By Jeff Weakley, Associate Editor

It was as if someone opened a fish ID book and magically shook the contents squirming into the water. There were eatin’ fish, there were oddball catches, there were amazing surprises.

My buddy had a flounder, I had a guitarfish; he had a sheepshead, I had a bonefish...70 miles from the nearest bonefish flat.

Clearly we’d hit the midwinter jackpot, but it didn’t start out so promising.

In a roaring east wind and water gray as glacial silt, we’d joined a few other jacketed lunatics anchored up inside a Central Florida inlet. David and I soaked shrimp and sandfleas for a half-hour or so. A pompano would’ve been nice, but I would’ve settled for an impatient cell phone call from my wife. Four walls and a roof seemed mighty attractive.

We had one thing going for us, and that was a negative low tide. Off to the west, we could see bars and channels normally hidden. A patch of spartina grass caught my eye.

Weighing anchor, we picked our way around the sandbars and dropped inside a tiny little channel near that spartina clump. It was shallow enough that for all intents and purposes, we were stuck—not the kind of place you want to be on falling water, least of all in a 24-foot center console. But something about the channel looked promising, with seagrass flats on either side. If nothing else, we were out of the chop.

I put a block of frozen chum in a mesh bag and tied it to a transom cleat. David broke out the bag of sandfleas, and we crushed a few and tossed them astern, along with a few bits of shrimp.

We rigged up 8-pound-class spinning rods with ¼-ounce sliding sinkers, No. 10 black swivels, 18-inch leaders of 20-pound test, terminating in No. 4 bronze Kahle hooks.

Things were slow at first—a lizardfish, a spottail pinfish, a couple of plastic-tail jigs ruined, presumably, by pufferfish. But then the incoming tide picked up and the rods began bumping nonstop.

I usually keep careful tabs on stuff like this, but frankly I lost track of the variety of catches. My logbook has a few named, followed by “etc.” The sheepshead, ladyfish, jacks and spottail pinfish I expected, but the bonefish came out of left field.

All this in four feet of water, just a long cast from the Intracoastal Waterway.

All too often, bottom fishing with natural bait inshore invites a swarm of catfish, rays and other undesirables. Accordingly, many anglers in southern coastal waters lean toward active fishing with jigs, plugs and other artificial lures. We stay on the move, looking for good trout water, redfish schools, snooky mangroves and other features.

Come winter, I’m as likely to slow down, stick myself in a fishy avenue and wait for the action to come my way.

Narrow channels are good places to look. One which pierces a sandbar close to the ocean is likely to harbor a variety of species. That’s particularly the case if the ocean happens to be somewhat warmer than the inshore waters. The thermal attraction, plus the general shoreward movement of fish following summer spawning seasons, promises a wide variety of species.

I’m reminded of the Stiltsville finger channels south of Key Biscayne, in Miami. As the name suggests, this is a system of slender cuts carved into a submerged, sand-capped limerock ridge that becomes the Florida Keys.

In winter, we’d anchor up along vacant bonefish and permit flats. The best spots were near junctions where channels diverged, or over small wrecks and rocky ledges we’d identified over the years. In water not more than 10 or 12 feet deep, we’d catch keeper-size mutton snapper, grunts, lots of short groupers, Spanish mackerel, blue runners, barracudas and—yes—bonefish.

Those fish are still there; I check on ’em every year or so.

In channels like these, you can put the odds in your favor with a healthy mix of chum. You want to attract roving fish, and stir the appetite of residents. If block chum is unavailable, you might try local protein sources, like crushed oysters (deadly on sheepshead) or crab shells. To a chum supply contained in a mesh bag or PVC tube, add tidbits periodically by tossing them upcurrent of your boat, so that they drift down close to where you’ll be fishing.

Baits fished on bottom, either on a sliding sinker or dropper rig, usually get the most bites. I start with very small hooks to ensure we don’t miss petite but desirable catches like whiting and croaker. But it’s wise to add a larger chunk of cut mullet or other bait on a 5/0 circle hook for redfish and other welterweight scent-feeders.

Jigs work well, too. At anchor, cast up- and across current, allowing the jig to bump bottom as it drifts toward your chum area.

In redfish territory, nothing beats a deep channel through a rocky jetty on a frigid winter morning. Louisiana fishermen commonly look for spots like this, which hold heat and absorb wave action. At this latitude, the Gulf of Mexico is liable to be cooler than those dark delta bayous, and so local fish tend to move inside for refuge. Bottom fishing with a fresh dead shrimp might not be as technically thrilling as sight casting to tailers, but it produces banner catches when nothing else is working. Dead-end well-head channels in that sprawling Mississippi delta are also treasure troves.

’Glades Potpourri

If you’re up for travel, the Florida Everglades and Florida Bay are fantastic places to see winter channel fishing at its finest. The weather’s great and the fishing’s easy.

You seldom see the big snook and tarpon in midwinter, but you’ll get shots at a spectacular array of fish—anchored by some really nice grouper.

In the Everglades backcountry, channels are bordered by tall mangroves, which cut the wind. Those same mangroves harbor ridiculous swarms of mosquitoes in summer, but by late December they aren’t so bad. Also, summer freshwater runoff generally abates, returning salinity and water clarity to the region. It’s a great time to fish here.

Florida Bay channels run through some of the world’s most biologically productive grassflats. It’s a bit more wind-exposed, but on a calm winter day, the action can be unreal—with Spanish mackerel, bluefish and other pelagics joining the mix.

A number of fishing guides run out of Flamingo, little more than a boat ramp at the foot of Everglades National Park. Ditto for Chokoloskee and Everglades City, which access the Gulf Coast riverine system. In winter, many of these guides welcome the chance to skip flycasting lessons for some good old-fashioned bottom-fishing fun.

Drift-and-Jig

If soaking baits at anchor isn’t your pace, try drifting and jigging a channel. In this case, you’ll want to ensure your drift track doesn’t take you aground or into hazardous waters. A high incoming tide over a network of small channels, with enough water to float your boat, presents a good opportunity to set up a productive drift.

Small egg-shape jigheads with bucktail or plastic tails work well, from about 1/8- to ½-ounce. Yellow, white, chartreuse and pink are colors I’ve found productive in peninsular Florida. Chrome-head models such as the Nylure are especially attractive to pompano and mackerel, whose north-south migrations follow the 69-degree water temp line.

A FEW TIPS FOR JIGGING THE CHANNELS

-- Tie jigs on with a loop knot.
-- File hooks to a triangular point for easy penetration.
-- Add a bit of fresh cut shrimp or scented soft-plastic; I like to chop up a Gulp! or other tail into ¼-inch segments and thread one onto a bucktail jig.
-- When casting, focus on getting the jig to the bottom (which means you’ll want to cast across- or down-drift, in a strong wind).
-- Imagine your jig kicking up puffs of sand as you bump the rodtip on the retrieve. Try slow retrieves, alternated with a quicker bump-and-wind cadence.