BY JOE BALOG

With the holidays behind us, it’s nice to get back to a normal routine. The time off leaves everyone behind, and it’s easy to get overwhelmed in the rat race created by a compressed schedule. Resolutions are thrown in the mix, hoping to rescue us from a life of tedious duties.

I’ll hit the river. The mighty St. Johns has always been my elixir when it comes to health and wellness. More time on the river made my list of personal intentions for 2024.

January may bring our coolest temperatures, but it accompanies the best time of year to fish for speckled perch. These fish, technically known as black crappie, exist in nearly every state in the nation.

Chances are you caught crappies as a kid, along with bluegills, bream and other “panfish.” They put up a good fight on light tackle and taste wonderful after a deep fry.

Here in Florida, speckled perch compete with largemouth bass as the state’s most popular freshwater game fish.

Our river, once known as the bass capital of the world, has suffered of late in that department. The specks, however, keep on keepin’ on.

If a more-perfect fishing environment exists than panfishing the St. Johns River on a warm winter day, I haven’t found one. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ll give you a quick peek into a trip I took on New Year’s Day, shortly after declaring my resolutions.

The sun never climbs too high in the sky this time of year, and by 4 p.m., it had started a decline into the western bank. A few joyriders made their way back to the boat ramp, nothing more than a speedy blur as they passed down the main channel, with my small boat safely in the backwater just around the bend. Now nearly dinnertime, the river was at peace.

Unhooking my fifth speckled perch of the evening, I couldn’t help but succumb to selfie syndrome, beaming like a child with a new Christmas toy. Into the live well went the inky-black fish. I quickly fixed my jig, and got back to the job at hand.

A woodpecker slowly worked a dead limb in the distance, competing with the cluck of a wild turkey as the only sound. I picked my way down the bank, fishing under and around the plants and limbs where crappies looked for their meals. A little blue heron jumped from plant to plant, his 12-ounce body light enough to be supported by the floating mass of pennywort.

Thirty feet off, a manatee surfaced, exhaling what sounded like a very satisfying breath, and moving on. Fish No. 6 joined the party.

The air immediately turned brisk, as the setting sun turned the entire river basin pink. One human, surrounded by a world of wonder.

With Day 1 in the books, would the rest of the year be this good?

If this account makes you want to get out on the river and give speck fish a try, you’re not alone. This type of fishing still rewards simplicity, yet welcomes technology. You don’t need a fancy rig to be a successful speck fisherman on the St. Johns River. But, if you have one, you won’t be disappointed.

Learning your quarry is always the first step. Crappies, much like bass, come to shallow water in spring to begin their spawning ritual. To the fish, January and February are “spring” in Florida. While the majority of crappies in our river will actually reproduce in March and April, the earlier months find them strapping on the feed bag to get ready for the chore. For fish species that build and guard nests, like crappie and bass, reproduction is a herculean effort, requiring extra calories ahead of time.

The key to finding fish is to find their food. All of nature is magnificently built in a web. In our earlier example, the heron was walking on the plants searching for food, which, in his case, was insects and minuscule crustaceans, aquatic larvae and minnows hiding in small pockets of water. Speckled perch, cruising beneath those same plants, prefer the same diet. In fact, specks often hold beneath their avian cohorts to pick up the creepy-crawlies the birds displace, or the scraps disabled by their sharp beaks.

In other places, specks hold around downed trees and lily pads, ambushing small baitfish. As the season progresses, these same fish will utilize the cover of these objects to spawn around, helping to protect their nest from predators.

This portion of the web, then, is contained in the plants and objects. So that’s where I’ll be.

The floating plants are always my initial choice, pennywort, hyacinth and water lettuce making up large “mats” in much of the river. Slowly easing along the edge with a trolling motor is my preferred method, though many experienced river rats simply drive their boats into large mats and clear a half-dozen holes to fish through. I can attest that chopping holes in the grass — done with a modified garden rake — can attract speckled perch to your location, their food source disturbed and plentiful by the action.

Poking around a milk-run of spots is my favorite pastime. Usually, I’ll catch one speck here, one there. Two methods get the most use.

Employing a long, light rod (mine is 12 feet), I’ll drop a 1/16-ounce jig along the edge of the plant mats, and through whatever holes I can find. Here in the river basin, we call this “dippin’ for specks,” and it’s just that. No casting is necessary. Fishing straight below the rod tip, lower the lure a couple of feet below the plants, lightly jig once or twice, lift up and out, and move to the next spot. The specks hold just below the plants, so there’s usually no reason to fish much deeper.

Skip buying live bait. Don’t be dismayed over the lack of sales at local bait shops; they’ll sell you more in plastic lures than the live stuff anyway. Tubes, shad-tails, twisters, Panfish Assassins, Crappie Candy; they all work, but you’ll need several colors. Some days the fish prefer natural hues; other times it’s crazy combos like Electric Chicken or Space Monkey. Don’t ask me why. I just keep alternating until I find one that works.

A second method involves using a small bobber a foot above the same lure. This combo is tossed around weed edges, brushy treetops and fields of lily pads. Known locally as the “cork and jig,” the rig proves deadly when crappies are feeding on the small minnows that show up in mass throughout our river.

These little fish, known as mosquitofish or Gambusia, feed on insect larvae and are partly responsible for allowing us to inhabit this section of Florida. They’re most prevalent in late spring, and make up a large percentage of the diet of speckled perch. Lots of fish splashing on the surface around the shoreline is a giveaway to the presence of Gambusia.

Your cork is intended to imitate this splash. If you’ve ever heard of “popping corks” for redfish and trout, it’s the same principle — utilizing the float to attract the fish, and the trailing lure to trigger the bite. Keep your rod low, pop the cork with a short jerk of the tip, and pause two seconds. Repeat until the bait is out of the fishy zone. Here, I continue to use a long rod, as it enables me to accurately flip the bait around cover objects without snagging.

Just poking around. Speck fishing being my stress release, I find it best to go often, even if only a few hours at a time. The afternoon shift can’t be beat. Closing the office a little early and taking in the late-day sun, I’ll load the dog in the boat, where he’ll marvel each time a fish comes over the gunwale. With specks our size, two or three fish is a meal, and I’ll only keep a half-dozen or so to limit any excessive cleaning obligations.

If I don’t catch fish, I’m already ahead of the game. Evening comes quick this time of year, requiring a sweatshirt on the ride in, and finding me home for dinner. Tomorrow, I’ll swear I’m too busy, but likely be in the same spot, trying again. There will be a sunbathing gator watching over me, one eye wise to the action, ensuring I stick to my resolutions.

I’ll see you out there.

Note: For more detailed speck fishing instructions, be sure to catch Joe Balog at his Speck Fishing Seminar each spring at Highland Park Fish Camp. Check their social media for information and dates.