By Scotty Kyle

I am one of the largest snappers and make up over half the biomass of snapper caught commercially and for sport. Humans admire me for my fighting spirit, cunning nature, and – unfortunately for me – delicious flesh, which many say is among the best-tasting fish in the ocean. I am well known to to experienced sport anglers around the Gulf of Mexico and the southern parts of the U.S. East Coast. Biologists know me as Lutjanus campechanus, and among anglers, depending on their region and background, I am known as huachinango, mero, or, more commonly, as northern red snapper.

As Red As The Name Suggests: Red Snapper’s Appearance

My body is similar to other members of the Lutjanidae family – elongate, laterally compressed, with a sloping forehead, large eyes, ten spines on my forward dorsal fin, and a strong, substantial mouth. Though I lack the large, specialized “canine” teeth of some of my relatives, my mouth is well-equipped with sharp, sturdy teeth that serve me just fine.

My scales are large and flat, with a reddish hue on my flanks speckled with white flecks. My back is a deeper red, but like many fish, my color changes rapidly depending on light, background, mood, or feeding.

Size matters for our species. In terms of dominance, I am close to the top of the food chain on the reefs and structures I call home. Apart from sharks and the occasional uninvited dolphin, I am in charge – though hierarchy among my kind is size-dependent. The largest individuals rule the reef, and I give way to my elders, who are fearsome enough to chase away any unwanted guests.

We red snappers are long-lived; humans have recorded some of us reaching at least 57 years old. Over time, we can grow to over a meter (39 inches) in length and weigh a solid 23 kg (50 lbs). However, many of us never reach these impressive sizes due to fishing pressure, natural predation, and disease.

A Red Snapper’s Life

Our females mature at around two years old, and males follow shortly after. Humans know little about our exact spawning behaviors, but they do know we reproduce over an extended period from spring to fall, likely after dark in deep waters. Our larvae drift for a few weeks before, through mysterious means, making their way to shallow waters near land.

Juvenile red snappers seek out structures for protection, favoring mangrove roots, algal clumps, jetties, rocky outcrops, and man-made structures like sunken boats and artificial reefs. Many of us settle near oil and gas platforms, where the size of individuals increases with depth – small snappers near the top, larger ones further down, and the biggest roaming the area looking for food.

As larvae, we feed on plankton and tiny organisms, but we quickly graduate to more substantial fare – larval fish, small shrimps, and worms. As bottom feeders, we specialize in shrimp, crabs, octopuses, and squid, adding small fish to our diet as we grow. Unlike some of our more aggressive relatives, we are cautious eaters. Sometimes, we suck in food and blow it back out before deciding to swallow – surely frustrating for fishermen.

The Gulf and Beyond: Where To Find a Red Snapper

We inhabit the middle reaches of the western Atlantic, from Rhode Island (occasionally) to Massachusetts and southward along the U.S. coast, through the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean, down to Venezuela. We also show up unpredictably around some Caribbean islands like Cuba.

We live at depths ranging from 9 to 190 meters (30 to 620 feet), generally preferring deeper waters as we grow. At night, we often venture into shallower areas to feed. As adults, we prefer rocky and rough substrates, favoring the edges of canyons, reefs, and other structures. We avoid open sandy bottoms, but we form shoals near – though often just beside – high-relief structures.

Once we establish ourselves in an area, we tend to stay put. Humans have discovered this through their peculiar habit of catching us, inserting colored, numbered tags, and releasing us. Their studies show that we rarely roam more than 2 km (1.2 miles) from where we were first caught. While we don’t undertake massive migrations, we do form dense shoals, especially during spawning season.

The Human Obsession with Catching Red Snappers

Humans dedicate immense time, effort, and resources to catching my species for both commercial and recreational purposes. A member of my shoal recently saw, in a newspaper drifting by, that recreational anglers land between 1.5 and 4.5 million of us each year. In one year alone, sport fishermen caught 15.2 million pounds of red snapper, while commercial fishers hauled in 7.3 million pounds, worth $35 million. Clearly, we are a vital species for coastal economies where we are abundant.

Our numbers declined for decades, but humans have since implemented new regulations. Now, our populations are rebounding. Authorities manage two distinct populations – one in the Gulf of Mexico and the other in the South Atlantic – with slightly different rules. In the Gulf, some areas are closed to fishing, providing safe zones for us to grow and reproduce. Outside these zones, size and bag limits help ensure sustainable fishing.

How to Catch a Red Snapper

Humans rarely catch us from shore or piers since we live in deeper waters. Boats are necessary to reach us, and many are available for hire – particularly along the Gulf Coast. Some fishing charters offer general fishing trips after everything at once. But others specialize in catching us, and they are the scariest people from our point of view – they know exactly where to find us, how to drop baits to our level, and how to entice us to bite.

Finding a suitable area with the right depth, types of bottom, or structures such as reefs or wreck, requires local knowledge – but may not be enough. As you already know, we are cautious feeders. Careless anglers who put their baits in the wrong places, present them poorly, or leave the hooks sticking out, don’t have a chance with us. Even when the bait is perfect, we would first nibble on it, or suck it in and blow it out, before we finally decide to take it. Anglers often mistake our gentle, testing nibbles for disinterest and strike too soon.

This has two consequences for an angler who wants to catch one of us. The first is that, although more and more people are using artificial lures when fishing after us, this doesn’t always work. We’re likely to sense something’s wrong as we bite on a hard substance. Using bait is a far more productive approach; our favorite baits include whole small fish, carefully cut pieces of fish, clams, or squid.

The second consequence is that red snapper experts prefer a heavy braided line. It doesn’t stretch, so even our gentle nibbling is transmitted straight to the alert angler, informing them where to set the hook. They also use short spinning rods with quality reels – sometimes electric, because with our preference for deep waters, you can count on a lot of reeling! 

Fishing Responsibly To Ensure Red Snapper’s Future 

Despite heavy fishing pressure, modern management efforts have helped our species recover from previous overexploitation. Sensible regulations have reduced waste, allowed us to spawn, and ensured a fair share of the catch for many fishermen. But if you want to keep catching us, please follow fishing regulations and conservation practices!

A recent development working in both our favor and that of fishermen is the use of circle hooks. When we finally decide to gulp down a bait and swim off, a circle hook tends to set itself in the corner of our mouth, reducing deep hooking and improving survival rates if we are released.

Catching us for food often ends badly for us, but a massive, old, red snapper can also provide a spectacular photo before being released to spawn again. Unfortunately, deep-water captures can lead to barotrauma, but responsible anglers use simple tools to vent our swim bladders and return us safely to the depths.

While individual red snappers don’t benefit from human interaction, the species as a whole is seeing a brighter future—thanks to better management and a growing awareness of conservation.

Next in “Life History of a Fish”

Life History of a Fish: Yellowfin Tuna

By Scotty Kyle

I am one of the largest, fastest and most aggressive tunas. Almost everyone in the western world has heard of my species, either in the context of sport fishing, or food, and many millions of people rely on us for sustenance. Around the Gulf of Mexico alone, I am reputed to be worth around 7 billion dollars a year to the local economy through “sport fishing” – and then there is the heinous practice of eating my species cooked or even raw as “sushimi”. I am a yellowfin tuna. CONTINUE READING