Deep Drop Fishing - Key West
Deep drop fishing is an obsession for a few serious anglers. However, not many are willing to pony up the dough for a $3,000 electric reel.
By Catain Craig Eubank
Posted Wednesday, April 5, 2006
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Deep drop fishing is an obsession for a few serious anglers. However, not many are willing to pony up the dough for a $3,000 electric reel. Many of us have made one or two (usually one) drop with a conventional reel to the bottom in several hundred feet of water just to see what happens and usually with no success. Monofilament line has too much stretch to feel a strike and creates too much "belly" in the line especially with a little current. Large lead weights are needed and only the largest 130 lb. tackle can handle them..
My interest in deep dropping started by way of the Internet. I was curious about these electric reels and the strange, bulging eyed fish they produced. I'd seen their pictures in the fishing magazines and a few on the cleaning table.
Anything and everything can be had on eBay. I daily searched, "electric reels" and was very surprised how many there were for sale. Now, thinking that bigger is always better, I kept my eye out for an electric 80 pound reel, 130-pound rod, and one that preferably uses a 32-volt motor. 32-volt? Yep, the Mr. Z is a Bertram and it has a 12-volt system, a 32-volt system, and 120-volt system.
 I finally bid on a Lindgren-Pitman modified Penn 80 wide reel. Capt. Steve had an old 130-pound rod that he customized to make even stiffer and we loaded the reel with 800 yards of 200 pound, "Spider Wire." It's a synthetic braid much like Dacron. Soft and supple, the diameter of 20 pound monofilament, and zero stretch. And no, it's not made with real spiders.
Finally, we were ready for our first serious attempt to fish in deep water. Now, where? I picked a spot on the chart in about 820 feet of water that has a high rise on each side about the length of three football fields. This would give us a good drift across the top of the mountain if there was much current. And, frequently, there is a lot of current with the proximity of the Gulfstream. Our charter was an unsuspecting group of gentlemen from Tampa, Florida. Instead of bullshitting them with the, "we do this all the time," story, we told them what we had in mind and did they have any objection to giving it a shot during their charter? It also helped that we mentioned the fact that this technique usually produces "vittles." "No problem at all, Capt." And we threw the lines and headed South.
Soon, we were within a mile of the location I had picked on the chart that I thought would offer the best chance of Snowys, Tiles, and Rosefish.
"Fifteen minutes," I shouted to Steve, and he knew to start assembling the equipment. The anglers' eyes widened as Steve brought out the heavy tackle and pieced it together. Too heavy to set up in a standard, gunnel mounted rod holder, Steve set the electric 80 and 130 rod up in the Murray Bros. fighting chair.
"Standby," I yelled to Steve as my depth sounder started its slow up hill climb from 1,000 feet. As we leveled off at 820 feet, there appeared a small fuzzy "bump" at the top of the hill. On any other trolling day, this would hardly be noticed and surely ignored as we cruised over it at 9 knots looking for pelagic fish. But, today was different. What was that curious bump not more than 20 feet high off the bottom? Today, I had the where-with-all to find out! "OK, drop it here!" I said. An eight-pound lead sash weight, 5 circle hooks with barracuda/squid strips, various glow beads, a flashing diamond strobe, and a neon green glow stick began their rapid decent into the blue. What a ride. What would a passing fish think of this rig? Frightening.
Larry Saylor, of Brandon, Florida is one of those slow talking Florida "Crackers." With sort of a Missouri "Show me" way about him, although he's never quite surprised at anything you show him.
 "Is the cinder block really necessary?" he asked referring to the eight-pound sash weight we had tied to the bottom of the rig. "Too much is never enough," Steve said with not so much as a smile. A minute passed before the reel suddenly stopped and the line went slack. "Give it a bump or two," he asked of Larry meaning to click the trigger a couple of times to take the slack out of the line.
"Now we wait for a nibble," Steve said. I maneuver the boat so that we are precisely on the spot I had located before. Mostly guesswork, but I feel better if I think I actually hit the nest of some mammoth grouper and his family. I find that depth, not relief is more important.
Some current can be overcome by backing the boat into the seas, but the heavy lead is really the secret. Straight up and down. You won't get a bite unless the bait is on the bottom. Remember, these are "country" fish. They've never seen the light of day much less a hook and line. We believe that the motion of the lead banging the bottom, the light (which must look like a UFO arriving from above) and the smell of the bait brings attention for dozens of yards in the area. Who knows? There can't be a lot of entertainment at that depth!
After a couple of false alarms, we spotted the telltale twitch of the tip and yelled in unison, "Go!" Larry put the reel in motion. This time the fish stuck and the long wait to see what was on the other end of 800 feet had begun.
What seemed like an hour passed as the leader neared the surface. I had been bumping the engines in and out of gear since we began the retrieve so that we could be ahead of the leader and stop the reel before it jammed the swivel in the rod tip. "Here it comes, slow down," Steve said. "Bump it up to the tip so I can get a hold of the lead." Disappointment.
Hung on the last of the 5 large circle hooks was a 2 pound orange colored fish with big black doll eyes. "What the Hell is that?" Larry asked. "It's a Rosefish. can't you tell?" deadpanned Steve. It was quite spiny, sort of a cross between a perch and a scorpion fish.
"Sure, we'll call it a Rosefish, they're great eating," I said trying to break the pall. "Throw it in the cooler and we'll drop again. Standby while I circle around." I yelled. The current had taken us about a hundred yards to the East, so I backtracked to the slope, and down she went. I was now beginning to feel pressure to produce a good size fish since I had spent a lot of time, energy, and money on this new technique. I had assumed that all fish living in 800 feet of water would be of the larger variety, but now I had my doubts.
We would need to catch more than a few Rosefish to make this endeavor success. The lead hit the bottom, and over the next hour we repeated our success and assembled quite a collection of Rosefish. At times, we retrieved with double and triple-headers. I took a lunch break and descended the ladder. 23 sets of doll eyes stared back at me as I raised the cooler lid to inspect our catch.
"We could've done this on the reef with a spinning rod and chunk baits. I hope they eat as well as the Yellowtail snapper," Larry chided. Just as I was starting to feel better about our results. Of course, Larry was just giving me a hard time. He knew I was under pressure to make the first outing with the electric tackle a success.
"We'll stay with it a while longer, I'm sure we'll come up with something nice," I said cheerfully. My optimism was qualified by the word "nice." I didn't use the word "big," just "nice." And right now, anything larger or different than a 2-pound orange, black-eyed Rosefish will be nice!
"Hey, Steve, cut a few chunks out of one of those chicken dolphin, would ya?" I said. "It might change things up."
With what now amounted to a "Cuban mix" of bait on our leader, Steve once again sent the rig on its way.
This time was different - we were trying different bait and location. My hopes were high as we waited. "A larger fish would be more skeptical. more timid, he'll take his time," I thought. "That's how he got to be larger, right?" As the seconds ticked by, I began to lose hope.
This is where being the Captain has its disadvantages. No one will move, divert their eyes, or even speak on the last drop of the day. There is still hope as long as the bait is on the bottom. Only the Captain has the power to say, "Wind 'em up. Let's go home," and crush all chance at bettering the catch.
"Wind 'em." my voice trailed off as I watched the big 130-pound rod slowly bend over to the gunnel. "Go, go, go!" Steve yelled. This wasn't Larry's first rodeo and he had put down his Busch just for this last drop, he was on top of it! The 80 wide whirred into action, but this time found resistance.
"This one's bigger," Steve said. Hopes soared. Even if it were a 5-pound Rosefish or maybe the elusive Golden Tilefish, we would be heroes. Steve began adjusting the drag lever forward tightening the tension on the line. "Not too much, we don't want to pull the hook!" I shouted nervously.
"Got it, nice and easy," Steve said. The only thing worse than not getting a strike on the last drop is getting one and losing it. The retrieve always takes twice as long as the drop even without a fish. Now, we were gaining only inches. Whatever this was, it wasn't coming up without a fight.
Even though the electric motor is doing all the work, you can't help but push the bottom a little harder. "Getting a blister?" Steve asked Larry. Larry managed a smile, but was still concentrating hard on the blue spot of Ocean behind the boat. The telltale sign of leader, weight, and fish arriving on the express elevator seemed to take a lifetime.
"Look at that," Steve said. Bubbles erupted like a divers' behind the boat. "Must be a Snowy. His air bladder popped." This made sense. The Rosefish didn't have air bladders and consequently, no bubbles. My hopes were up. The Snowy Grouper is the prized deep drop fish. In the same family as black, gag, and red Groupers; Snowys are tastier because they live in cooler, cleaner water. Seconds later, a giant gray basketball with our leader in its' mouth whooshed to the surface.
"We got a Snowy!" Steve shouted. The crew were all high fives and smiles now. This was the fish to make the day a success. Steve gaffed the fish firmly and lifted it, leader, lead, and lights in with some difficulty. Our charter guessed this fish at 30 lbs. I was just happy it was in the box!
"Time to start back," I said in the direction of the back deck. No one argued, we had ended the day on a high note. I wheeled the big Bertram around to due north and hit the autopilot for the ride home. As I ran up the Detroits to 1,800 RPM, I remembered to hit the "save" button on the GPS.
"We will be back!"
Tight lines,
Capt. Craig - Mr. Z
Article by Captain Craig of Key West Fish Tales Charters
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