Headed into the Glades this past Friday with MoJoe and his two brothers Kevin and Marty (Notre Dame grads, all). Marty hopped on my little skiff, which I hadn’t taken “down south” in a number of years. I was sporting the two new custom rods Joe built for me and my wife – the boy makes some sweet sticks. On the trip down, Joe was gracious enough to keep his 21-foot teleporter under light speed, so he and Kevin stayed within sight. We had precious little action – probably 12-15 smallish snook between us, and one frightened-looking little redfish. (Marty had a shot at a hulking red that sawed at his plug a couple of times, but no dice – lots of muted cursing ensued). In the end, a mounting wind chased us off the water, but not before we had lots of laughs, a beer or two and some of the best damn pork tenderloin sandwiches this angler has ever ingested. (We can’t fish worth a lick, but we can eat with the bets of ’em). Post trip Joe and I admitted, as we always do, that we are hopelessly in love with the Everglades…even when she’s difficult and moody.
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