[dropcap]I[/dropcap] have a theory of economics: Anglers’ disposable incomes are directly correlated to the number of blades in their disposable razors, since the price rises markedly as one upgrades from the single bladed BIC Cheapskater Blunt Trauma to the five tiered Schick Pentagon Titanium-Kevlar Mach V Defoliator, which doubles as a deli slicer and sports a GPS app. Like many of you, I fall into the disposable twin blade tax bracket, which is really not so bad, seeing as how limited income prevents us from spending too much on costly lures that we’ll never employ. Or maybe it doesn’t. After observing a nearby angler repeatedly hang into upper slot trout in Stoney Bayou on a recent Saturday, I scouted the end of his line. He was slinging one of those newly faddish soft swimbaits, covering much more water than I was with live finger mullet, and outcatching me three to one.
Well, that simply wouldn’t do. The next day, I waltzed into a Tallahassee tackle shop and demanded to see their selection of swimbaits. This turned out to be a big mistake, because in Leon County, waltzing is illegal in tackle shops on Sunday. Who knew? When will our feckless legislature get around to fixing these archaic blue laws? I got off the hook by offering to purchase a variety of swimbaits, to match every possible combination of water clarity and depth, overhead conditions, lunarvphase, ambient temperature, and zodiac sign. Then I discovered that these baits go for over 15 bucks a pop. Gulp! (Frankly, Gulp products are a good bit cheaper).
On the water, I soon discovered that the hefty price tag on said swimbaits actually inhibited my prowess. After cutting off on an oyster bar, I became skittish about losing too many of my pricey beauties. So, I began avoiding oyster bars, rock grass, limestone drop-offs, sunken timber…in other words, places that actually attract bait and predators. The “safe” open water I was reeling through was about as fishy as a retention pit.
Thankfully, I experienced an intervening force in the form of Andy Iglehart. Andy is inarguably my superior in terms of bushwacking his way to remote fishing sites on foot or in stealthy watercraft; he’s at home blazing through brush and swampy terrain that give me pause. Moreover, Andy fashions his own artificials, and has created eye catching and productive patterns for hard baits, soft plastics, and jigs. I crossed paths with Andy on the St Marks National Wildlife Refuge just a week before writing this piece. He graciously handed me a stunning assortment of his homemade jigs, which were murder for him on flounder and reds on the incoming tide that day. Turns out they work pretty well on a dropping tide, too. And at about a tenth of the cost per unit of a highfalutin swimbait, they restored my willingness to pitch a lure in the likely haunt of a hungry fish. What a concept!
Next month: A report on ice cooler styles as a marker of income. The spectrum runs from chintzy Styrofoam boxes, whose main function is to accelerate food spoilage, to exorbitant chests, concocted from spaceage, roto-molded Bearproofium. Someday I’ll afford the latter, but not Yeti.