A Great Fishing Guide and Coast Guard Captain Page 2

Article written by:
Outdoor Writer Jerry LaBella: Saltwater Fishing Articles

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All the more interesting was Gipson's humble rod and reel combo: a bait casting rod–customized by breakage to the stubby length of four feet–armed with a spinning reel. Even for those least acquainted with Gipson, it becomes apparent that his concern isn't with the showy display of fancy gear, just results.

Surprisingly, after the "knocking on the door for the fish," results came quickly. The inflexible combo effectively pulled in one fish after the other, including a mess of fat speckled trout, redfish and a boat load of flounders. Ironically, all during the escapade, anglers fishing turbulent, midstream currents weren't catching a thing– and most of them came and went, not even noticing the goings-on.

Airboat rescue missions, which take Gipson deep into the secluded marsh, contribute to his vast knowledge of the delta complex and its unique functions. "The only way you can get to people left stranded in the shallow marsh," Gipson testified, "is by airboat or helicopter. In an airboat you can basically go anywhere you want. There's almost no limit as to where you can go and what you can do, especially with the modern airboats with the Teflon bottoms. You don't even need water with them."

Rescue missions on the delta can be a very dangerous task even for experts like Gipson, and he has seen his share of catastrophes. "One man who was stranded on a shallow, radioed us for help," he related while on the way to another favorite fishing spot. "But before we could get to him, he became anxious and tried to maneuver his boat off of the sandbar by himself. While pushing the boat from behind with his friend at the helm, the man slipped and the churning prop cut off his arm."

"Fortunately," Gipson continued, "a Coast Guard helicopter and an auxiliarist with an airboat managed to assist him so that he could be airlifted to the hospital before he bled to death."

Gipson continued telling stories as he turned and weaved through the marsh and soon approached the entrance to Grants Pass, situated on the east side of Main Pass, near its mouth. Here a dense wall of canebrakes interrupted the scenery as.

In a new twist, he decided to fish while allowing only the current to propel his vessel down the narrow pass. "We're going to try fishing over here. Cast all around each side... might pick up a few reds near the edges of these canebrakes," Gipson instructed as the boat aimlessly bounced off the banksides, snapping off protruding canebrakes like dried macaroni sticks. Twenty minutes later, still no fish - much worse, the storytelling stopped.

Annoyed, yet composed, he broke silence, "There's nothing here!" After firing up the twin engines, he scurried the boat farther down the pass. As we drifted out of the mouth into open water, Gipson stood poised, head moving side to side, scanning the prevailing surface. "Let the anchor down right here," he confidently bellowed. Astoundingly, the water on either side of the opening, behind the dense wall of canebrakes, was a lot clearer than the water running through the pass.

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