It’s an addiction!
By CAPT. MEL BERMAN, 970-WFLA

Yes sir, we're talking about those occasions when the fish bite like crazy, nailing every bait you'd throw at them. It is indeed what keeps us hard core fishing junkies enduring those more common slow, boring trips, and all kinds of foul weather. It’s what motivates us to plunk down hard earned cash for expensive accouterments associated with our angling obsession.

And it's interesting how indelibly recorded into our memories these banner fishing adventures can be. I've lived in Florida long enough to qualify me to sport one of those "Almost-Native" bumper stickers. Yet, I can go back over my entire 40 years in the Sunshine State and mentally relive... in incredible detail... those trips, which are directly responsible for placing that "fishing monkey" squarely on my back. }

One such event occurred some 35 years ago on an early November morning. The sun was just beginning to illuminate Anclote Key as we headed Gulfward to a grouper destination. My fishing buddy Russ King and I were on our way to a secret spot some 42 miles off the north end of the Island. As we approached our bait stop... the outer buoy ... we could see the surface percolating with vigorous activity. This day, it would require but one throw of the net for a full day's bait supply.

Setting up at the old wooden tripod marker, we saw that these bait fish were not the usual greenbacks, but a horde of frisky cigar minnows... a veritable "chocolate fudge sundae" for any grouper! Loading the well, we hauled anchor and made a beeline for our chosen destination.

Two long hours later, the loran finally counted down the last microseconds to our coveted honey hole. It was a huge circular trench, with high 8 to 10 foot ledges. As we got right on the numbers, our recorder began showing the expected sharp drop off.

Clinging to the side of the ledge was an enormous Christmas tree shaped "show of fish." From the density of the markings on the recorder, we knew that these babies were not baitfish, but a bunch of chunky grouper, obviously feeding like crazy.

Swirling currents didn't make anchoring the boat an easy task. After six time-consuming tries, we finally had been able to set up with the stern positioned directly over the ledge and the fish.

Rushing back from his "anchor-person" position, Russ swooped into the live well and grabbed up one of the frisky cigar minnows, carefully hooking it on his stout 7/0 Mustad O'Shaunessy hook.

Dropping the bait over the side, it got no more than 10 feet down when a cloud of massive gag grouper swarmed up from the bottom to hungrily attack the terrorized cigar minnow!

The first fish to strike was later described by Russ as a "freight train." It was huge! Then, it was my turn to drop a bait and it didn’t take more than 30-seconds before I hooked a twin to Russ' grouper. As soon as these fish were hooked they put on the afterburners, tenaciously plunging downward. All we could do was hang on.

When the wresting matches were over, our stout rods reels and heavy 80-pound fishing line won the day. Every one of these huge gags were in the 30-pound range. It may sound like an angler exaggeration, but the smallest grouper that day weighed in at a mere 25-pounds.
Then, for a while, I thought I had hung up in the ledge, but the "ledge" turned out to be an enormous 46-pound "rusty-belly." Our outsized fish box rapidly filled, and we found ourselves emptying the food cooler to make room for what turned out to be one of our most bountiful Gulf fishing trips. (NOTE: At the time of this mid-70s event some 25 years ago, many recreational grouper diggers were permitted to catch sell unlimited amounts of fish after the purchase of a $25.00 Salt Water Products license.)

Who would every work this hard for nothing? Me. It was all a labor of love, and a very satisfying trip. This was the kind of rare outing that keeps us die-hard fishing "junkies" coming back for more. Unfortunately, there was a long time period before we ever had another trip like that. But memories of this kind of banner day are what keeps us coming back for more.

These days, I am what could aptly be described as a "reformed meat fishermen," and completely support regulations that protect what is now a dwindling resource.