Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/433799
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 1 4 7 seatrout in the cooler, including an unusual specimen nearly devoid of spots. I also caught and released a smaller 14-inch redfish with rich copper scales, brilliant red fins, and three black spots near the tail. I counted the day a success, but Toby was determined to do better. T he good captain definitely came through on Saturday, and around mid-morning the water suddenly erupted with a marauding school of something that was definitely not redfish or seatrout. "Toby, what's moving over there?" I pointed to the boiling water. "Jacks crevalle! Hang on to your hat!" Toby wheeled the boat around, and I sent the chartreuse jig into the midst of the pack. The water exploded with the raw savagery of a huge jack's hit. He must have weighed 20 pounds and fought viciously, stripping line with such force that I simply held on for the ride. It was a textbook fight until he snapped the line across an oyster reef. But as much as I wanted to land that fish, the fight alone was reward enough. We hit the honey spot right before lunch at an oyster bed that slowly emerged from the water on the outgoing tide. I caught and released over a dozen redfish in the span of an hour, and at times I couldn't make more than one or two casts between hits. "Hey Cap'n, am I wearing you out with the net?" "Are you kidding? I could do this all day!" S omething substantive changed in me during this time of communion. As a fisheries biologist, I had carefully masked my emotional attachment to the fish I studied, and with good reason. People trust scientists because we view the natural world objectively without any sort of emotional bias. But now, as a fisherman, the emotions—the light-hearted giddiness of the strike, the thrill and suspense of the fight and the genuine love for the fish—returned with staggering force. I connected with each fish through the fight, looked into their souls through their eyes, and marveled at their beauty as I released them. After lunch, I hooked five more big redfish. Each was beautiful, some with multiple spots, others with a striking cobalt blue tint to the end of their tails, and with colors ranging from copper to amber to orange and every hue in between. I could not have scripted this trip any better if I had tried, and I felt a pang of emotion as I said goodbye to my new friends at Cabin Bluff when I pulled out of the gate on Sunday morning. Cabin Bluff offered me the opportunity to bridge the gap between fisherman and fisheries biologist, who both do what they do for the love of the fish. And now I have the united perspective of both. Note: The author thanks the following for helping make her trip a success: Cablz eyewear-retention systems, fishing gloves from Glacier Gloves, shirts from Hook & Tackle, backpack from Umpqua Feather Merchants, Wiley X sunglasses, and line from Vicious Fishing.