12 12 12 eBook compressed quality V 3 PDF file April 15 2026 - Flipbook - Page 84
|e next challenge came from a location that was completely unanticipated
— literally. As I positioned my kayak near the exit channel of the river at
exactly low tide, the sand and brackish water mix forms a classic hunting
ground for snook. I cast my goggle eye bait into the shallow water and
aver about 30 seconds, my bait runner rod and reel set up jerked. As I
turned around to look over my lev shoulder, I witnessed a massive swirl of
water followed by a V-shaped wake streaking of into the gulf. I had trouble
processing what just happened because the water was less than knee deep.
What was something that large doing in such shallow water and what was
I hooked on to?
Logically, I then thought that the osh must have been a snook, but it didn’t
go airborne as they usually do. |is osh peeled of about 200 meters of
line at an alarming rate. Tosh then came to my aid and once I was towed
into slightly deeper water, I was able to re-insert my Hobie nippers into the
kayak and begin to close the gap.
A big roosterosh had inhaled the live bait I had freelined behind us and was
now bolting toward open water. Roosterosh are bullies on the line; from a
kayak they feel like you’ve hooked onto a passing motorcycle. I tightened
the drag slightly and leaned back to keep the rod tip high, bracing my feet
against the kayak hull. |e roosterosh had other plans. It surged lev, and
my kayak pivoted lev. It surged right; I spun right. I was doing a bizarre
waterborne waltz with a osh I couldn’t even see yet. Katie paddled a bit
away to give me room.
Aver a blistering initial run, the osh started a pattern of shorter bursts
and stubborn head shakes. Eventually it surfaced in a spray of foam, that
spectacular dorsal comb nared up and shining, black stripes nashing on its
silver body. It was a decent one (any rooster from a kayak feels huge; this
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one maybe 35 to 40 Lbs.). We managed to land it for a quick photo op
before it’s release into the Sweet Gulf, Tosh and I both drenched in sweat
and up to our chests in saltwater, grinning like fools.
By late morning the sun was directly overhead, and the gulf was warming
up. We paddled to a more open area where a submerged rocky ledge drops
of — one of those spots you ond through trial and error over years, where
an otherwise nat bottom suddenly gives way to depth. We jigged and threw
some bait, letting the kayaks driv together in the slow current. Sure enough,
we found jack crevalle. Or rather, they found us.
Katie’s reel started screaming and I saw her kayak jerk forward — osh on.
I reeled in my own line and paddled toward her to assist if needed. |e
jack fought like it had a grudge, circling under her kayak, trying to rub the
line on the hull. She had to keep her rod tip deep in the water and shiv her
weight counter to the osh to avoid nipping (kayak oshing tip: jacks will try
their best to capsize you, albeit unintentionally). Aver a solid ove-minute
tug-of-war that felt much longer, the jack popped up alongside her boat,
still thrashing. We carefully unhooked it and let it go. Our arms were toast
by this point.
|e rest of the day alternated between paddling, oshing, and simply soaking
in the scenery. When the tide went slack, we took a break in a shaded inlet.
|e midday heat in the Golfo Dulce can be brutal if you’re exposed, but
under the mangroves there was relief. We munched on some packed snacks
and watched a family of white-faced capuchin monkeys on the shoreline,
who watched us back with equal parts curiosity and mischief.
