Hooked Up: February 2024

The fabled month of February! If your toes aren’t continuously a bit too cold this month and the hair isn’t standing on the back of your neck…well, you might want to take up pickle ball instead of fishing. Previews of events soon to come have been flashing continuously through my mind. The next few months are when the biggest trout in the bay become their most…shall we say, cooperative.

I have so many grand memories of February. Many of which involve my old tournament partner, Mark Holt. Like what happened at the February 2011 Baffin Bash, when Mark brought a nine-pounder to the scales and the tournament MC asked him what it is was like to catch the biggest trout of his career during a tournament. With the mic jammed in his face, Mark deadpanned, “Not even close.” Mind you now, Mark is of the rare talent and skill level reserved for the 0.01%, and has caught numerous trout over nine in a single day (or night in his case). He certainly didn’t offer that comment out of arrogance or cockiness as that just wasn’t his way. Anyway, I was real proud of him saying it the way he did as Mark is the most humble, reserved, Christian man that ever made the first step in Texas bay water.

Another time, in the February 2012 SCB tourney, a front came screaming in with 35-40 mph sustained wind and Mark managed to upgrade our four fish stringer by two pounds with a six-pounder, to win the two-day event by a scant .02 pounds. It was almost magical what we had to endure for the win; how we found the winning fish, being plagued with reds, horrible weather, and more.

One of my favorite stories of all is when in another February during the early 2000s, Mark caught his largest trout ever in the far reaches of Baffin – a Goliath of almost 12 pounds. He placed it in a makeshift Igloo livewell and drove his flat bottom boat 17 miles, until he found someone that could take a picture. Photo made; Mark slipped the giant back into the livewell. The commercial fisherman that snapped the photo asked, “I thought you were going to release it?” Mark replied, “I am.” And, with that, he turned his boat around and drove back 17 miles to make the release in the exact spot where he caught her. That, my friends, is the ultimate display of sportsmanship and an example we all need to live by while chasing these giant trout.

I don’t know that it all took place in February, and whether you know it or not, all you diehard Fat Boy fans have a connection to Mark Holt. He and Mr. Brown were very close and Mark was his most trusted field tester. Mark spent countless hours catching innumerable trout with the Fat Boy during the developmental stages. Catching was good, but a little something was missing. Mark suggested that it needed a rattle, specifically for dirtier water conditions. After many trials, what you see in all Fat Boys today is the culmination of their efforts back in the early 2000s.

At the age of 62, Mark was involved in a freak accident while hunting this past December. A fall from a deer blind broke some ribs that severed an artery. A tragic event that took one of God’s best children.

Mark lived life right. He didn't drink, smoke, rarely cussed, was in great physical shape. He was the best Christian I knew, amazing father to Natalie, and loyal husband to JoAnn. When I tell you he was of the top .01% of fishermen on the Texas coast, it was probably more like .001%.

Until the recent end he stayed under the radar in a mid-80s 18’ Shoalwater flat bottom, powered by a 90 horse outboard. Many of y’all probably saw him on the water, but just thought he was another commercial fisherman, and that was exactly part of his plan.

Mark was a master at remaining incognito and going about his fishing unnoticed. The most inconspicuous legend that many never even knew existed, and the most lethal trophy trout hunter to ever get his feet wet on the Texas coast. An absolute hammer at finding them, understanding why they were there, when they would leave, when they would come back, and with unprecedented skill in catching them. RIP My Brother!

Remember the buffalo! -Capt David Rowsey