Florida Sport Fishing - Signs of life

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Signs of life

Written by Jacob Shapiro

AS SEEN IN THE JAN/FEB 2008 ISSUE

With the mullet run in full effect and my stomach eager for the seasons’ first taste of butter-garlic snook, my fishing buddy, Eric Linderman (who we all call “Eric Linsidershy”) and I decided that it was prime time to hit the Indian River Lagoon in search of the elusive slot-size snook. The following morning was picture-perfect with diving birds and surface-busting baitfish surrounding us in every direction. Fortunately with signs of life everywhere, it took little time before we found ourselves in the thick of it.

I grabbed my brand new cast-net - a cherished Hanukah gift I might add - and launched my first pancake of the day over a large sphere of ‘ripply’ water. While I evidently missed the majority of the school, I still managed to capture a handful of frisky baits. Eric repositioned the skiff to the other side of the school where I released my second, perfect throw of the morning, and as the net began to sink to the bottom only feet below, I blurted, “Nailed the mother lode!”

As I began to retrieve the net, I felt an unusually strong tug from below. Two yanks later and to my shear astonishment, I realized that along with about a hundred mullet, I somehow managed to snare a monster snook well over 40-inches. The fat fish must have been feeding below and would have undoubtedly been a tough battle on any rod and reel. After a short tug-o-war, I managed to haul the net alongside where complete chaos then ensued. As you can imagine, in the process of freeing the over-size snook, nearly all of the mullet slipped away. At the moment, I could care less about the bait; it was my brand new cast-net that I was worried about. Fortunately, to my utter shock and disbelief, the fish’s razor sharp gillrakers managed to cause only minor damage - easily repairable with some light monofilament and a few quick knots.

Since we only had a few mullet, we still needed another good haul to black out the well. Once again, we repositioned and I launched the net over a formation of panicky baits. Pulling it tight, I again felt a strong pull from the murky depths. “No Way,” I thought. “No way could I have thrown on another slob snook.”

Hauling the mess aboard I realized that this time, it was not a snook, but a pair of large, oversize redfish that were severely tangled in my braille lines. If I wasn’t there myself, I would have never believed it. Slob redfish surrounded by countless mullet. It was quite a site to see and one I will certainly never forget. Although liberating the baitfish into the safety of my livewell was important, my primary focus was freeing the large reds from my net and releasing them back into the tea-colored waters of the IRL. With the net now in shambles and our livewell loaded, we decided it was time to stop netting and start fishing. There were obviously fish in the area. After accidentally cast-netting an oversize snook and a pair of redfish, we hoped that our strange luck was over - too bad the fish weren’t within the slot or it would have already been a banner day.

I rigged my spinning outfit with a 40lb. fluorocarbon leader and picked the liveliest mullet I could snatch. I perfectly placed the unsuspecting offering along the outskirts of a large school of bait. Just as the unsuspecting mullet hit the frenzy, he freaked – obviously realizing something was up. Maybe it was his wounded buddies floating through the current, or maybe it was the jet-propelled vacuum sound of gluttonous snook gulping up his immediate family. Whatever the case, my mullet was not happy to be in the midst of such a commotion. He was so agitated that I was ready to set the hook after even the slightest bump. However, things were not to be. After 20 minutes with no strikes, I reeled up my line to check his vital stats. He was alive, but definitely needed to be replaced with a fresh candidate.

At the precise moment I opened the lid of the baitwell, an ambitious mullet proceeded to skyrocket to freedom. The instant the unfortunate critter broke the surface; a hungry linesider crashed the bait with reckless abandon. I quickly opened the well and grabbed another mullet without letting any others escape. I was ready for an immediate strike, but to no avail as my bait simply swam away in the current without even the slightest recognition. Even after ruining my brand new net I somehow managed to keep my cool. But now, now I was starting to get really agitated.

Realizing a change was in order; I put down my live bait rig and attached a small Spro white bucktail jig - the undisputed king of all inshore artificial lures. I cast the artificial offering to the periphery of the feeding frenzy and before the jig even had a chance to sink to the bottom, it was immediately gobbled up by an aggressive fish. I thought I finally hit pay dirt! After a short fight, it was not a snook or a redfish but a rambunctious jack crevalle that I brought to the boat. Oversize snook and redfish everywhere and I somehow find the one lone jack in the entire area. I lifted the fish into the boat and took a quick photo before releasing it back into the wild. That one strike and one rod and reel caught fish concluded our action for the day.

After a destroyed cast-net, having to release a giant snook and giant redfish and after a lackluster day of fishing, I sat by the grill that evening - engulfed in the warming aroma of barbeque chicken. Years of inshore angling have taught me that things don't always end up the way you plan them. That day however, was one of the strangest days I have ever spent on the water and one that I will surely remember forever.