A Three Hour Trip.

I walked to the tip of the jetty, and climbed over the rail. Believe it or not, I was using a rod and reel to hunt fish. The moon was bright, so the journey was somewhat illuminated. I still couldn't help think back on my last trip here when I fell in the rocks. It hurt, and I was lucky to come away with no broken bones. I worked out to the last rocks still above water. It didn't take long to pick the rock I wanted to garrison.

My buddy was two rocks away, and hooked into a fish immediately. Then another, and another. He had a topwater plug, a floater-diver of a dark green shade. I had the old trusty jig. Red and white bucktail. If I were to have to pick one lure for survival, it would have to be the jig. Anyway, after three jacks and two blues, my buddy broke off and had to go re-tie. "If you can't tie a knot, tie a lot" was the reminder I gave him as he passed.

I pitched the jig parallel to the jetty as far east as I could, and closed the bail. I counted five seconds and started working the jig. Seconds later I was hooked up to what I thought was a big snook. The fish slammed the jig, and proceeded to thrash on the surface just far enough away that I couldn't tell what it was. Those big snook I used to catch in the everglades never jumped much like the little snook. My point is that I really wanted it to be a big snook, and in my mind it was.

Makes you feel good to say "Hey, fish on" and have an audience. I had a hard time getting the fish to the rocks in the dark, but he came to view in short order due to the fantastic braid line and the Penn Spinner. My buddy scooped him into the net, and we stood there with mouths gaping. It was a 50 inch long red fish. I guessed around thirty pounds. Swift release, and back to fishing. A few more jacks and we were ready to head home. A three hour round trip.

The Moose