memorable experience. Like most passes, Pass Cavallo is temperamental. It is racked with sandbars, deep troughs, and powerful currents. But it also can provide some very good fishing and you are never quite sure what you’ll see or what will happen when you go there. For that reason, I always look forward to going back. In the Fall of 1990, I was fishing with my dad and a friend near Pass Cavallo. We had spent the day fishing in and around the old Coast Guard Station and Decros Point, and as evening approached, my dad was ready to head to town. My buddy and I wanted to keep on fishing. The boat was fairly well-stocked with food and water that afternoon, so we convinced Dad to drop us off for the night on the J-hook at Pass Cavallo near the beachfront. Our plan was to fish for bull reds and sharks while he got a good night’s sleep in town. He could then pick us up at first light a few hundred yards back down the shore along a protected sandbar. Dad thought it was a bad idea but, we assured him we’d be fine and he reluctantly agreed. As sundown approached, we packed gear out of his boat and onto the sand and he headed back to town. This was not the first time we had camped at Pass Cavallo. We beached our flat bottom boats there many times, resourcefully rolling the hulls up from the water’s edge on long PVC pipes which we then used as rod
No shirt, no sunglasses, no sunblock, no sleep, cut-offs, Pflueger Medalist fly reel, and a stringer of big trout.
Releasing a BIG redfish.
holders. It was a great place to fish. Stuck on the island that night, we listened to the rumble of the waves and looked back toward the distant winking lights to the north. In spite of it being a potentially hostile place, the narrow spit of sand where we set up camp was peaceful and relaxing. And aside from a few mosquito bites and coyotes digging through our stuff, nothing bothered us. That night we managed to catch some big redfish and a few sharks, and as the first glow of light appeared in the eastern sky we could hear the sounds of speckled trout and Spanish mackerel working the troughs near the beachfront, beckoning us to break out the fly tackle. As soon as it was light enough to see I noticed a boat approaching the shore from the direction of the old Coast Guard station. It was my dad with a nervous grin on his face. As he pulled up he said, “Well… you guys get any sleep?” TSFMAG.com | 47