I first experienced the joys of kayak fishing about five years ago.  I took my kids’ little Old Town Otter XT out into the Santa Rosa Sound near my parents’ house in Gulf Breeze, Florida. The Otter, at 9.5 feet, is barely big enough for me.  The footrests have to be pushed forward as far as they will go. And I have to be careful not to lean over to look at something in the water.  But the Otter is the ultimate in small boat efficiency.  You can carry it with one hand. Yet it can carry you to where the fish are. It is like a concise bit of writing, the turn of phrase, the call to action, everything you need in a boat boiled down to a single statement.

That first morning out, I took several shrimp, which had already died in the bucket, and fished them over the grass flats—shallow water where sea grass grows in large areas interspersed with barren bright spots of pure sand. Bam! I caught three redfish just like that.

Here, just inches from the surface of the Sound, I enjoyed a whole new perspective.  Much different than I get from the cockpit of my 25-foot sailboat.   Different than you can get from just about any other kind of boat.  From time to time, I could see the subtle churning of a fish. Baitfish made the surface sizzle in quick bursts, like tiny rain showers. If I saw some commotion beyond my casting range, a few quick strokes of the paddle put me right on the spot.  Fish swam by as if I were just one of them.  I could actually smell them.

Back at home in Memphis, I decided to turn the Otter into the ultimate micro-fishing vessel.  I added deck rigging fore and aft.  I bought a folding landing net, which could be held at the ready under the paddle park already on the boat.  I invested in a kayak anchor to keep me from drifting. I mounted a receptacle on the foredeck for a removable rod holder.  I was ready.  I re-christened the Otter the Oughter-B-Fishin.  And, as soon as I could swing it, I kissed the family good-bye and headed south once again to Gulf Breeze.

Believe it or not, I was able to transport the boat inside my ’97 CR-V.  When I say inside, I don’t mean it stuck out the back window.  (That’s how I transport my 14-foot tandem kayak).  No, I mean after folding seats this way and that, I was able to coax the little boat all the way in with all the doors and windows closed.  No worrying about a rack (the car doesn’t have one), no tie-downs to check, and no wind-noise to suffer through.  Another inch of boat length, and it wouldn’t have been possible.  Good things come in small packages.

The next morning, back on the Santa Rosa Sound, the sun was just coming up.  Across the way I could see the Gulf Islands National Seashore, a stretch of beautiful, undeveloped beach between Pensacola Beach and Navarre Beach, miles of untainted sand and sea oats, water and sky.  When the weather whips up, you can hear the Gulf surf from here, but on this day all was quiet.

I made my first cast, a gold spoon, my preferred lure for coastal fishing, in front of what was left of a dock dispersed by Hurricane Ivan.  One cast was all it took.  I pulled in a 23” spotted sea trout from 18” of water.  I know of fishermen who catch tarpon and sharks in their kayaks but, for me, this was a good fish.  Good eating, too.

I also caught a 24” redfish in waters well beyond the range of shore-bound anglers.  In Florida, the keeper slot for redfish is 18-27 inches.  Everything smaller or larger must be released.  Getting one within the slot is difficult, especially where so many juveniles hide out in the shallows.  Go out to Pensacola Pass, the gulf entrance to Pensacola Bay, and you have the opposite problem.  Plenty of big bull reds three feet long, but none in the slot.  That’s actually a pretty good problem to have, I suppose, but that’s another story.

By this time, I was really into kayak fishing.  I loved the minimalism—the small boat, the extremely short distance I had to paddle (about 100 yards), the shallow water bigger boats couldn’t enter, and the low cost.  After all, the Otter is one of the least expensive kayaks you can buy.  The power is free, too. Dad and I had gone out on many fishing excursions in his Boston Whaler and hadn’t been any more successful.

Of course, the catching is only part of it.  There is the cleaning. The throwing of red and yellow streamers to the gulls.  The decorating of the dock with the confetti the fish brought with him.  A fish always looks smaller dead.  Something is lost and given up. Smaller still, once the head is gone. But it’s greatness comes back in the eating.  Especially if its a redfish.

How could it get any better?  Well, you never know unless you try.  The one drawback to the Otter is that I had to exert a bit of effort to stay upright while fishing.   Sit-in kayaks are very stable underway, but just sitting there, they can be a bit tippy.  Especially if you are grown man sitting in what was supposed to be your kids’ kayak.

I soon began shopping for a “real” fishing kayak, the sit-on-top variety with the built-in rod holders, a place for your bait bucket and more stability.  On the Internet I found a good deal on a Perception Caster 12.5 with a rudder.  In the meantime, I had relinquished the CR-V to my now-driving teenage son and bought a new Mini Cooper.  I bought the hardtop with the sunroof, and not the convertible, so I could fit it for a rack.  Caster and rack were delivered the same week, and I was ready for another road trip to Gulf Breeze.

I was optimistic, and I knew I had raised the stakes substantially costwise. But kayak fishing had been good to me so far. I loaded the kayak on the Mini (they were just about the same length) and headed down the highway.  People smiled and pointed, waved and honked.  I was smug.  I knew what they were thinking.  What an adventurer!  Hey, that guy’s got it going on. Can any one person be that much fun?

I had the small car.  I had the small boat.  But I didn’t get the big fish.  Not this time.  The seasons were changing.  Fall was pouring in and the water was cooling down.  More than a year after its visit, there were still reminders of Ivan’s wrath all around me.  I saw clean-swept concrete foundations with million-dollar views and dock pilings leaning like wading fishermen in the water.  A few storm-demolished houses that no one had bothered to haul away sat inside-out on the shore.  This part of Florida took a beating from both Ivan and Dennis.  On the upside, however, inshore fishing had never been better.

That is, until this trip.  The weather was changing my big fish plans.  The fish, if they were there, were in a funk.  I caught some redfish, but they were all too small to be keepers.  Time ran out, and I had to return to the real world in Memphis.

No big fish. Unless you count me. I’m the one who’s hooked on finding the big fun in small things, hooked on kayak fishing.  I’m the one whose fin-like paddles cut through the water as I look for food. I’m the one flipping around on the land, desperately doing everything I can to get back to the water.

If you liked this post, come on over to Paddle & Rod, my new kayak/paddling/fishing site.