Drift anchors aren't used only in salt water. This one really helped us.

What happens when you rear back into the biggest bass of your life, it dives into a hydrilla mat, and your premium grade hook snaps in half? You bite your lower lip, rig another plastic worm with shaky fingers, and keep casting, if you know what’s good for you. Especially when drifting across the amazing Stick Marsh near Vero Beach.

Veteran guide Jim Porter could only shake his head, and said he’d never seen such a thing happen. “There’s plenty more fish out here—the very next cast can produce a 10- or 11-pounder, you just never know,” he said.

Porter has seen a few trophy fish in his time here, like a thousand or so. Even before this all-release bass lake opened to the public in early 1991, he was asked by state biologists to test-fish this virgin impoundment, a task few could ignore. They had to launch an unsteady Gheenoe from a levee, probing several miles of thick vegetation. There were no complaints, however, just steady action on 3- and 4-pound bass.

Today, the lake, which is really a flooded marsh with small trees that turned into knobs just below the surface, has matured but remains incredibly productive. It’s widely believed to be the best bass lake in Florida, and as they say in Georgia, “that ain’t bad.” Other fish abound, as well. In spring, fat 1-pound shellcrackers and bluegills bed up in tremendous schools, with rapid-fire action for those tossing Beetle Spins. Even the catfish population is said to be phenomenal, mostly white bullheads that grow a little bigger than three pounds. (Jim has nailed lots of these catfish on all sorts of bait, ranging from apples to shrimp, but he says sharp cheddar cheese is his favorite).

The Stick Marsh and connected Farm 13, similar impoundments of 2,000 acres connected by a deep canal, have surprisingly little boat traffic during much of the year, except winter and early spring. After March, boat traffic on these two lakes begins to dry up. Why? Because those anglers with homes far to the north (in the parlance of our times) depart for cooler temperatures. The car-topper boats vanish.

This past spring was pleasant and cool, however, with few boats and lots of wind, which is exactly what Jim prefers. Protected by levees and dampened by extensive hydrilla, these two blackwater lakes were amazingly calm in a 25-knot east wind. We drifted over hydrilla weeds only two to four feet below the surface, tossing his short, salty, plastic worms way downwind. To slow our drift, we deployed a 4-foot plastic drift anchor from the bow. This kept the boat exactly broadside to the wind, allowing equal casting chances for everyone on board. The trolling motor we used on occasion to adjust the drift to accommodate a choice tree as we drifted by, or sometimes to ease up quickly on a big bass that had buried itself in hydrilla.

With a huge fish hooked but buried in the weed, the trick is to position directly overhead, grab the line and gently pull upwards, and net the fish just as it pops up. This works like a charm if the fish is well hooked and the hook is strong, and the bass actually fits in the net, which they sometimes don’t in these waters. If you miss with the net, a big fish will lunge away and get into all sorts of mischief under your boat, or around a stump.

Twice, Jim has netted 15-pounders on this lake, and he’s seen fish that were bigger. Some that were 30 inches long would only fit half their bulk in his landing net. For that reason, these two lakes almost demand saltwater landing nets. “Oh yeah,” he says, “there are some hogs in this lake. We saw one recently that left us shaking our heads. We’ve seen him three times, and we know where he lives.”

At one point, both of us were hooked up to 4- and 6-pound bass, a bonafide doubleheader on head-shakers, each one lathering the surface white in dark water. I advised Jim to drop the mushroom anchor, certain this spot might hold even more fish. He did so, but somehow after that minor distraction, both fish were lost. A few casts later, as the boat resumed its drift, I was hard into an estimated 9-pounder that had the length-to-girth ratio of a cinder block. It nearly cleared the water, dove down into the weeds, then broke the hook after we stopped the boat just above.

We were determined to get something bigger than the casual 4-pounders we both caught on the first drift. We went through almost two dozen fish from one to three pounds, but another big fish evaded us. Perhaps the cows were lying down in the fields? “Nah,” said Jim, “you’ve just got to drag it past a ‘big ’un’.”

We were fast-jigging with short, stubby saltwater worms that have no action whatsoever, but sink on their own accord without a lead weight—something local fish prefer. Doing so all day (jigging almost twice per second) requires a light, 5-foot spin rod with medium to heavy action. We were using no-stretch, 14-pound Spiderwire line tied directly to the worm. Slamming those worms into solid fish was satisfying work.