Snook Gone Wild

Score Your Very Own Loxahatchee Linesider Slam.

Captain Butch Constable eased his 25 ft. center-console towards a seemingly solid wall of mangroves about 50 yards ahead. As his onboard anglers for the day, Captain Jon Cooper and I glanced at each other mutually wondering where and how he would find a passageway.

As we closed the gap, the wall dematerialized into groups of bright green mangrove islets that rose out of the coffee-colored backcountry water. Butch chose the correct opening out of a maze of possibilities. As we entered, the aperture gave way to a meandering canal.

Turning the first corner of the serpentine path, we saw a large heron perched on a dead tree limb. In moments, the bird spotted us, gave a disgruntled shriek, crouched and lifted off into the air - no doubt to fly to more peaceful parts of this jungle. As Butch skillfully piloted his vessel into yet another turn, he said, “Look,” and pointed to a mud bank off in the two o’ clock position. We were delighted to see a huge alligator sunning itself on this radiant afternoon. Since the tide was falling, the prehistoric beast would have plenty of time to rest and warm itself. As we watched the armored creature in his wild world, I had a feeling that this moment could easily be occurring thousands of years ago; this was a humbling, yet exciting feeling for any angler!

As we traversed the final distance, I thought back on the inspirations, challenges and details of our quest. While Butch and I had caught and released hundreds of common snook in his home waters of Jupiter Inlet, the topic of “other kinds” of snook had never come up. One night when we were discussing our plans for the upcoming summer fishing, Butch mentioned he’d released over 40 snook that very morning. As I pressed him for further details, he told me that he was fishing the brackish mangrove-lined waters of the Loxahatchee River. He added that he was fishing further inland because common snook were still on the inside - this was particularly so since the absence of rain allowed the invading saltwater to roam deeper into the brackish backcountry. But what most intrigued me was his mention of the fat snook and tarpon snook he’d encountered amongst the common snook.

This really got my attention, since my only experience with the rarer snook species was limited to an occasional tarpon snook in north Biscayne Bay. I quickly asked if he could repeat those fantastic results and was thrilled when he said he could without any difficulty. Butch also went on to mention that the fourth species of snook - swordspine snook - were scarce, but they, too, could be found at times under brackish water boat docks. Immediately, I decided this trip was for me and thus, the quest for the Loxahatchee Linesider Slam was initiated. Not surprisingly, it took little convincing to lure my friend, Captain Jon Cooper - a photographer and fellow adventurer, away from his flats skiff to join us.

A week later, we were boarding Butch’s boat at Jupiter’s Sea Sport Marina. We’d timed the trip to coincide with the full moon and an afternoon ebb tide. The optimal conditions of a fast tidal flow and dropping water level would hopefully combine to concentrate big numbers of snook in areas where Butch knew there would be an abundance of forage pouring out of the backcountry.