Paddling the Natives
The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky over Masonboro Island when Gary Hurley, Eddie Hardgrove, and I met Chris Tryon at the Trail’s End launch ramp last Sunday. As we helped Chris unload the boats from the rack in the back of his pickup, I hurriedly polished off a greasy fast food breakfast sandwich (name withheld as I don’t feel compelled to promote the product responsible for such a gastric disturbance) and contemplated our twofold mission—to go catch some fish from the ‘yaks and to help me determine which model best suited my needs as a large fisherman who also wanted a boat with enough speed for some light touring and camping.
The idea of fishing and camping from something that doesn’t require a motor gets more sensible every day as the prices displayed on gas station signs rise. I’d been determined to buy a small skiff this past winter, but the climbing price of fuel made it clear that my budget would limit even the number of inshore trips I’d be taking. Unwilling to give up on something that would get me on the water, picking up a kayak seemed like the obvious choice. I’ve always enjoyed paddling them, and though I’d never fished from one prior to our trip, the idea has intrigued me for a while.
After talking to Chris and Ryan at Hook, Line, and Paddle (the canoe and kayak shop they operate on Eastwood Road) about what I’d be doing with the kayak and sitting in a number of them, I’d narrowed my choices down to two sit-on-tops made by Native Watercraft—the Ultimate 14.5 and the Manta Ray 14.5, two fairly different boats both targeted to the kayak angler.
“Just hang a right and we’ll head into the marsh over there,” Tryon said after we’d snapped the buckles on our pfd’s and eased the kayaks into the water. I’d chosen the Manta Ray first.
The Manta is a performance-oriented fishing kayak, slightly narrower than most sit-on-tops, but with a fishing-friendly layout that has plenty of storage space and areas designed to accommodate rod holders and other accessories. Chris had this boat rigged with two outward facing rod holders behind the seat and an adjustable Scotty holder forward, a common and highly functional setup for a fishing kayak.
As the four of us turned south into the Intracoastal Waterway, I was quickly struck with how smoothly and precisely the boat reacted to each stroke of the paddle. Most of my kayaking in the past has been from sit-inside touring models, and the few sit-on-tops I’d paddled before felt a bit slow and clumsy in comparison. Admittedly, they were earlier designs and wider, shorter hulls (which tend to be slower), but paddling the Manta Ray was much closer to the speed and agility of a touring boat.
Since I intend to fish, camp, and explore islands and places distant from access areas, speed and ease of paddling the boat was definitely a major factor in my decision. Fortunately, kayak anglers aren’t restricted to the area’s busy boat ramps, since one can put the boat in the water virtually anywhere there is public water access.
Very impressed with my initial impression of the Manta Ray’s speed and handling, I followed Chris along the waterway’s west bank until he gestured to an opening in the marsh.
“We’re going to start over there,” he explained while glancing to check for boat traffic in the channel. It was clear, but apparently that’s not always the case. “Yesterday I had to wait 10 minutes to cross over,” he continued, although the busy Saturday evening’s traffic isn’t typical.
Crossing the channel and entering the mouth of a small bay, our minds turned to fishing.
Chris had equipped each of our kayaks with two 7’ medium spinning rods, one rigged with a jighead and Gulp shrimp, and one with a suspending MirrOlure.
“Just cast towards the shoreline and we’ll keeping pushing that way,” Chris instructed, pointing with a fly rod he’d pulled out of a holder in the green Ultimate 14.5 he does much of his guiding from.
As soon as we entered the marsh, Chris demonstrated one of his favorite qualities of the Ultimate—its immense stability. “I stand up in this boat and just pole it along with the paddle all the time,” he said, looking towards the marsh grass for a cruising red drum. “You can see so much better.”
We fished and paddled along a series of grass points and small cuts in the marsh. Gary, Eddie, and I alternated between the Gulps and the MirrOlures and Chris casted a small Clouser minnow fly. The Manta Ray’s maneuverability was definitely an asset while fishing, making it easy to position the boat ideally to cast to the uneven marsh edge.
The morning light became brighter as we worked the marsh. Chris stood and poled the boat the entire time, pausing to cast and vigilantly keeping an eye out for signs of fish. Since the kayaks are virtually silent, he often is able to get very close to feeding schools of reds or other fish without disturbing them, at least before he hooks up on the fly rod.
We worked our way deeper into the marsh uninterrupted by any schools of feeding reds; however, I noticed Eddie was missing.
While I continued to follow Gary and Chris, discussing the many merits of kayak fishing while we worked our way far into the marsh, Eddie had hung behind, fishing each area a little more thoroughly. When I came back around the bend, I saw him at anchor off a small point and decided this would be an ideal time to swap boats with him and give the Ultimate a shot.
I paddled the short trip across the bay fairly hard, wanting to get a final impression of how the Manta Ray’s speed would compare to the Ultimate.
I pulled up to Eddie, rooting both for and against the inevitable blow to my pride that would take place if he’d boated a flounder or released a red.
“Anything?” I queried.
“A lizard and a big pinfish,” he replied. It was better than I’d done so far.
He agreed to switch boats, and we quickly made the exchange on a sandy break in the marsh. The Ultimate is a fairly new design for Native, and it features an open layout much like a canoe in a sit-on-top kayak hull. Obviously, this provides plenty of room for gear, and the boat’s cross braces also are shaped to allow anglers to mount rod holders.
I’d expected the Ultimate to be a bit slower than the Manta Ray, as it is slightly wider, but if it is, I couldn’t tell. The boat seemed equally quick on my trip back across the bay and reacted to the paddle input gracefully.
The falling tide had revealed a sandy island in the middle of a large creek mouth, with a large channel on one side and a narrow rivulet on the other. I noticed that both Chris and Gary had beached their boats and were casting into the channel, and after hustling up to the island, I followed suit.
Not long after I began bumping the Gulp shrimp along the bottom a few yards down the sand from Gary, I looked over to see Chris quickly strip in some fly line and raise the long rod. The resultant bend made it clear he’d hooked up, and after a quick battle in the current, he slid a flounder onto the island. The fish wasn’t huge, but a fly-caught flounder is a cool thing to see any day, and it immediately boosted our confidence that there were some feeding fish in the area.
As Chris released the flounder, I continued casting, hoping that if there was flatfish around ready to eat a fly; there would be one starving for a Gulp bait.
I don’t know if Eddie saw Chris catch his fish, but the next time I looked to my left, he had the Manta Ray anchored up just off the sand island and was fan casting the creek mouth.
I looked back at the kayak after a few more casts to see Eddie’s spinning rod bent over and a grin spreading across his face. “Flattie,” he said, rubbing in the obvious when he pulled a larger flounder from the moving water.
This one looked like a keeper, and after Eddie paddled to the island, Chris’s measuring tape confirmed it. Tying the fish off on a stringer to a cleat on the boat, he hopped back in the Manta’s cockpit and reclaimed the spot where he’d hooked up.
Now, truly anxious to hook up with a fish (not that it’s a competition), I began casting yet again. Unfortunately, all three members of the Fisherman’s Post crew had midday obligations, so there was a definite lines-out time that was beginning to loom on me, and it seemed as though the bite was picking up.
Fan-casting an area of the creek channel until I felt my jig had to have been noticed, but wasn’t, I moved a few yards down the sand and began the process anew. I was standing just a few feet from Gary when I saw his wrists snap up, and the rod tip jar from a fish’s head shaking. Soon enough, he brought another flounder to hand, and for the third time in 15 minutes, I snapped photos of a grinning angler with a flounder. While the fish looked nearly as large as Eddie’s, Gary must have been in a merciful mood and released it without breaking out the measuring tape.
The time I was beginning to refer to as the “skunk deadline” in my head was rapidly approaching, and I knew if I was going to put a fish on the board, it would need to happen fast.
I was about to lose faith in the effectiveness of willing my Gulp into a flounder’s mouth when I felt a thump just after the jig hit the bottom.
Setting the hook with relief, the jig found home and I heard the reel’s drag for a moment, leading me to believe I might have the day’s big flatfish. A thrashing on the surface quickly shot that down, and I started thinking bluefish, not exactly a glamour species, but much better than a skunk.
The fish didn’t have quite the manic fight of a blue, and as the pressure from the rod quickly tired it out, a beautiful speckled trout rolled to the surface. It was my turn to pose with a fish, and I happily did so. Finally catching a fish must have had me feeling merciful as well, and I watched the speck disappear with a tail flip after I slid it back into the water.
Our deadline had arrived. After releasing the trout, Chris, Gary, and I hopped back in the kayaks and began making our way out of the bay. It’s never fun to leave biting fish behind, but it would have been a lot harder without that speck.
Deciding that it was time to test out the Ultimate’s stability, I tentatively followed Chris’s lead, easing myself out of the seat and onto my feet. For someone who’s never stood up in a kayak before, the feeling can be a little strange and intimidating, but I felt comfortable almost immediately and began poling along towards the waterway.
After we reached water deep enough to make poling difficult, I found that I could stand up and paddle, too. I was actually able to paddle across the channel and even negotiate a modest boat wake while standing up—not something I ever thought I’d try in a kayak. I think that most who know me would describe my balance as fair at best, and at 6’8”, my center of gravity certainly isn’t the lowest, so the Ultimate is one stable kayak.
I was impressed with both the Ultimate and Manta Ray’s handling and speed, more so than I thought I ever would be with any sit-on-top. One of my main concerns was that making a long paddle to a remote fishing or camping spot would be laborious in a boat well adapted to fishing, and both boats put that issue to rest. In the end I decided to go with the Manta for one reason—the closed bow makes it slightly more suitable for ocean trips with larger waves, and I have definite intentions of targeting king mackerel, cobia, and other nearshore species with the boat.
Kayak fishing is bound to become more popular in the coming years, and for a simple reason—it makes sense. The advantages of targeting fish from a kayak versus a powerboat are myriad, but they include eliminating fuel costs, increased water access, shallow draft, stealth, simplicity, and a bit of exercise, not to mention a greatly lowered up-front cost.
Anyone interested in getting into the sport would do themselves a favor to visit Hook, Line, and Paddle Canoe and Kayak Outfitters and simply talk to Chris or Ryan. They stock a huge variety of boats and every kind of accessory imaginable, and they have the knowledge to match people up with the right equipment for their unique situations.
I can’t think of a better hands-on introduction the sport than a trip with Chris Tryon. He targets drum, trout, flounder, and other species on paddle charters, and not only knows how to catch fish, but how to equip people with the knowledge to do it on their own. Give him a call at (910) 547-6989 to book a trip or for more information.
