Catching A Monster 44” Snook In Indian River Lagoon
There are stories of the fish that got away, and then there are stories of fishermen who won’t let them get away. This is the latter.
Every fisherman has a story about the “one that got away.” For many, they tell that story well into their years. I know, because I still tell my versions of those stories to any who would listen.
But those who know, understand those stories are bittersweet. In some cases, they’re funny to our audience as we try to make light of it. But down deep inside, losing a big fish is upsetting. We fishermen take it personally. It's a loss, a failure, a disappointment, or all of the above.
For many, that loss is the end of the story though. However, in my case, my biggest “one that got away” story isn’t like the others. Instead of a disappointing ending, I’m going to tell you about an ongoing battle with a fish that became personal.
Having grown up fishing since I was 3 years old, I’ve caught my fair share of fish. Big fish, small fish, and everything in between. But in nearly 4 decades of avid fishing, I’ve never in my life seen anything unfold like this.
I originally grew up in California and lived in a bunch of different places around the world before ultimately settling in Florida in 2014. Admittedly, learning about all the new species, habitats, bait, weather patterns, etc was like learning to fish all over again. Besides catching snapper, catfish, jacks, and other smaller fish using frozen shrimp, it wasn’t until 2016 that I started regularly catching snook, reds, and more targeted inshore game fish.
Fast forward to 2020, and after doing some intensive study of Palm Beach Pete and Salt Strong’s Youtube channels, I finally managed to catch my first slot red, slot snook, trout, and keeper flounder all within 2 months.
Furthering that, I watched several of their videos about how to scout out potential fish-holding locations and decided to try a spot that I had driven past regularly.
The first few times I had some luck catching mostly target species, but then one day, that fun and games came to a screeching halt.
I was fishing under a dock with a topwater plug and during my casual walk-the-dog retrieve, barely paying attention to my line and taking in most of my surroundings one calm breezy morning right before sunrise, an explosion broke out of the water, the likes of which I had never seen in all my years of fishing.
Using a 4000 size Penn Battle 2 combo, I stood in shock as my reel was literally screaming as the line was pulled off. Watching this monster of a fish zig zag to the right of this dock I had cast under, I kept trying to get a view of just how big this snook was that blasted my Zara Spook while jumping about 3 feet in the air.
After one more jump, I was able to get a clear view. This thing was definitely over-slot size, and I’m guessing in the mid 40’s in inches. I know because I had caught some 34 inches in the same spot that looked a fraction of the size as this one, and they didn’t fight nearly as hard.
Well, after its initial rush and a couple jumps, this snook decided to slow down, so I figured it was time to apply some pressure and begin my retrieve.
Well, he didn’t like that and proceeded to bolt right into the pilings and make a sharp right turn, breaking my line instantly.
Words can’t describe my adrenaline rush from the fight, but that was quickly overcome with anger and disappointment knowing full well this was certainly going to be my personal best snook, and I lost it.
A few weeks passed and after returning to this same spot. I decided to try the same technique, albeit with a paddle tail this time because we were deeper into winter and the water was too cold to elicit a strike on a topwater lure.
Maybe 15 casts in, I felt a small tug, and then, BOOM. Another splash. No jump, just screaming line off the same Penn Battle 2 combo I had used in the last fight.
Normally I would have just assumed it was a different snook, but I could tell right away the way this thing fought and because it was in the exact same location as last time, it was for certain the same exact one. It just fought too hard and went too fast to be anything less than 40 inches. Then, as he came within 10 feet of me, I could see that it was in fact the same one. Speaking of the same, he did the exact same thing he did to me last time, only right under my nose. He ran straight to the pilings, booked a hard right away from shore, breaking me off instantly.
The adrenaline and disappointment from the first experience had now only been magnified a hundred times over.
For another few weeks, that was the story I told about the one that got away...TWICE. It seemed hard to believe. But what if I told you it happened again? Would you believe me? Well, you better, because it did.
This third time, I knew for sure, this would be my time. Again, same spot, same casting location, same tackle, same rod and reel, same time of the morning, same screaming reel. Only this time, the fight lasted a mere 4 seconds. Why? Because my knot failed. I know, it was an amateur move, and believe me, no one was more pissed off than I was. I don't want to make excuses, but I’m going to anyway. See, I had got a snag earlier in the morning and had to re-tie my leader. However, being that I was getting eaten alive by no-see-ums, I rushed my knot to get off the shore and back out into the water. Even worse, I decided to tie on some heavier leader to make sure that I wouldn’t get broken off again should that monster snook hit me again. Well, rushing a knot with too big of a leader is a recipe for failure, and that's what happened.
At this point, the fight became personal. This snook had made a mockery of me three times now and I had made it my mission to land this sucker. I even gave her a name because it became so personal. The name: Monstro, referring to the monster whale from Disney’s Pinnochio. Because, truly, this snook was every bit of a monster, possibly close to the size of a whale. (ok maybe not that big) You know how fish in fishing stories tend to grow as the years go on.
A few weeks had passed, and I continued to fish in the same spot every day. As I said, it was personal, and I was going to land this fish. One morning I had thrown probably a hundred casts and didn’t get a hookup. As I was getting ready to give up and head to work, I looked over my shoulder to see Monstro just cruising under the dock. I stood in awe, admiring the size of this beast as he meandered on the surface through the dock pilings, exposing her dorsal and tail fins. Even more surprising? As I was walking along the shore, I saw a piece of trash that I went out of my way to pick up, being the good steward of the environment I strive to be.
To my surprise, it wasn’t trash at all. It was the Zara Spook that I had lost the first time I hooked Monstro, and it was mauled to pieces. I just laughed and ended up giving it to my son as a memento of the battle that continued to rage on.
The following week, I hooked her again. This was the fourth time, and I said a quick prayer that this would be the time. I tried to calm down, but my heart, which was beating probably at 150 beats per minute on full adrenaline, was not having it. I took a deep breath, tightened my drag, and ran as fast as I could with waders on into the middle of the shore away from any docks or structure. He followed my lead, and then made a mad dash out into the middle of the river, further away from structure.
“I got her this time,” I thought to myself, as she continued to run, take a break, and run again.
After about 5 minutes of this primitive game of tug of war, I could sense she was beginning to tire, so I wasted no time in pulling and winding as fast as I could with all my might, knowing I had to take advantage of every second she wasn’t making a run for it or heading toward structure.
As I got her within 10 feet of me, I once again confirmed it was Monstro. Trying feverishly to calm down, as I got her closer to shore he started making a left turn toward the dock I initially pulled her away from. Knowing if he got close it was all over again, I went to pull her as hard as I could back out into the open. As I did, I went to use my left hand to assist with lifting my rod to pull her and as I did, my hand had hit my line and then THWACK. The line went slack. Once again, she was gone.
After saying almost every word of profanity I know, I walked over to the nearest dock, sat down, put my face in my hands, and let out a sigh of disappointment. How could this happen? Why did this happen? Have I been cursed? I even considered quitting fishing altogether because now this was almost taking the fun out of it. I was getting humiliated, angry, and sad all at the same time. I thought about just going home, but that would be admitting defeat. Instead, I tried to get a hold of myself, and throw out a few more casts if nothing else to calm down and remember that a bad day of fishing beats a good day of anything else. As I went to re-tie my leader, my hands were shaking uncontrollably from the adrenaline and the physical exhaustion from fighting Monstro. I managed but had to redo it a few times because I had learned from my previous mistake: take time to tie your knots.
I came home that day and told my wife what had happened, and she couldn’t believe it. I shared the same story with some of my neighbors who are also really into fishing, but they just thought it was funny. They joked that I should take them to my spot so they could catch it for me, but soon realized I wasn’t laughing. Rather, I stared at them intently signaling this was no joking matter. This was war and hell would freeze over before I took anyone to this spot, only to watch them land the snook on the first try that I had fought and lost four times over the past couple of months.
No, I said it before and meant it. I was going to land this fish or die trying.
About a month of fishing that same spot 5-6 days per week had passed and in that time, I hadn’t hooked Monstro up once. My mind began to wonder, did she get caught? Did she get eaten by the dolphin that frequents the area? Did a poacher take her? Did someone else hook her and accidentally kill her? Did he leave the area because summer was approaching and it was getting too hot? I began to get discouraged, thinking I lost my chance to land Monstro and get a much-desired photo with her. In fact, I was so discouraged, that I began fishing other spots because that once hot bite all winter began to wane as well. Whereas I used to catch multiple snook in the 20-34” range and so many sea trout that I stopped keeping count, I wasn’t catching anything.
At another spot, I hooked into another 37-40 inch snook and lost her in the docks as well, but even as hard as that one fought, it still didn’t fight like Monstro. No, this one may have been a low 40-inch snook, but I knew for sure Monstro was in the mid-40s or more.
One morning in June (this has officially been going on now for 4 months) I was fishing some of my other spots and the bite just wasn’t happening. So I was on my way home and decided to try a spot close to where Monstro was typically holed up. I hadn’t even pulled my rod out of my car when I heard a loud “KABOOSH” right under the same dock that I had lost Monstro four times now. I didn’t even need to look, I knew for sure it was her. It had to be based on the loud sound that originated from her crushing a bait ball. With that, I obviously nixed my original plans and decided to post up my typical spot and throw some casts where he typically holed up. A few casts in and nothing was happening, but the bait was everywhere. Judging by loud splashes and clearly visible bait around, it was clear the late spring mullet run was now in full swing.
I decided to try a few more casts before calling it a day to head back before 8am and then BOOM. My reel began screaming as it had 4 times before, and Monstro was back! I just held on and let her run, taking a quick second to loosen the drag and let her run to tire out. This time, he ran away from the dock out into the bay so I knew this was it. I had a thicker 30 lb mono leader at this time, my knots were snug, and he was out in the open. I literally was praying out loud, “God please let this be the day!” I must have said it 20 times before I got a full adrenaline dump, making my knees go practically weak. The mere thought of landing Monstro was enough to shoot my heart rate through the roof again, and I made sure to slow my breath, to make sure I didn’t do any rash moves to break the line again. About 4 minutes passed, and he began to tire out. I frantically began pulling and reeling as he began working closer to me. “This is it! I got her now,” I yelled! As he got closer, I confirmed it was her.
But….
To my right, there was a thick mangrove line that Monstro saw and obviously thought to run into for cover. I saw her going and knowing her track record of lodging in structure to successfully free herself, I didn’t pull hard to get her away. I just let her go for it, knowing that I could probably get her out of there once he got tied up because it was only thigh-deep.
As he worked into the mangroves, I started walking towards her, taking up the line between us. The line went slack as I got closer to where he was lodged into the mangroves. When I pulled on the line to take up more slack, I just assumed it was because he was stuck and couldn’t put any tension on. But to my dismay, she was gone. I reeled up my line and saw that the leader had broken in the middle, suggesting that the monofilament leader got sliced perfectly in the middle by an oyster or barnacle on the mangroves. That's the only logical explanation, a sheer stroke of luck for her, and a curse continued for me. No 40+ snook club membership for me yet.
Now, unlike the other four times, I actually wasn’t all that mad. This was now the 5th time this monster of a snook had broken me off, and it just made me laugh. I was obviously bummed that I got so close to getting her and lost her AGAIN, but to be honest, I was just grateful that she’s still alive, still in the same spot, and that this story keeps getting better and better.
On my way home, I just kept my spirits up and turned on the music, anxiously awaiting the opportunity to tell my wife that it happened again. Of all the 5000+ songs on my phone, the one that randomly came on was “It's not over yet” by For King and Country. It’s a Christian worship song that I had listened to here and there over the years, but when I heard the lyrics, my heart just sunk. Being a worship song, was God telling me that this isn’t over? I don't know for sure, but that's an awfully big coincidence given the timing and probability of having that be the first song that came on after this event of repeated failure and continual discouragement.
Once I got home, I told my wife the story, and I also told her about the song that came on after. She didn’t miss a beat to tell me exactly what was on her mind. “God is using this experience to speak to you in a way that only you would understand. The bible has many stories of failure, persistence, and patience, and of course, you know He has a fondness for fishermen. So pay attention to what this experience is teaching you. There’s a message for you in this”
I kind of just raised my eyebrows and couldn’t even give a reply, I was too busy trying to digest what she just said re-living the experience all over again. I just left it at that, but let those words keep replaying in my head:
“It's like a constant war
And you wanna settle that score
But you're bruised and beaten
And you feel defeated
This goes out to the heaviest hearts
Oh, to everyone who's hit their limit
It's not over yet
It's not over yet
And even when you think you're finished
It's not over yet
It's not over yet
Keep on fighting
Out of the dark
Into the light
It's not over
Hope is rising
Never give in
Never give up
It's not over yet”
I kept telling the story, and of course, by now, my friends and neighbors were sure I was making this up, or that I had started going crazy. Maybe I was a little. You’d have to be crazy wake up every morning at 4:30am, 5-6 days a week before work, drive 20 minutes each way over 4 months simply to prove a point to a fish (and to your friends). If that makes me crazy, then I welcome the label because as emotional as this experience was, it gave me something to look forward to after a rough year in 2020.
Believe it or not, Monstro broke me off again a week later for the sixth time on Friday morning June 10th. She hit the lure in the same spot he had been, and this time ran straight out under the dock. For about a minute she ran, paused, and ran again, before turning and breaking my leader in half. At this point, I had gone up to 30 lb monofilament leader, but it was clear by now that I was clearly undergunned for a proper battle with a fish of this size. Factor in two points of heavy structure, a T dock and thick mangroves with oysters growing on the branches on each side of the hookup location, and it was no wonder why he kept breaking my line. It was time to change things up a bit.
I decided to go back to the drawing board and get more tactical in my approach. Shelving my Penn Battle II 4000 with 15lb braid, I pulled out a Penn Battle II 5000 that I had landed my first 32” slot snook on with hardly a fight. It had 20lb mono on it, which I knew wouldn’t hold up in the heavy structure, so I went to have it rigged with 30 lb braid. Upping to a 40lb mono leader, I tied on the same Slam Shady 2.0 on a ⅛ oz DOA jig head that I had hooked her 5 out of 6 times on and went back at her the following Monday. I saw Monstro swimming around, but couldn't get a bite. The weather was straight out the west and overcast, and there were no birds or bait, but I saw her chasing a croaker, which she eventually caught. Probably 70 casts in over the course of an hour or so, and not a bite so I called it a day.
The next day, the conditions were similar, overcast, west wind, and slightly chilly, and I saw Monstro again, swimming around the shallows in search of breakfast. Probably 20 casts, I saw a splash roughly 8 feet in front of me, and my reel began to scream. It was her, alright. Once he was on, I could feel the stark difference between the 5000-size reel paired with a medium-heavy action rod. Unlike before, I had much more control over her and immediately began tightening my stronger 25lb drag and started working her toward me away from the dock. He made one solid run, but keeping pressure on her, I was able to keep her out of the docks. To my surprise, he ran straight in toward shore, leading me to believe this was it, I had her for sure. Just as he began running for shore he made a jump for the first time to try and shake the hook. He failed, but in that last attempt, he must have frayed the mono leader just enough to weaken it. He was still on, but as soon he made a run for the dock and turned, exposing her razor-sharp gill plate, I felt the line go slack. He paused for a second and being in only 3-4 inches of water, I thought maybe I could spook her onto the beach. That's how close he was to me and the shore. He was almost struggling to swim so I made a mad dash to try and grab her by the tail but once he got under the dock, he found a trough that was more like 6+ inches deep, and slowly swam away back out into deeper water.
Of course, I was upset at the loss, but by now I had become used to this mockery, failure, disappointment...you name it. On the bright side, this was the closest I’d ever come to landing her, so with that, I felt progress was made and that was worth some feeling of positivity. I packed up, I wished her congratulations on another battle victory but assured her and myself that this war was far from over. Heading back to the drawing board, cut off the broken 40lb leader, and tied on a 50lb monofilament leader. I had my doubts that it would be too thick and that she might be able to see it, but at this point, I was willing to try anything. Because of the west wind, the water was quite murky and the forecast was the same for the rest of the week. Assuming I could get her on again in the next few days, I was sure victory would be mine in the next round.
Almost 2 months had passed since my last bout with Monstro. My typical routine of waking up at 4:30am almost every morning was starting to get paced out as my husbandly, fatherly, and managerial work duties began requiring more of my time in the mornings, and for the latter, I had to have as much energy as possible. Call it what you will, but waking up that early in the morning for months on end will take a toll on your daily energy levels. Everyday fishing became more like 2-3 times per week, and 4:30 became more like 5:30-6am and the trips became shorter as we entered the dog days of summer. It was just too hot and if I wasn’t getting a bite after 30 minutes of fishing, I would call it a day. Once that sun came up, it got too hot and the bite would just stop if I were catching anything.
On the morning of August 11th, I woke up around 5 am after having a big blowout argument with my wife the night before. I wasn’t feeling myself after not sleeping that great, so I thought a morning on the water would help to cheer me up.
Like every other morning, I got up, did my bible & prayer time, did my language lessons, fed the dogs, packed up the car with my gear that was always rigged so I could just grab and go, and off I went to my fishing hole. The weather was clear and hot with some big thunderstorms on the horizon, but it was mostly sunny with almost no wind so the water was like sheet glass. Rather than take my usual approach to cast where Monstro typically holed up, I decided to try a different angle to start this time. After two casts I saw the beast herself, right where she usually was, facing toward me on the shore where the dock began.
For most of our previous battles, I had been using a Slam Shady 2.0 with a ⅛ DOA short shank jighead in either silver or white, but thinking the shank was just too short to hook the fish’s lip, I opted to change things up and utilize a Zman MinnowZ pinned to a 1/4oz DOA red long shank jighead. My logic was that the longer shank would give more space between the hook and the leader, which was always getting frayed by the fish’s teeth or sliced by the razor-sharp gill plate. Plus, being summer, I knew the bait was starting to get bigger, so going to the MinnowZ seemed like an appropriate upgrade in size.
As I wound up for my third cast, being careful not to spook her with a clumsy shot right on her head or making a loud noise by hitting the dock with a crap cast, I began my slow retrieve on my Penn Battle II 5000 combo with a 50lb monofilament leader. As my lure was about 6 feet in front of me, I began to increase my retrieve to set up for my next cast. Then, out of nowhere my lure just stops and doesn’t move. Having fished this spot almost daily for the past 8 months, I knew there was no structure there, so I thought maybe a flounder had grabbed it in the shallows. As my line became taught, I saw a white flash through the muddy water in about 7 inches of water and up from the small ledge, I saw what appeared to be the head of a snook. As it got closer, it just kept getting bigger and bigger and as soon as I gave my rod a hard tug, the fish literally didn’t even put up a fight and swam straight onto the shoreline. Completely in shock at the sheer size of this snook, I knew right away, it was Monstro.
I quickly positioned myself between the fish and the water so as not to have another massive disappointment should it decide to turn and run right through my legs. But once reality set in that I just landed this fish, my legs gave out and I fell on my knees in the water in sheer admiration of this magnificent fish. I began hyperventilating and tears began to flow down my face out of shock, excitement, and frankly disbelief. I was shaking so hard I couldn't think straight and my hands were shaking so violently, I couldn’t get to my phone and measuring tape fast enough to get this long-awaited photo and measurement. I ripped off my gloves, dropped them in the mud, and pulled off the mosquito netting from my head so I could get a clear picture of my face.
Unfortunately, the fish started to get a little upset being out of the water for a bit too long and began shaking violently, flicking mud, sand, and water all over me and my camera. Knowing I had less than a minute to get the measurement and the photo so as not to risk the life of this fish, I worked quickly to get the measurement, which was about 44 inches without the tail squeezed. I broke down crying again because that measurement just confirmed it was in fact Monstro, and knowing I may never again catch a snook this size in my life, and that this long, drawn-out battle was finally over.
I tried to lift up the fish to get a photo, but it was just too big and heavy to take a selfie with. I didn’t have enough time to set my phone on auto lest I risked the fish's life. So I took what photos I could, and quickly returned the fish to the water. It was moving quite slow so I grabbed it by the tail to resuscitate it by moving it forward and back to get more oxygen across its gills. After a few push and pulls, she began to swim off into the deep, right back to the pilings where I had my first hookup with her.
As I saw her swim off, I began to cry again. I’m by no means a cryer, I never have been, but this was just too emotional for me to just shake my hands off and head back to the car like nothing happened. I actually waved to the fish and literally said thank you for such an amazing fishing experience. I say that because an experience like this is probably one in a million.
As I said at the beginning of this story, we ALL have the stories of the ones that got away, but how many can say they’ve had the same fish get away seven times in the exact same isolated dock in a secluded cove, only to land it 8 months later in the same spot, by having it literally hit the lure and swim right up to your legs without a fight? It was one of the most anticlimactic endings for such a long battle. As I said, I’ve been fishing for almost 35 years and I've never had anything like this happen before.
So that was it. The battle was over, victory was mine, and now I have what will easily be the best fish story I will ever have to share with others.
Key Takeaways
Sometimes fish will stay in the same place once you hook them. Don’t give up, keep casting!
When you need to level up your tackle, do so sooner than later. Light tackle is fun but if you’re going for trophy fish, use the appropriate gear!
Perseverance always pays off. Put in your time and eventually, things will go your way.
Don’t be afraid to experiment and revise your strategy. Tactical adjustments in the midst of your adventure can yield advantageous results.