.

The second thing I saw was a school of micros, patrolling the shoreline just far enough out that I couldn’t easily reach them with my micro rod. Still, fish you can see should take priority when microfishing, so I opted to try anyhow.

I set down my regular rod which happened to be tipped with a jig and worm. It fell into the water and caught a Rock Bass, which I quickly reeled in, released, and resumed microfishing.


Some micros are notoriously difficult to catch. Most micros — especially cyprinids — are notoriously tough to identify. I couldn’t tell what these fish were in the water, and as I battled the wind to place my tiny piece of worm in the path of the school, I had no idea what they were.

The Great Lakes are home to dozens of micros alone. Often, identifying micros is tougher than catching them and if the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources didn’t have The Baitfish Primer (Free PDF for Lake Ontario Micros), identification would be rough.

Catching them was no walk in the park, but eventually I did get one to bite my Owner New Half Moon Hook.

It was obviously a cyprinid, and I assumed a shiner, but I wasn’t sure on the species. I was sure that the iridescent green-blue contrasted with bright silver was absolutely gorgeous.


Often, I’ll spend hours fishing a school of micros in hopes of catching more than one species, but these were pretty obviously the same species. I hadn’t identified the species yet, but I was enough of a naturalist to see they were the same, and it was time to move to greener (or at least slightly less Emerald) pastures.

I carefully unhooked the fish and put it into the photo tank to take pictures.

Photo Tanks are glass or plastic boxes not actually designed for holding fish but re-purposed by enterprising microfishermen to take highly detailed photographs of fish with their fins fully extended.

Most species retract their fins when handled, and the number of anal fin rays, dorsal fin rays, fin shape, fin size, and a host of other factors can be lost if fish are held out of the water.

I’ve always tried holding fish in my wet palm just under the surface of the water to spread out their fins, but it doesn’t always work. You also risk losing the fish before a good picture is taken.

Thus, Photo Tank.

I took a few pictures, but the tank I had at the time was old and all scratched up. Further, it was windy and I didn’t have anything to wipe water droplets off the side of the tank, so I couldn’t get the best photo.

In this case, it was enough to identify the fish: Emerald Shiner.

Fitting, considering just 750 words ago I told you that microfishing is a hidden gem.

#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard

Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #162 — Rainbow Darter.

Species #151 — Golden Topminnow

Topminnows and Killifish are all awesome, but I would kill for the confidence of these red-tailed miniature super-predators’ confidence. Sorry for the blurry pic.

Species: Golden Topminnow (Fundulus chrysotus)
Location: Orlando, Florida
Date: July 10, 2018

After checking off Golden Shiner, I tried to catch the tiny little pike-like fish that roamed just under the surface, darting this way and that to investigate everything on its turf.

The telltale red-tipped tail told me it was another Golden Topminnow, and I’d seem a dozen of them since I first started fishing in Florida that week, but I’d never been ready with a micro setup.

This time was different.

It took a little effort, but I finally got it to bite.

I released a wave of emotions and expletives (you know, the happy kind), as I put the tiny little beast into my photo tank.

The reclaimed water was dirty, and it didn’t result in the best photos. This was upsetting, but not as upsetting as not catching one would’ve been.

I was still working out the kinks of using my new Photo Tank. Namely, wiping it off before taking a picture. Sigh.

I never did get another one, but zero is lonelier than one, despite what the song says — especially for Species Hunters.

#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard

Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #152 — White Grunt.

Species #150 — Golden Shiner

America’s favorite baitfish proved a little harder to catch than I anticipated.

Species: Golden Shiner (Notemigonus crysoleucas)
Location: Orlando, Florida
Date: July 10, 2018

A school of Golden Shiners pestered me for almost an hour at the Lake Fran Urban Wetlands. I knew what they were, and I knew I’d never caught one, but for the life of me, I just couldn’t get one to bite.

They were holding far out from shore, and I didn’t want to soak my boots or go to the car for a longer rod, so I spent a fruitless hour trying to get one to bite. To make matters worse, they were holding just under the surface, wouldn’t touch anything more than two inches below the surface.

Add to that my lack of floats, and my confidence sunk faster than my micro rig.


After trying a pond I was told was full of them and fighting off Bluegill and turtles for the better part of an hour with no Golden Shiners to show for it, I returned to the spot from the day before.

Though it was slow-going, it proved the right idea. Eventually, my bread chumming paid off, and I got a Golden Shiner, then a few more.

Eventually, I got one. Then I got three more in quick succession. Then, I stopped because they’re Golden Shiners.

All the commotion even attracted the attention of the tiniest little predator around, a certain topminnow species that I desperately wanted to catch…

#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard

Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #151 — Golden Topminnow.

Species #139 — Coastal Shiner

If someone punches you in the eye near the ocean, you get a Coastal Shiner. #DadJokes

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 #129 — Smoothhead Sculpin

I had this down as a Scalyhead Sculpin at first, but after consulting with an expert, it shifted to another member of the genus: Smoothhead Sculpin. Note my reflection in the corner. #Swag.

Species: Smoothhead Sculpin (Artedius lateralis)
Location: Oregon Coast
Date: June 20, 2018

Freshwater sculpins, especially the Cottus species, are among the most difficult-to-identify fish around.

Marine sculpins aren’t quite as tough, especially with the odd Rosylip Sculpin or Buffalo Sculpin kicking around, but there are a lot of them with blurred edges. One such fish is the Smoothead Sculpin. There are three fish in this genus (Padded, Smoothhead, and Scalyhead), and they’re insanely difficult to tell apart. Strangely, the Scalyhead Sculpin is supposed to be the most common but is the only one I’ve never caught.

Honestly, I don’t even really remember how he distinguished the two, but since I’ve only caught one more in that genus (another Smoothhead) since, it hasn’t been an issue.

Lazy? Sure.

But at least I know my flaws and don’t try to *smooth* over them.

In all seriousness, I used Coastal Fish Identification: California to Alaska and the Mola Marine PNW Sculpins 3.0 supplement to help me identify them. It turns out 9-out-of-10 dentists recommend cutting your teeth on both if you’re a Lifelister in the PNW.


One thing that is noticeable about these particular sculpins is their massive heads, especially compared to their tidepool peers.

Look at that thing! Its head is huge.

The latest Smoothhead had me thinking it was a different, and it was. Because it was another Padded Sculpin.

I’ll get my Scalyhead eventually, though, so I’m not worried.

#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard

Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #130 — Mountain Whitefish.

Species #128 — Fluffy Sculpin

Undoubtedly my favorite marine micros, Fluffy Sculpin are just gorgeous little fish. This picture doesn’t do the species justice.

Species: Fluffy Sculpin (Oligocottus snyderi)
Location: Oregon Coast
Date: June 20, 2018

Do you believe in love at first sight?

I’m not sure I did, but then I looked at a picture of a Fluffy Sculpin, the most beautiful little fish you ever did see. To further sell me on it, God made sure it comes in three designer colors: green, red, and brown.

Fluffy Sculpins are, as much as is possible for a fish, actually fluffy. They have tons of cirri, little sensory receptors common in sculpins, all over the body. They are especially prevalent around the head and lend to the fish’s name.

Add to their fluffy hugability the bright, vivid base palette and a lapis lazuli-and-white checkerboard throat, and you might just be talking about the most striking fish in the Pacific Northwest.

My first one fell for my bold pickup line: a bit of shrimp on a micro hook dangling into a surf-line tidepool on an outgoing low tide.

Though visibility wasn’t great to begin with, I also had to contend with a green fish in a verdant sea of kelp and sea lettuce which didn’t make things any easier.

One I landed the fish and saw it’s unmistakable underside, I knew I had a Fluffy.

Fluffy Sculpins have a scrawled white throat and vivid blue belly.

It was my first time microfishing with a photo tank, but the water was so salty that it made my photos turn out worse than I’d expected.

Still, I got some decent pictures.

Gotta love the photo tank. I kept half a dozen species in there at a time. In the back is a partially-obscured Kelp Greenling, a Cabezon, and a Tidepool Sculpin, but the Fluffies stole the show.

I landed dozens of fish that day. Though Tidepool Sculpin and Kelp Greenling were the most numerous, I did manage a few more fluffies, including a red one.

Fluffy Sculpins can be red, too.

I haven’t caught one in a minute now, but they remain my favorite Oregon micro.

#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard

Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #129 — Smoothhead Sculpin.

Species #126 — Redside Shiner

You ever spend a ton of time trying to add a fish to your Lifelist, only to later find out a closer, more abundant population existed later? Because same.

Species: Redside Shiner (Richardsonius balteatus)
Location: Corvallis, Oregon
Date: June 16, 2018

After school got out, I loaded my car and drove up to visit my brother, Gabe.

I knew it would be the last summer he lived in Corvallis with his roommates, the guys who had been surrogate brothers to me in the dozens of times I’d visited them over the years. Sure, I wanted to spend time with my brother, but I also liked the change of pace.

Jake called it “Hotel Gabe,” and I guess that was partly true. I did always take time to fish when visiting. In fact, I fished a lot out of that Corvallis apartment in five years’ time.

I changed careers, finished a Master’s degree, became a species hunter, and even started writing about fishing while they lived there. It held more memories than any other place I’d never actually lived in.

Like always, I wanted to fish.

So as I went out to the Willamette River to try for a species that was put on my radar since I started microfishing six months earlier from that very spot, I got emotional.

I caught my Redside Shiner, though I had to work for it. Species #126.

But I was still sad. This wasn’t like all of the other times I’d fished there.

This time was different.

We were celebrating Gabe’s graduation, and his then-girlfriend (now fiance), Rylee Salutregui and her family were there for the festivities, as she was graduating, too.

After catching a Redside Shiner just a few minutes from Gabe’s house, I surveyed the place I’d come to love as a second home and said my goodbyes to the place.

The people would be a little tougher.


The next day, we went fishing as a group. There were no new species, but it was worth sharing nonetheless.

Of those original four roommates that Gabe had lived with for so long, all of whom played Oregon State Football, only Adam Soesman and Drew Kell are still in Corvallis.

Marcus McMaryion transferred to Fresno State and got snubbed for an NFL Combine Invite, but he’ll probably at least make an NFL roster next year.

Trent Moore, one of his roommates and best friends, now lives with Gabe in Beaverton.

Gabe will be moving out to get a place with Rylee when they get married this fall, and life moves on.

Their core friend group has gone different directions, and I miss those guys. I never had college roommates (I lived with my parents), and these guys were the closest I ever came. I’d visit about once per month for almost five years. It was a way of life for me, and change is tough — even for the brother who only visits on occasion.

Read about saying goodbyes even as we said new hellos by clicking here.

#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard

Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #127 — Rosylip Sculpin.

Species #118 — Tidepool Sculpin

What started on a whim has become one of my favorite types of fishing: marine microfishing. Tidepool Sculpins tend to be the most numerous micros in most Oregon coastal locales.

Species: Tidepool Sculpin (Oligocottus maculosus)
Location: Newport, Oregon
Date: December 22, 2017

After discovering microfishing in the Willamette a few days earlier, I took my time staying with my brother, Gabe, during Christmas Break to expand my microfishing horizon.

After finding about as much success fishing from the pier as I’ve found dating in my late 20s, I decided to grab some dinner.

This was the highlight of my evening, as I headed to Local Ocean Seafood, which, in my opinion, is the best seafood restaurant in the state and one of the best I’ve ever had. Their crab chowder isn’t quite to die for, but it would certainly be a part of my last meal if given the choice.

Their rotating dinner menu and desserts are also phenomenal. Seriously. Take a moment and try them out.


I returned to the pier that night and did a little fishing in the blackness before a lightbulb emerged over my head. I could try microfishing at night in saltwater, chasing sculpins just like I did in freshwater!

The figurative lightbulb was replaced with a literal one as I donned my headlamp and took to the waters underneath the piers on the Newport waterfront.

Tides were a little higher than I’d like, and I was wearing rubber boots instead of waders, but through a spot-and-stalk effort more akin to hunting than fishing, I finally hooked a sculpin … and promptly lost it.

Fishing for these little guys involves a keen eye. You’ll have to spot their saddles against the aggregate, broken shells, rocks, sand, and kelp. It’s easier said than done over a broken bottom.

Can you spot the Tidepool Sculpin? If not, you won’t enjoy the “Where’s Waldo” book series.

This excruciating process repeated itself two or three times before I finally landed one.

I knew it was a Tidepool Sculpin, and I was stoked.

Handling it wasn’t terribly easy, especially for a microfishing novice with cold, worn-out hands dealing with an Owner New Half Moon hook, but I managed to hold it long enough to snap this less-than-ideal photo for identification. I took that picture and began reading the Mola Marine Sculpin Guide, a link you definitely want to copy and save, just to make sure.

ID confirmed.

Tidepool Sculpins are not only the most common Oregon intertidal sculpin, they have (1) smooth skin and (2) a prominent saddle in between the dorsal fins with the open end of the V-shape facing back toward the head. It’s reversed in the species with which you might otherwise confuse it.

Tidepool Sculpins often wriggle in your hands which makes them look like tiny, adorable little sea dragons. Like, how cute is this lil guy? Ignore the assorted tidal filth on my palm.

Though I thought I had it figured out, that was my one and only fish that night. I’d rose with the dawn, fished all day, and I was tired. I still had an hour to drive back to Corvegas, so I hopped in the car and went back to Gabe’s house one species richer.

If you have micro gear, it’s virtually impossible not to catch a Tidepool Sculpin on your first attempt. Tides can throw off your success rates, but they feed just as actively during the day as they do at night.


I’ve since discovered the beauty of tidepool microfishing, and though there are limited options on the Oregon Coast due to habitat protection laws, I’ve figured out a few places.

But that, my friends, is a story for another day.

#SpeciesQuest // #CaughtOvgard

Read the next entry in #SpeciesQuest here: Species #119 — Shortnose Sucker.