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Date: Feeling Small
Title: Dixie County Advocate 082105
Date: 22 Aug 2005
Time: 09:34:07 -0400
Feeling Small Monday Lil B and I had a party of six locked in battle with the ‘reef donkeys’, a.k.a. amberjack. Strangely, activity ameliorates the discomfort of August heat. Somehow the buck of any fish can make one forget their brain is baking inside their bone bucket. On the port side, one of the fellows had his live bait get frantic. A second later the little fish was given a mouth ride by an energetic amberjack. After a minute or so of rough tussle, the amberjack was given a mouth ride by a goliath grouper. “I’m hung up!” Lil B went over and pulled some serious tugs and gave a puzzled look. “The fish is still on there, I can feel it” said Lil B. After handing the rod and reel back, more heaving tugs were applied until miraculously the big jew fish coughed up the amberjack. “Alright! Oh no…” The amberjack was whisked away to the bow, under the anchor rope and one hundred yards off the starboard bow. Lil B had jumped to the bow and passed the rod under the anchor line and handed it back. I stood on the bow and watched the line rise in the water. A triangle fin came up. A big fin! It cruised, at will, left and right. During the twenty minute tug of war, I had time to think. Why hasn’t that huge shark cut the fish in half or parted the monofilament leader? Then the rod snapped straight and the line slacked. Relief and let down at the same time. We watched as the head was reeled in from some seventy five yards out. As the head became visible a large brown submarine mass came from behind and took it. Ten more minutes of unwanted struggle and the line finally gave way. Well, well, well, that was entertaining for all of us. “Let’s do it again, but this time let’s be equipped to handle the job.” Lil B put a fish carcass out on a string as chum as I rigged a ‘mongo’ 9/0 reel, spooled with 200 pound test, with a cabled ‘meat’ hook and hung a half an amberjack on it. The bait made a big splash and sank as it floated back behind the boat. I set the reel drag tight but not locked down (I mistakenly had a mongo reel locked down in the past and found out fiberglass breaking is like fingernails across a chalkboard), put the clicker on and set the monster trap in the stern rod holder. Twenty five minutes passed with nothing happening. Then a shadow appeared deep off the stern. And nothing happened! After a few long minutes, Lil B lost patience and grabbed the rod and started jerking and reeling. Just as we could start seeing the bait come up, it disappeared in the caverness mouth of a brown submarine. Bang, bang, bang, the hook was set and the rod passed off. For twenty some minutes the war was on. The two hundred pound test, beef stick rod, with a full load of determination lead an eight foot, 200 pound plus bull shark to the port gunnel for a Kodak moment. I had a moment of insanity. The hook was slightly lodged in the right jaw and my mind said silently ‘Hey, Brian that hook cost three bucks; get it back’. And I reached down. But before my hand had touched the water, the shark turned, opened its mouth and my body took over for itself. My hand had taken itself behind my back. Lil B cut the cable with bolt cutters and the big mama slipped back into the depth. WOW! That was awesome. Not only the battle, which was amazing, but just watching such a magnificent fish function in its environment. The thirty two by twelve foot fiberglass environment we were on seemed pitifully small. The vastness of the water and the size and grace of the creatures therein can pop a pride bubble if you think about it, even briefly. Scallopers are gleeful. Limits are common on the grass beds north of the river. Just look for the flotilla. Be careful those are live moms and dads and children and grandparents and an occasional dog bobbing around those boats and they don’t fair well against hard boat hulls and motor props. I mean, what’s the rush anyway? Slow down and enjoy a family day on the beautiful Gulf of Mexico. Thanks for reading and take care of yourself and the tackle. Capt B Science, art, and magic are all good; a fishing attitude that squeezes out any of them is the worse for it. DATUS PROPER (1988)