{mosimage} It is possible to escape from Terrelle Pryor for a few moments, especially on opening day of Snook season. In my area of South Florida Snook is King-well, maybe Prime Minister as obviously Terrelle is King, but royalty none the less. We grow Snook big down here. It is an adversary worth pursuing because they can and will kick your ass. They eat real good also. So, as Feb. 1 approaches you catch your occasional snook all the while feeling like the American Sportsman as you release it back into it's environs. While you are patting yourself on the back for being an upright, law abiding citizen, and a hellofa angler for catching that preseason snook, you are really thinking 2/1 and Mr. Snook, you are dinner.

Sure I am a sissy and wasn't out as the clock struck 12. Instead, after studying the tides and, thats right, remembering Friday is a work day the alarm is set for 3:30am. As you exit the condo, pole and gaff in one hand, tackle bag over your shoulder, and bucket in the other hand this idiot misses a step and down I go. Inventory is taken and the ankle must not be broken. Actually from a thought process you go from I am a stupid fuck to maybe I'm not so old after all to have survived such a tumble. By 4:00am your line is in the water. Cool enough for the noseeums to stay away, but not so cool you have to put a windbreaker over your tee shirt. Shorts of course. (Have to add that for people like Joemamma who continue to live in the north. Remember Joemomma if people didn't live in the north it would be just a big empty space up there.)

Anyway, back to the fishin. A couple of hits. A few snook that seemed hell bent on devouring your hunk of soft pastic, until that last second and away they turn. Eventually you hook up one short-short being under the keeper slot of 28 to 32 inches, but that short eventually blasts towards a dock piling and takes advantage of that spit second of slack line as you adjust your position and he is gone. Gone is not good because once again you have been bested by a fish, but gone is good because you don't then have the temptation of "looks like dinner to me". So, the opening morning of snook season has come and gone. Have no idea what dinner will be, but it sure as hell won't be a snook.

Weird thing happens as the day progresses. You fish pain free for 3 hours, but by 2pm you are walking with a crutch. At this stage of the game one can hope we are speaking to ankle sprain vs broken bone. Dreams of snook for dinner have been replaced with an eagerly anticapted couch, clicker, and with a guest appearance from either Jack or the Captain.

Snook 1/ Author Injured.

TrackBack URI for this entry

Comments (0)

Subscribe to this comment's feed

Name

Email

Website

Title

Comment

smaller | bigger

Subscribe via email (Registered users only)

I have read and agree to the Terms of Usage.

Add Comment