Grouper are closed. Snapper are closed. And amberjack are, well, amberjack. Sure, the Spring cobia run is beginning, but the buggy top on my upper station does not come off, so casting from the tower is not an option, not to mention that taking my outriggers off and casting from the bow, or whatever, seems like a lot of trouble, particularly when the cobia would have to be the size of a submersible for me to see them with my tired, old eyes.
But what about swordfish? Are they out there in the Winter, when the weather is usually too snotty to pound offshore and hang on a chute during a long night, or in the Spring, when catching cobia off the beach beats the hell out of a 120 nautical mile round trip to go swordfishing?
The intrepid crew of the Hammerhead resolved to research this question, at least with respect to the presence of swordfish in the Spring. So, this past Friday, a couple of hours before sunset, a snorting and snarling Hammerhead debouched from East Pass bound for the Spur, delighted to be underway on the first deep water foray of the year. On board were your correspondent, the Freemanator, Te
nser and Nicholas Mallette, and Bart Mitchell.
We arrived on station about six nautical miles south and a tad east of the tip of the Spur after sunset, and deployed the chute and two Hydroglow lights under a full moon that would not set until dawn. This posed another question: would the bright moonlight inhibit the bite? With the moon in mind, Bart suggested we fish deep, so we put a Boston mackerel down past 300 feet, a rigged squid at 200 feet, and another squid at 75 feet.
Our first guest was a small Mako that swam figure eights behing the transom and around the lines for some time before disappearing. Then it was Strange Critter Time. (See, Psalms
107:23,24 NKJV) Portugese Man of Wars drifted by. We netted a two inch juvenile flying fish. And we saw what looked like ropes of living bubble wrap, one of which had moved into a shell like a hermit crab.
But what about swordfish? Are they out there in the Winter, when the weather is usually too snotty to pound offshore and hang on a chute during a long night, or in the Spring, when catching cobia off the beach beats the hell out of a 120 nautical mile round trip to go swordfishing?
The intrepid crew of the Hammerhead resolved to research this question, at least with respect to the presence of swordfish in the Spring. So, this past Friday, a couple of hours before sunset, a snorting and snarling Hammerhead debouched from East Pass bound for the Spur, delighted to be underway on the first deep water foray of the year. On board were your correspondent, the Freemanator, Te
nser and Nicholas Mallette, and Bart Mitchell.We arrived on station about six nautical miles south and a tad east of the tip of the Spur after sunset, and deployed the chute and two Hydroglow lights under a full moon that would not set until dawn. This posed another question: would the bright moonlight inhibit the bite? With the moon in mind, Bart suggested we fish deep, so we put a Boston mackerel down past 300 feet, a rigged squid at 200 feet, and another squid at 75 feet.
Our first guest was a small Mako that swam figure eights behing the transom and around the lines for some time before disappearing. Then it was Strange Critter Time. (See, Psalms
107:23,24 NKJV) Portugese Man of Wars drifted by. We netted a two inch juvenile flying fish. And we saw what looked like ropes of living bubble wrap, one of which had moved into a shell like a hermit crab.We began to stand our watches at 2300, chunking slowly from two flats of Boston mackerel. At 0300, I came on deck to relieve Bart, who told me that there had been a bite on the deep line a half hour before, probably a sword, because the mackerel had been pinched off behind the gill plates, not bitten through. Not much action, really. I noticed that our initial drift had changed 40 degrees to the east, so I decided we should move back south and west, closer the the Canyon wall.
While we were clearing lines in preparation for the move, the deep line, another mackerel, got bit. The Freemanator, who was on his first sword trip, put on a kidney harness and accepted the ch
allenge. Nicholas held onto the back of the harness to make sure that a tip wrap or some other mishap did not result in the loss of my grandson in 1700 feet of water in the middle of the night. In a little under half an hour (the rod and 
reel was a 30 with 10 pounds of drag), a more or less legal sword was on the deck, and the incipient legend of the Freemanator had grown a bit more.
allenge. Nicholas held onto the back of the harness to make sure that a tip wrap or some other mishap did not result in the loss of my grandson in 1700 feet of water in the middle of the night. In a little under half an hour (the rod and 
reel was a 30 with 10 pounds of drag), a more or less legal sword was on the deck, and the incipient legend of the Freemanator had grown a bit more.I then ignored the time tested admonition against leaving fish to look for fish, and moved the boat. There was, of course, nary another nibble before the sun rose, when we picked'em up to run home. On the way in, we decided to stop on the Ozark to see if anything around the old ship wanted breakfast. Our offering was live squid that Grasshopper, the young mate on the Outta Here, had netted for me in the marina prior to our departure.
The first line was no sooner down than bang, a scamp. Then bang, another. The action was steady, if not red hot. By the time we headed for the hill an hour or so later, we had 
lost as many rigs by hanging the wreck as we had caught fish, but we had boated eight scamp, a snowy grouper, which I had never seen before, and three amberjacks, one of which the Freemanator pumped up out of 300 feet of water on a spinning rod.
lost as many rigs by hanging the wreck as we had caught fish, but we had boated eight scamp, a snowy grouper, which I had never seen before, and three amberjacks, one of which the Freemanator pumped up out of 300 feet of water on a spinning rod.So, now we know: there are swords out there in the Spring, and they will eat on a full moon. But new questions must be answered. Both bites came on a Boston mackerel on the deep line. Was that chance? Was it because it was the deep line? Or was it because the bait was a mackerel and not a squid? And why were there scamp and snowy grouper on the Ozark in 300 feet of water? They usually are found much deeper, and I have never caught them on the Ozark before.
These are important questions, and, clearly, further research warranted.
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