Out of the Frying Pan

Catching a Whopper

Another fish story. Yep just what you needed.

My buddies and I were out fishing one day off the causeway, looking to catch a whopper. We had brought out the heavy rods - mine consisted of a 190-lb. class rod with a Penn 6.0 reel that looks like a baby winch with 250 lb. test line and 600 lb. steel core leader. Of course we brought small rods to use in case we didn’t run into anything big like shark, snook, or king mackerel.

We were in my boat, about 300 yards from shore and the bridge that connects the causeway to Honeymoon Island. We had dropped our lines and let them drift, and were all just having a good old time catching grunts, pin, and catfish with the small rods.

All of a sudden, my big rod started clicking. We stopped and watched the rod slowly start letting line out and then the top started to bounce. Everybody started reeling in their rods big and small alike. I picked up my rod, locked the drag, and waited. Wham! My rod jolted so I pulled back to set the hook. Whatever I had, it was big, and it wasn’t happy that I had it.

Keith got a knife out, just in case he needed to cut my line to keep whatever I had from damaging the boat. It was even pulling on the boat. Good thing it was anchored, but still, what could have the ability to pull a 22-foot boat?

The fight was on! I was pulling. It was pulling. We kept going like that for five minutes or so, then all of a sudden it stopped. My line went slack.

I reeled in and on the other end was a fishing line so I started pulling that line and there it was: a new-looking fishing rod. That’s when Bruce busted out laughing. He said, “I was watching a guy on the bridge, he looked like he had something too. Now I guess I know what it was!”

I looked at the bridge and could see an irate guy stomping away. As he made his way toward the causeway, he threw his tackle box off the side of the bridge into the water. I would have given him his rod back, but by the time we got to the shore, he was in his car, leaving in a cloud of dust as he sped out of the parking lot.

I still have his rod.