Hooked Up: January 2025
I love January. My largest trout came during this cold month. The weather was similar to what we’ve been seeing lately. Pretty warm overall and I ended up in a part of the bay I don’t usually frequent during January. I’d had no quality bites and was debating whether I should just head in. I had pretty much convinced myself the sky was too clear, the pressure too high, and almost zero wind. Sight-casting was difficult with the glare on the water.
A couple of brown pelicans were giving something hell as I approached the opposite shoreline of where I had been all day. In unison, they’d crash the surface and then immediately take flight, repeating the dive several times in less than a minute. Approaching cautiously I recognized a raft of mullet―more sign than I’d seen all day.
I anchored on the shoreline with the sun at my back and a slight breeze in my face. I had given myself about a 100 yard buffer to wade in, but quickly realized everything was moving away from me. I decided to jump on the bank and close the distance to within 30 yards or so before sneaking back in.
No sooner than I had reached the bank, a large fish tail-slapped the muddy bottom and left a V-wake that had all the telltale signs of a trout. I made a long cast with a Fat Boy but the fish was spooked and only deflected slightly as it intersected with the lure. Typical!
Cranking the lure back, my thoughts were on the mullet school that was swimming away. Turning my head slightly I spotted something dark swimming toward me in the shallow water. I am blessed to still have great eyesight at 55, but I was only about 35 back then, maybe younger, and I could spot fish like an osprey. I immediately recognized it as a large trout.
The beach was sandy and my intention was to land the lure on the sand and quietly reel it into the shallow water and wait for the opportunity to work it slowly as she got within range of where she would see it, but subtly enough to avoid spooking her. Just as I was measuring it all up and about to go into my rod load, something off to the side in a little deeper water caught my eye. I paused as I was uncertain whether it was a trout. What I did know was that it was considerably larger than the one I was about to cast toward, which looked to be about an eight-pounder.
Convinced that the fish I’d spooked earlier was also a large trout, I decided to gamble on the unknown fish swimming toward me. I made the cast to my 2:00, off to her side enough not to spook her. I reeled the Fat Boy as fast as I dared and then let it settle to the bottom, thinking to give it a bump to draw her attention as she got closer. Fortune was on my side as she got into range. I raised the lure off the bottom and she quickly closed the gap, only to pause right before I thought she would eat it. Fearing she wouldn’t commit; I quickly raised the rod tip enough for the lure to barely break the surface as though trying to escape. Instantly she flared her gills and sucked it in.
When I set the hook she headed to my 4:00 creating slack that I needed to make up, but before I could do that she sensed me and did a 90-degree into the bay at full speed, with my drag screaming. Luckily for me, everything was in my favor and we did the dance until she seemed completely worn out. The Corky was out of sight in her mouth, so I knew I had good hooks in her and calmly walked her up on the beach.
As I approached her she had that look of defeat as I bent over and placed my hand on the side of her head to attach the Boga Grip. She was a giant! The Boga scale read a full 11-1/2 pounds. I let out a WOO-HOO!...loud enough for the whole bay to hear me.
Holding her against my rod for a quick measurement, she looked to be all of thirty-one and a half inches. I popped the hooks and watched her glide off like she knew that was the next play. A day I will never forget, a story I’ve told many times, and one that is relived often in my head.
Remember the Buffalo! -Capt David Rowsey