Running of the cobia a rite of spring

By Frank Sargeant

At Monterey, it’s the butterflies. At Capistrano, it’s the swallows. In the Florida Panhandle, it’s the cobia, as much a mark of spring as the flinging down of the oiled masses of the entire University of Alabama on beach towels of crimson and cream.

Rachycentron canadus; AKA the lemonfish, ling, crabeater, torpedo-fish, cabio, cobe and cobia, is among the few fish that boldly announces its presence with a parade; the fish saunter down the green bar like revelers at Mardi Gras, apparently with some of the same motivation; the migration is thought to be a pre-spawn ritual by marine biologists.

No where else on the planet is the cobia more evident than during this bacchanalia, which stretches from Alligator Point on the east end, around the horn of St. Joseph’s Island, along the beaches and west to Dauphin Island from mid-March through early May. Destin is ground zero, the heart of the action.

The fish are almost always traveling west, anywhere from 200 feet off the beach out to several miles, and they attract a flotilla with their passing. The individual fish travel at a little more than 2 mph, and they appear to keep moving day and night — thus, fish that are at Panama City Beach today will be off Fort Walton Beach tomorrow.

Rounding up a cobia is part art, part science.

“You’ve got to get the lure ahead of them, but not close enough to spook them and not so far away they can’t see it,” says Captain Mike Frady of Orange Beach. “I like to get about 30 yards out and put it ahead of them at an angle.”

He says his preferred offering is a large jig dressed with bucktail and a plastic body in chartreuse or white. An even better bet, though, is a live eel.

“Most of the baitshops along the Panhandle sell eels when the cobia run is on,” Frady said. “If you can get a lively one in front of them, it’s just about automatic.”

It’s all “sight fishing”, which means you see the fish before casting to it. Thus, clear water and white sand bottom — of the sort found along the Panhandle beaches — are a huge benefit to cobia chasers.

So is elevation; the higher your eyes above the water, the easier it is see the fish, which look like sharks — or maybe brown torpedoes — as they ease along, sometimes singly, sometimes in two’s and three’s, occasionally in pods of a half-dozen. Most dedicated cobia chasers have towers or flying bridges on their boats.

Last but not least, a pair of polarized sunglasses is necessary to cut through surface glare. And even at that, you have to choose your time of day.

“I fish for cobia between 10 and 2 or so,” Frady said. “That’s when the visibility is best.”

The typical Panhandle cobia weighs around 40 pounds, with 60-pounders not uncommon. Some of the largest on record have come from area waters, including the current International Game Fish Association record in the 16-pound category, 128 pounds, 12 ounces, caught off Pensacola in April 1995.

Cobia are sometimes downright lethargic on the hook, but universally berserk in the boat — and the only safe way to handle a big one is to flop it directly into a giant fish well and sit on the lid until things quiet down.

Cobes are not the sharpest arrow in the quiver, as they say; sometimes when one is hooked, others will follow it to the boat as though begging to be caught. Thus, the limit of one fish per angler daily, up to six per vessel, is essential to preserving their numbers. The size limit is 33 inches to the fork, and there is no closed season. For details, visit www.MyFWC.com.