Alex Was a Butthead

This entry is about the incredibly cool photos that I didn’t get

I’m normally neck-deep in redfish this time of year, and there’s typically a matter of protocol that goes along with that pursuit. When I arrive in Port Aransas each June, I first spend a few days fishing–just fishing. No cameras allowed. I have an infirmity for tailing, waking, and noodling redfish; but before I can get serious about photographing, I’ve got to stick hooks in a few of them. Sorry, but that’s how it goes. Why not just fish and keep the camera handy? I’ve tried that and it doesn’t work. It causes a prickly and unpleasant conflict between church and state.

I’m pleased to report that the protocol started off very well, this year. I had five days of glass calm, sunny skies, and perfect tides. I got all of the catching out of my system and I was gearing up for a week of serious photography…

But then Alex came calling. He pushed three feet of Starbucks-colored water onto the flats, kicked the wind up to sixty, and forced me indoors for the remainder of my redfish window.

So, in keeping with my obligation to provide you all with stirring content, each month, I’ve pulled a few favorite shots from my redfish archive to show you what I would have been shooting if Alex hadn’t trashed the protocol. Honestly, I’d like to blame the whole thing on that goofball Jim Cantore, but he’s only responsible for the spinning mass of hot air that comes from the Weather Channel, not the tropics.

This photo was NOT taken during Hurricane Alex

Neither was this one

New photo….(not)

From last year’s collection

A golden oldie

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