Reef Cobes

When cold water hits the beaches of northeast Florida, cobia hunters head for the reefs.

By Terry Lacoss

For much of last summer, a persistent thermocline dropped nearshore water temperatures into the high 60s along the northeast Florida coast. Offshore livebait trollers from Canaveral to Fernandina were faced with the increasing problem of not being able to find good numbers of menhaden along the beaches and inlet mouths. Farther offshore, however, bait schools were plentiful over wrecks, artificial reefs and other structure. Many fishermen adapted to these changes, running offshore to catch live baits.

What they found out here—in addition to kingfish, the expected catch—were cobia. Lots of cobia, and in a very aggressive feeding mood.

Capt. Benny Hendrix aboard the charterboat Miss Val logged several good trips last summer. On one memorable day, he recalled a young man looking into the water and saying to his father—who was fighting a cobia—“Look Daddy, there are a bunch of sharks in the water!”

Grinding chum calls up the big ones.

“I looked around to see eight cobia swimming right behind the father’s 48-pounder!” Hendrix said. “We ended up landing three in the school, while casting big saltwater jigs tipped with squid.”

Cobia are naturally curious, but they seem even more inquisitive during coldwater events, when finding a meal at inlets and beaches becomes a challenge. Faced with satisfying their appetite offshore, cobia become easy targets for reef fishermen.

It’s common for them to follow a hooked fish, but many times they’ll swim up from a deepwater fish haven when the sound of a boat approaches. This seems to happen most often during the morning. As the sun begins to rise on deepwater fish havens and the silence of night gives way as sportfishing boats arrive, cobia are quick to investigate. No one can say for sure why they do this; perhaps the engines sound like fish feeding.

We observed the phenomenon one day last July while fishing a large area of live bottom. My son Terry had anchored our 32-foot boat just south of the St. Marys shipping channel and only eight miles offshore.

“Break out the blocks of ground chum,” he instructed our fishing party. “There should be some good-size cobia hanging around this live bottom and kingfish, too. But we need to chum them up first.”

Wilson Tennille quickly opened the large cooler and handed Terry two blocks of frozen chum. These went into mesh bags attached to each gunnel of the boat. Slowly, bits of chum broke free and drifted with the current to the reef below.

After setting out a spread of live Boston mackerel and Spanish sardines, I went to turn off the diesel engines.

“Leave the port engine running,” Terry suggested. “There should be some cobia nearby and the sound of the motor running is always a good way to attract them.”

So, with one engine running, we began waiting patiently for the first strike of the morning. But after 30 minutes and swapping tired live baits for fresh ones, we were still waiting.

“I know how to call them up,” said Terry David. “Sometimes it takes a little noise to let these kings and cobia know where they can catch an easy meal.”

He soon engaged the transmission of the port engine, allowing the boat to jump forward on anchor and also creating a big wash behind the boat. He did this two or three times, then returned to the cockpit and watched our livebait rods for any signs of action.