I think it’s safe to say that, at one time or another, we’ve all been guilty of being ultra-critical about something we don’t really know much about—or care to. I know I have, on many occasions. I know you shouldn’t, but sometimes it’s easier to dismiss things that don’t automatically appeal to your tastes.
For me, that sometimes leads to passing judgment before I’ve even absorbed what I’m seeing or hearing. Could be a movie trailer, a book cover, or anything, really. Too often, I give it the equivalent of “yesing” it.
Maybe it’s human nature. Maybe it’s tied to some old memory. I’m not a psychologist—and frankly, I have no desire to be—but I can tell you this: more than once, that mindset has backfired on me.
Truth be told, I’m glad it has. Serves me right. I’ve gotten better over the years—and worse, oddly enough, after having kids. They’ve taught me incredible patience, but I’ve also learned how to unknowingly gloss over things. I don’t know… something about one doll being mean to the other?
One great example of this took place a few years ago, when I took one of my work partners out for his first fishing trip in Chokoloskee. He was excited to catch his first snook. It started out as a beautiful, peaceful day on the water—but quickly escalated into unbridled fits of rage and serious accusations… directed at the guy on the poling platform. That guy just so happened to be me.
Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy.
It truly was a magnificent day in the Glades. The weather wasn’t picture-perfect, but it wasn’t a buggy sauna either. A couple of light showers here and there, but nothing serious. I’ll take that any day.
After getting my buddy loaded into the boat and shoving off the dock, he mentioned he’d brought a new bait he thought would knock my socks off. I smiled and told him to show me when we got to our spot. It was probably the kind of smile you give when someone speaks to you in a foreign language and you have no idea what they’re saying. So, you smile.
After a short run from the marina, we reached our first stop—a spot I keep in rotation. It’s at the mouth of a river, with a mix of mud and oyster bottom, and a deep trough running along the mangroves. Beautiful water. Snook, reds, and trout are frequent visitors—which was good, since my buddy was laser-focused on catching his first Everglades snook. I was going to do everything I could to make that happen.
A little while into fishing, he reached into his tackle bag and pulled out his “special” lure. It was called Redfish Magic—a spinnerbait with a soft plastic minnow body. I glanced at it, shrugged, and politely dismissed it. I mean, it looked cool… but I just wasn’t sure it was going to get the job done. Besides, the lure I had him throwing was a proven killer. The fish couldn’t resist it.
Fishing was slow. A few trout here and there, and a small redfish, but no snook. So I relocated to another spot in the same general area. I was certain that’s what we needed to do. We started working a long shoreline, and I switched up the baits to see if that would help. Sometimes just a color change can make all the difference in the world. I wasn’t fishing too hard because I really wanted him to get his snook.
Then, I decided to humor him and try the new bait. I mean, there was no way it was going to work. And even if it did, it was clearly meant for redfish—it’s in the name!
So, I tied it on and started casting. The action looked decent, but I had zero confidence that anything was going to eat it.
My buddy smirked and said, “You better not catch a snook with that.”
I laughed and assured him he had nothing to worry about. The lure he was tossing was clearly the only option.
Oh, how wrong I was.
On my fifth cast—using the bait I was certain had no chance—the second it hit the water, the surface exploded like a bomb had gone off. Water shot skyward, and so did a massive snook. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It didn’t feel real.
Almost as fast as the fish hit my bait, a flurry of profanities flew out of my friend’s mouth. They were as impressive as they were hurtful. As I fought the beast—while being verbally assaulted—I was laughing and apologizing at the same time. I genuinely felt bad… but I couldn’t stop laughing. Especially because my friend isn’t the type to cuss like that. And the madder he got, the harder I laughed.
It was like something out of a sitcom. Not sure if I was Jerry or Costanza.
After a solid fight and a stream of insults, I landed the oversized snook, snapped a quick picture, and released it. It took some time to talk him down off the ledge, but eventually I did. We continued fishing, and after a few spot and lure changes, my friend finally landed a snook. It wasn’t nearly as big as mine, but he was happy. As he should’ve been. I was stoked he did it.
Once things settled down, I explained what I was thinking—and how I’d taken the name of the bait literally. I assured him there was no malice when I decided to use it before he did. I still can’t believe it worked, honest. To this day, he still gives me hell about it. And I still apologize.
But I did learn a valuable lesson—and not just about lures.
From that day forward, I always try something before passing judgment. No matter how strong the urge is to act like I already know how it’s going to turn out.
And I’d like to make an official statement:
They should really change the name of that bait from Redfish Magic to Snook Magic.
I used it heavily in my rotation after that day—and despite the name, I never once caught a redfish.
Not a single one.
Only snook.
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