The incoming tide was still in our favor as we moved around the corner to the open Gulf just inside the jetty. On a rising tide baitfish are pushed along the beaches until they reach the jetty. From there they move away from the shoreline and are forced around the tip of the jetty and then continue on through Redfish Pass. It takes a keen knowledge of the bottom and currents in this area to successfully drift the tip of the jetty, but done correctly the drill will almost always provide a strike or two. With the exception of a lone angler trying his luck from the shore we had the jetty to ourselves. Baitfish were plentiful here, and the snook were going wild. As one snook would break the surface chasing a bait, a domino effect would take place sending thousands of baitfish and dozens of snook in every direction above the surface. The water would ripple for a second, then quickly build into a bubbling boil. For five seconds sheer pandemonium set in as backs and tails of snook could be seen darting at random in a 30-foot circle. The snook closest to the jetty were trapping and smashing the bait against the rocks, often flipping most of their bodies out of the water and getting wedged in the rocks. Flopping and wiggling they would plop back in and start all over again. It was truly an amazing sight. A few drifts past the jetty point provided six strikes and three fish to the boat, but again all smaller fish.

Snook have built an undeniable reputation for knowing exactly where the nearest structure can be found and burning to it in a hurry once hooked. The larger fish we hooked near the jetty would instinctively turn and run for the rocks, where even our 40-pound mono leaders severed like pasta noodles. Knowing that sometimes a large, loner snook will sit up next to shore on the beach and feed on passing schools, we moved up the beach about 100 yards. With a fresh shiner on I cast a long shot about two feet off the beach. Before my dad flipped his bail to cast I had a fish on, and judging by the amount of line it was carrying down the beach we could tell it was a hog. Ozzie quickly poled the skiff after the fish and I held on for the ride. The beach was wide open with no docks, rocks, or mangroves for the snook to run to and I felt I stood a good chance of landing her. After a solid seven-minute struggle I turned the fish and knew it was only a matter of time before she was in the net. She gave up some line and I managed to put half back on the reel. The current was still pushing up the beach toward the jetty at a good pace. I got the fish within five feet of the boat and glimpsed her massive head and dark green back. It was without a doubt my personal best—over 40 inches and somewhere in the 20- to 25-pound range. At this point I noticed we were within casting distance of the shore fisherman. Watching us scramble to boat our fish he cast directly in our path. Within seconds the man had hooked a juvenile snook. Suddenly, my fish made one last run, wrapping the man’s line in the process. Ozzie yelled to the man to open his bail, but he got confused and instead raised his rodtip and reeled tight. My line parted instantly. I felt sick to my stomach. The sun had moved overhead, and it was time for my dad to head in, and Ozzie and I to regroup and plan our strategy for the midday action.

Snook are not the perfectly designed predators many think they are. Ron Taylor, a veteran researcher with the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, once told me snook are unable to adjust their eyes to bright sunlight. For this reason the fish seek the shade of bridges and docks during the brightest hours of the day, where they may continue feeding if tide and forage abundance are to their liking. One spot where this is evident is Blind Pass, where a small bridge connects Sanibel to Captiva. Wade fishermen used to cast live baits to the scores of snook piled up in the shade, until a hurricane in 1998 filled in the pass with sand. It was scheduled for dredging and reopening this spring, and may be a spot worth checking this summer.

With the nearest bridge, Sanibel Causeway, a long run from us, Ozzie and I bounced around the plethora of docks surrounding North Captiva Island on the Pine Island Sound side. This time of year the docks and the next pass up, Captiva Pass, offer ample opportunity between noon and four o’clock. When we anchored up near a dock just off the small airstrip on the island we got on a good bite. We had five takes and released

three fish within twenty minutes.

We spent the rest of the afternoon trying different nooks and crannies around the three islands. A local favorite spot for shore fishermen is the fishing pier on the south end of Sanibel Island. In many areas erosion has caused trees to fall into the water. These are always potential linesider hangouts during the afternoon hours of the spawn season. One of my all-time favorites is the increasingly crowded shoreline of Bowmans Beach on the Gulf side of Sanibel. A gold spoon pulled along the beach and around the trees is a solid bet. A point of interest: Don’t be shocked if you catch an eyeful of sagging middle-aged flesh, as many sunbathers are sporting their birthday suits. Although nudity is not legal in the area, this stretch of beach is an openly accepted nudist hangout.

One of the most interesting aspects of fishing this area during May is the diversity of bait and lures one can try out. Because the snook are stacked so heavily, typical livebait anglers can take the opportunity to toss plugs, spoons, poppers and jigs. Ozzie mentioned he regularly puts his flyfishing charters on snook during May. It’s a great time to have some fun and try something different.

My personal favorite artificial lure for this area is a 3⁄8- to 1⁄2-ounce red-and-white bucktail jig. It works well for casting at those hard-to-reach spots—under trees, mangroves and docks. Slowly retrieved, lightly bouncing off the bottom along the beaches, this setup seems to work for a couple of strikes. After one or two takes I may switch to a spoon or go back to live bait. Snook never seem to take any one lure for very long.

Sanibel and Captiva islands offer a magnificent backdrop to the fishing. The sunset over the Gulf of Mexico is stunning, and the mysterious “green flash” is not an uncommon sight, yet somehow the majestic surroundings become all the more phenomenal when the snook are spawning and stacked up so thick you’d think you can walk on them. Although

I no longer call these beautiful islands home, I plan to continue returning each spring for some of the state’s best

snooking.

FS