Meet The Jack Crevalle

Funny, the things that run through your mind at a time like this…

“It’s an overlooked fishery,” guide Capt. Garrett Ross had said.

The Daryl Gay (right) with Mr. Jack Crevalle, thanks to his excellent guide Capt. Garrett Ross.

Three fishermen in a boat 75 yards away have been fruitlessly beating the bank’s rip-rap up and down for at least the last 20 minutes.

Mere yards beyond them, the 8 a.m. Derby of Savannahians rushing to wherever Savannahians rush to is at full gallop on Highway 80.

And finally, which is going to last longer: the hook in this monstrosity’s mouth or my shoulder socket?

At least once—and probably a thousand times—every fisherman that ever lived has at one time or another asked himself, “What was that?” It could have been sparked by a missed bite, slap on the water, swirl or something pushing a large wake.

So on this morning, how many fishermen—including those three over there—have motored right past a traveling topwater free-for-all and idly asked themselves that question? Or this one: what in the world is that guy hooked into?

Well, that’s where a good guide comes in. So that you don’t just breeze past, still wondering, and miss out on all those wonderful aches and pains provided by a broad-shouldered glutton with one of the most volatile attitudes to be found in saltwater: the jack crevalle. Or crevalle jack, or common jack or a dozen other names. First time you feel one, no telling what you’ll call it…

When I contacted Capt. Judy Helmey with Miss Judy Charters about a fishing trip, there’s never any, “Let’s go here and here and here and catch this and this and this.” Because in the last five minutes she’s forgotten more about saltwater fishing off Savannah and her dock on Wilmington Island than I ever knew. She grew up on a boat. Her dad, Sherman Helmey, was Savannah’s first professional charter fisherman way back in 1948, and it’s always fun to hear her tell his stories. Like the day things somehow got overbooked and she was suddenly promoted—by him—to charter captain. As a teenager!

In the decades since, she’s put in the massive amount of work it takes to become a fully licensed charter cap and will still meet you at her dock at 124 Palmetto Drive in Savannah ready to go. You can call her at 912.897.4921. And don’t show up late, because you never know what you might miss.

If there’s one example I can give you of just how good she is, five years ago there was a hurricane brewing off the coast. Who cares; I had a deadline for a story about redfish. (Call it red drum if you have to.) We MIGHT have ONE day, and Judy said she hoped for about a two-hour window. So she, her cousin Deidra Helmey Jeffcoat and I left the dock—the only boat on the water that day—bounced, slammed and rode roughly 14 miles into the storm to an old submerged ship.

In 30 minutes, I caught 38- and 33-inch redfish in conditions you wouldn’t believe unless you were there. We took photos, tossed them back, then hightailed it for Wilmington Island—just in time!

There was nothing foolhardy about that trip; she’s not exactly rolling in the S.S. Minnow. Judy’s big boat has the best in up-to-the-minute weather forecasts and alerts, and we watched the screens all the way. Point is, due to her experience and expertise, we got the job done in profoundly poor conditions—safely.

Fishing in hurricanes has now been crossed off my bucket list, so this month Judy decided I would stay inshore with one of her fleet captains, Garrett Ross. Reds, tarpon and trout were mentioned as we spoke about what else besides the weather is going to be hot in July. She failed to warn me about the species I was about to meet. To that hot list, one can always add sharks. They seem to be near the top for a lot of anglers, nuisances for others. I happen to love catching and eating them, especially bonnetheads and blacktips. In case you’re interested, upper-class poundages of those two range from the 20s to well over 120 in Georgia waters.

Fishing partner Steve Brown and I have reds on our minds early, so Ross eases out into Wassaw Sound with the 300-hp outboard rumbling and eventually pushing the boat into a spot where we can fish in 2 feet of water!

“We’re going to be stealth fishing for reds in 1 to 2 feet,” Ross explains. “You want to find a little skinny creek and go until you can’t go any farther, until you can see the back of it where the water runs into mud bottom. You’ll notice these finger mullet dipping and darting past the boat, but what we’re looking for is the broad wake of a moving redfish.”

Like any predator, reds seek out ambush points, spots to hide in no matter how small. At the end of this creek, there’s a portion of a long, dead treetop protruding 4 feet above the surface, its top melding into surrounding marsh grass higher than our heads on both sides. All we can see is water, grass and sky. Time to drop a shrimp.

The outfit is a 7.5-foot rod, Shimano open-face reel and a cork that’s smaller than the popping cork I’m accustomed to when after reds or trout.

“Remember stealth,” Ross says. “It’s so still and shallow back here that’s it’s too easy to spook the fish. That’s why we move slowly and don’t bump into things or slam compartment doors on the boat. I even paint the bottoms of the corks black to minimize the shine, and the reason they’re small is when cast, it’s more like the sound of a mullet moving. If you throw a big cork, that splash may resemble an eagle or osprey or some other predator hitting the water and spooking the fish.

“Too, when a fish hits, don’t panic and jerk the rod to set the hook. It’s hard to get the hang of, because that’s the first thing everybody has always done, including me, when the cork goes under. Just reel as fast as possible. These hooks will do their job.”

As is always the case, there was a lot more under the water around that treetop than what we were looking for. The shrimp used for bait for the first 10 minutes or so were being constantly chewed off the hooks by smaller fish or crabs. So Ross swapped over to a small mullet—after clipping off its tail.

“That disables the bait so that it won’t be dragging the cork all over the place, and it also sends off a scent trail right to the fish.”

Yes, it does. We were hooked up with a 17-inch red within a minute. Several followed in fairly quick order, up to 22. Georgia’s slot limit is 14 to 23 inches, with a five-fish total per day, no closed season. They make for superb eating, and in my humble opinion getting your hands on a single 40-inch red—just before you return him to the water—is worth the trip. From the time he’s hooked until he’s touched will be a while, so enjoy it. As far as putting him back? There won’t be any 20-inchers unless we release the 40s. I’m still looking for 50.

Later, we did stake out a spot along rock rip-rap in deeper water, looking for larger fish. But a pair of factors— wind and tide—wormed their way into the equation, as they always, always do in coastal fishing. Smaller fish were there, and we caught them, but the big boys weren’t having any. We had started in Wassaw, hit one of the many scattered finger creeks, moved to South Channel, then into the main channel of the Savannah River. There’s always something to see, whether dolphins cruising—three hang out regularly 10 feet off Judy’s dock—rays soaring out of the water and skimming several feet above it before splashing spectacularly back down, schools of mullet or menhaden baitfish… and then there’s “What was that?”

The difference here is that Ross had the answer.

There’s no telling how many schools of bait we had passed churning the surface, but when we came under the Highway 80 bridge, Ross cut the 300 and began easing around with the trolling motor. The area resembled a broad, sheltered bay maybe a half-mile long by 300 yards wide leading out to open ocean.

“There they are! We gotta get ahead of them.”

Mullet? Menhaden? The disturbance looked exactly like them to me. I noticed the boat mentioned earlier, fishing the rip-rap; cars whizzing by; a couple of other boats at full throttle farther out, likely having zipped right past this compass point.

Ross grabbed a heavy rod decked out with a big spinning reel, 60-lb. test line, 80-lb. leader. The gigantic (to me) lure at leader’s end was a Sebile Stick Shadd, #182, floating, with a blue back and white belly. And a WICKED pair of treble hooks that I was about to become very appreciative of.

The lure soared 50 yards in front of the fracas, and Ross whirled it back skipping and jumping. As it came through, everything stopped with a WHAM as it hit a brick wall that in a trice erupted into a froth of saltwater spray.

That’s when he handed the rod to me.

It’s difficult to compare the fighting abilities of fish species. Redfish just work; they get down there and battle and never quit until they’re in the net. Sharks, and I’ve caught them up to 128 pounds, can resemble a log being dragged in one second and streaking off line the next. Jacks? They’re just mean; ill-tempered; nasty; vicious; spiteful.

And they taste like bloody sawdust. We’ll get back to that.

“When he gets here, he’s going to want to go under the boat,” an excited Ross was coaching me. “The trick is to go around and around the front of the boat, side to side, and wear him down.”

Well, one of us, anyway. Steve was filming with his phone, and I later asked him how long the fight took after he started. “About 15 minutes,” was the reply. Was once in a shark scrimmage for 70; this felt longer.

Eventually, Ross got a Boga Grip on him, and we introduced ourselves for a few photos.

It’s not just about the Jack crevalle in July. Tarpon, big redfish and trout are just a few of the species that Miss Judy Charters will be guiding for this month.

“Most people have no idea that you can come out here and catch 30-plus pound fish on top like this,” he said. “It’s a totally overlooked fishery. You hit the right button with that topwater bait in front of them, and they just can’t help themselves. But it has to be in front of them. They’re always moving, and that’s what we have to look for, to see that topwater action as they push. The vast majority of fishermen just go right by, thinking it was schooling baitfish and never knowing what they’re missing.”

From that point on, it was spot and cast time for jacks. We stayed within a quarter-mile of the initial hook-up as several different schools—we think—moved in and out. The hunt was almost as much fun as the fight, and on several occasions we would get almost within casting range before the school—sometimes 20-plus fish—would drop down. Forget it. Don’t cast behind them, to the right or left; not only are they menacing, they’re single-minded. And they will crush standard hooks on a bait like ping pong balls; Sebile has the right stuff. We caught a few more, with one I’m certain would push 40 pounds.

I’m sure somebody out there considers the jack a delicacy, but I’d have to be legitimately hungry… You don’t want to kill these fish, but the one I caught pummeled and swallowed that lure; it had to be cut out later with an electric fillet knife. I told you they were touchy! Ross ran a concentrated spray of water through its gills and it looked like a hog killing. Smelled worse. On the bright side, Ross said they make excellent shark bait.

Quick-release by heaving it over the side head-first and you just dropped a dead fish. They just fight until there’s nothing left to give, and there’s a trick to releasing them, taught by one of my favorite guides, Matt Williams. Hold the fish in the water upright by the dorsal fin—it will simply sink if you don’t—with the boat easing along at idle speed. The jack’s pectoral fins will be laid flat along its sides. Work him gently back and forth until those pectorals stand straight out and you feel a surge of strength.

He’ll live to fight another day. If the jack is not what you’re looking for, let’s move on.

We saw a lot of coastline, and you can do the same in July when fishing for trout. They will be all over, with shrimp and popping corks calling them in. Mud banks and oyster shellbeds are key—or ask Judy or one of her guides. This fish is at the other end of the cuisine spectrum from the jack. It there is a better-tasting fish than a speckled trout, I have yet to bite into it.

Back to jack class—irascible and inedible—is one of the stars of the saltwater show, the tarpon. And its time is now. July is when these brutes begin moving in, herding mullet and menhaden into funnel areas around drop-offs and narrow channels. Big soft plastics and swimbaits that resemble their prey are keys to catching what can be one of the most finicky fish in the ocean. I’ve waved bait in front of a 100-pounder 15 feet from the boat and watched him treat it with disdain. Next guy up, next day, same seat in the boat—115-pounder!

Finally, there is never a dull moment on one of Judy’s charter trips, fish or no fish. Take Ross’s bachelorette group for instance. Seems a bunch of bridesmaids chartered a trip, he took them out and asked what they wanted to fish for.

“Do we have to?” came the reply.

Well, no. They had a nice several hours saltwater sightseeing trip and left smiling if slightly unsteady.

But down here on the coast, July is for fishing. Judy Helmey can either take you to where they are or send you out with one of her capable captains. And there just might be another overlooked fishery lurking.

For those of you who want a first-class guided fishing trip on the Georgia Coast, just call Miss Judy Charters at 912.897.4921.