A few nights ago, Port Lavaca Pier was on fire.
Under the glow of the lights, speckled trout boiled like popcorn, smashing live shrimp and mullet with the kind of aggression that turns casual evenings into core memories. Every few feet, anglers were limiting out — the sound of popping corks and drag pulls echoing through the salt air. It was one of those magic Texas coastal nights, the kind you chase all year.
But the next night? Nothing.
I mean nothing. Dead water. Chocolate milk clarity. No flickers, no chasers, no sign of life. Same rigs, same baits, same moon — but a completely different story. And the difference came from above: rain.
South Texas has seen some serious storms over the past several days — not just passing showers, but sustained, soaking rainfall. And while that might feel good on a sunburned back or feed the lawns inland, it wreaks havoc on inshore saltwater ecosystems.
Estuaries, bays, and pier lines like Port Lavaca sit downstream of creeks, ditches, and urban runoff. All that freshwater rushes into the system and pushes salinity levels down. For redfish and black drum, that might not be a deal-breaker. But for speckled trout? It can be the end of the party.
Speckled trout are euryhaline fish, meaning they can tolerate a range of salinities — but only up to a point. Their ideal range sits between 15 to 30 parts per thousand (ppt). When salinity drops significantly, they begin to move. Sometimes deeper, sometimes farther down the bay, and sometimes right out of your zip code.
The problem with rain isn’t just dilution — it’s displacement. Freshwater doesn’t mix immediately with saltwater. It forms a layer on top, which is where most pier anglers, especially those using popping corks, are placing their baits. If the top layer turns into a brackish bath, the trout simply slide out — or down — to find more stable conditions.
Me and Jake came loaded: live shrimp, live croaker, and dead mullet from Po Boys, hand-picked and blessed by José himself. We rigged smart — number 2 circle hooks, popping corks, correct placement to avoid killing the bait, and a strategy to cover the entire bait chain.
Nothing.
We worked both ends of the pier. We talked to every angler we passed. Same story: no trout, no bites, just catfish. And that makes sense. Catfish thrive in low-salinity environments and move up into brackish zones eagerly after a rain. They’re hardy, opportunistic, and they don’t mind if the water looks like chocolate milk.
One regular, Anthony, summed it up best:
"I tasted the water — it ain’t salty."
That simple line carried decades of experience.
Too often, we hear phrases like “the bite shuts down after a rain,” but we treat them as superstitions, not science. This trip turned that idea into something real — tangible. We saw the contrast between one night and the next, and we lived the consequences of not considering salinity.
This is the kind of lesson you can’t learn from reading reports or watching highlight reels. You learn it by standing under the lights all night, casting into silence, and realizing that no amount of perfect bait can outwork biology.
So what can we take away from a skunked trip?
I recorded the whole night — from our optimism at the start to the silence that followed. You can watch it here:
It’s not a highlight reel. It’s a reality check.
And for the kind of anglers we’re all trying to become… those are worth their weight in gold.
View this fishing spot on our Fishing Map
Under the glow of the lights, speckled trout boiled like popcorn, smashing live shrimp and mullet with the kind of aggression that turns casual evenings into core memories. Every few feet, anglers were limiting out — the sound of popping corks and drag pulls echoing through the salt air. It was one of those magic Texas coastal nights, the kind you chase all year.
But the next night? Nothing.
I mean nothing. Dead water. Chocolate milk clarity. No flickers, no chasers, no sign of life. Same rigs, same baits, same moon — but a completely different story. And the difference came from above: rain.
A Wall of Freshwater
South Texas has seen some serious storms over the past several days — not just passing showers, but sustained, soaking rainfall. And while that might feel good on a sunburned back or feed the lawns inland, it wreaks havoc on inshore saltwater ecosystems.Estuaries, bays, and pier lines like Port Lavaca sit downstream of creeks, ditches, and urban runoff. All that freshwater rushes into the system and pushes salinity levels down. For redfish and black drum, that might not be a deal-breaker. But for speckled trout? It can be the end of the party.
Salinity Matters
Speckled trout are euryhaline fish, meaning they can tolerate a range of salinities — but only up to a point. Their ideal range sits between 15 to 30 parts per thousand (ppt). When salinity drops significantly, they begin to move. Sometimes deeper, sometimes farther down the bay, and sometimes right out of your zip code.The problem with rain isn’t just dilution — it’s displacement. Freshwater doesn’t mix immediately with saltwater. It forms a layer on top, which is where most pier anglers, especially those using popping corks, are placing their baits. If the top layer turns into a brackish bath, the trout simply slide out — or down — to find more stable conditions.
Ideal PSU Ranges for Common Texas Coastal Species:
| Species | Preferred PSU Range | Notes |
|---|---|---|
| Speckled Trout | 15–30 PSU | Thrive in stable salinity; avoid rapid change |
| Redfish | 5–30 PSU | More tolerant of low salinity |
| Black Drum | 5–25 PSU | Can be found in brackish to marine zones |
| Flounder | 10–25 PSU | Will move with baitfish; avoid extremes |
| Catfish (Gafftop) | 0–15 PSU | Prefer brackish/fresh; common after rains |
What We Tried — And Why It Failed
Me and Jake came loaded: live shrimp, live croaker, and dead mullet from Po Boys, hand-picked and blessed by José himself. We rigged smart — number 2 circle hooks, popping corks, correct placement to avoid killing the bait, and a strategy to cover the entire bait chain.
Nothing.
We worked both ends of the pier. We talked to every angler we passed. Same story: no trout, no bites, just catfish. And that makes sense. Catfish thrive in low-salinity environments and move up into brackish zones eagerly after a rain. They’re hardy, opportunistic, and they don’t mind if the water looks like chocolate milk.
One regular, Anthony, summed it up best:
"I tasted the water — it ain’t salty."
That simple line carried decades of experience.
The Real Lesson
Too often, we hear phrases like “the bite shuts down after a rain,” but we treat them as superstitions, not science. This trip turned that idea into something real — tangible. We saw the contrast between one night and the next, and we lived the consequences of not considering salinity.
This is the kind of lesson you can’t learn from reading reports or watching highlight reels. You learn it by standing under the lights all night, casting into silence, and realizing that no amount of perfect bait can outwork biology.
Moving Forward
So what can we take away from a skunked trip?
- Watch rainfall totals before planning your next inshore trip. Even a few inches of heavy rain upstream can shift conditions for days.
- Use salinity maps or USGS gauges if available in your area. Some buoys and stations track salinity changes in real time.
- Expect the bite to move — either deeper, toward more saline waters, or out of reach entirely for a few days.
- Use the right bait for the right conditions. Catfish showing up? Switch to cut bait and bottom rigs if you’re still set on catching something.
- And most of all: document the tough days. They teach more than the good ones.
Watch the Full Video
I recorded the whole night — from our optimism at the start to the silence that followed. You can watch it here:
It’s not a highlight reel. It’s a reality check.
And for the kind of anglers we’re all trying to become… those are worth their weight in gold.
View this fishing spot on our Fishing Map
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