Capt. Brian Boxx
It was so hard to sleep this morning. Our mission trip to get a buddy into the 40-inch club was successful…then met with darkened defeat. The night started out perfect. The artificial bite was on fire and the water was crystal clear. The out-going tide was set to coincide with sunset and the weather was perfect. We started our bait run and quickly loaded the live well with some beautiful baits. Tide was almost dead low now and I know where I want to go, but it’s going to take some work to get there. We squeezed as far into the creek as the boat would go, but it still wasn’t far enough. Thinking on our feet, we drained some water out of the live well and hopped out of the boat pushing the rest of the way over the bar. Nearly exhausted, we had reached our anchor point. Rods baited and wet, we start rigging camera gear. The night air was still, not another soul for miles, a whippoorwill’s song echoes through the mangroves. Then, suddenly, his melancholy song is silenced by the adrenaline rushing sound of a screaming reel. Jake puts the reel in gear and lays into the fish! Thrashing and splashing, she runs to the edge of the bay and into the over hung branches of the mangroves. Dialing up the drag, he turns her from the mangroves keeping control of his beauty. Next, she runs straight at the boat and around the prop. As Jake desperately tried to unwrap the line, she pulled the rod tip into the cowling. Clank! Something is wrong. Jake easies her back to the boat. A horrible clanking and slapping sound is now screaming from the rod as the fish peels drag and bolts into the darkness. I lay out on the deck in preparation to land her, now face to face with his beast of a fish. Springing for the grab I feel her massive jowls, but I cannot get a grip. Biting down she refused to let me get my thumbs in her mouth. She slipped my grip and bolted, but this time there was no drag. Just a hard pull and a gut-wrenching snap. The damage from the cowling now came back to claim its glory. A line guide had pulled from its threaded seat. The sudden change in tension lassoed it around the rod and tied a perfect overhand knot. Heartbreaking silence settled over what was just seconds ago a chaotic scene. What followed was the frustrated, yet somehow articulate, wordsmithing of my first mate rolling into the darkness. As we hung our heads in defeat, he said some true words, “This is why we do it…This is what keeps anglers coming back for more…If we were successful every time, where would the challenge be?”- Jake Kopp (@SaltyKopp Instagram).
