An Eagle Said Hello and the Knots Held

I will look back on it in years to come as a halcyon day when everything went right. Up early, I thought twice about going out of my way for live shrimp — I had plenty of fresh cut baits carved from choffers — but I did. I stopped by the bait shop after telling myself that I would buy only two dozen. Behind the counter was a new man who said he could probably scrape up a few, but “we had a big die-off last night, something in the water, I guess, lost about three-quarters of what we had.” I wondered if the surviving shrimp might be near death themselves, but I said nothing, hoping for the best.

I had the Crooked Creek landing to myself, save for the black SUV that is always there, parked by the overlook and occupied by a man who could’ve played Marley in Home Alone.

The old Suzuki fired right up despite not having been run for a few weeks — thank goodness for “recreational,” non-ethanol gas — and I unhurriedly motored down the creek toward West Bay. Opposite a bank where a buddy and I once saw a gator so large that he has never fished with me again, a bald eagle flew over my boat, the Bullpen, not 25 feet off the water, and I saluted it in appreciation, believing that my gesture might somehow be received. Already, my day was made. It seems to me that the Congress, even today’s Congress, might get together in a rare show of bipartisanship and officially make the bald eagle the national bird, something that has never happened, notes historian Jack E. Davis in his book about Haliaeetus leucocephalus. The government does that, and I will market a TALONS AND CARRION T-shirt honoring the great bird, with proceeds going to the nonprofit Raptor Research Foundation.

A slight northerly breeze rippled the bay as I stopped by spots that often yield catches: The Dead Trees, which tumbled into the water years ago; The Throat, a narrows that connects the bay with a backwater; and The Reeds, a marshy isthmus. I made The Reeds my third stop, put out a line baited with a chunk of choffer — some call them pinfish — and another baited with a still frisky shrimp, and with a third rod, I fished a plastic plug made to resemble a menhaden — some call them greenies. The lure was ignored. Small, scavenging fish attacked the choffer like piranhas on a capybara, and I hooked only small trout on the shrimp. Still, I remained at The Reeds, too lazy to move out into the main body of the bay.

This day, my lackadaisicalness paid off. Something decent steadily moved off with a shrimp, pulling behind it a Cajun Thunder float. I let the fish travel maybe 15 feet before I reared back on my whippy trout rod and held on as the fish made several runs. The hook held. My knots held. I was able to steer the fish away from the choffer line, and eventually, it came to my landing net. I could tell at a glance that the red fell within the legal slot limit — it did at 21.5 inches — and photographed it before putting it on ice. I scanned the skies, took a pull off a water bottle and breathed. I had my fish and presently headed for the landing and the house.

I have experimented with several ways to clean a redfish and have settled on one that works well for me. I have a favorite Dexter knife with an 8-inch blade that has a little flex to it. I separate the meat from the spine, cut a finger-size hole near the tail and then pull the filet from the fish. No flesh is left behind. I would share these filets with a retired charter fisherman who used to guide me to snapper, grouper and cobia before his back tore up. Dipped in milk, coated with Zatarain’s, sprinkled with Cavender’s, salt and pepper, and pan-fried in olive oil, that backcountry bottom feeder tasted damn good. Even an old offshore guy had to admit that.

See you out there,

Steve Bornhoft, Executive Editor
sbornhoft@rowlandpublishing.com

FEEDBACK

Dear Mr. Bornhoft,

I hope you are well and started the new year on a good note. I must tell you that we received much wonderful feedback on your story about our chabad and Chanukkah. People loved the article and the photos. So, thank you and G-d bless you and your family. May you have a good year, full of good and happy things to write about.

Rabbi Shaya Tenenboim, Destin