Heavy spinning gear and a 3-ounce jig are the tools for taking fish like this.

In the marine biology books, a school of cobia is identified as a pod. Not so in Destin. There, three or more cobia are referred to as a wad. They are defined as a single, a double or a wad.

It was wads of cobia that the anglers aboard Class Act were hunting on a windy spring day. Perched in the tuna tower, Capt. Danny Bryant worked to keep the 51-foot sportfisher in clear water, where the brown shapes of the migrating cobia would stand out better. Also stationed in the swaying tower were mates Rusty Gilbert and Frankie Sedivy, armed and ready to cast three-ounce jigs. Two more 30-pound-class spinners waited in the rocket launchers behind them.

The first was baited with a live pinfish, the other a live eel. When a cobia was spotted, these veterans would definitely have the one-two-three punch covered.

Anglers Mark Davis and Amber Butler waited patiently in the cockpit with Danny Kennedy, whose father owns the boat. At the dock earlier that morning, Tom Kennedy had seen the stained, whitecapping water in Destin Harbor and waved goodbye. If he’d had an inkling of how the day would turn out, he would’ve skipped his appointment. Several hours and 11 cobia later, his son would comment, “Boy, is Dad gonna be upset he missed this trip!”

Cobia fever hits hard in the Panhandle each year. The fish seem to spend the winter almost hibernating around offshore reefs in 180 to 250 feet of water. Before the spring run inshore begins, there are often reports of cobia being caught by grouper fishermen on the deepwater reefs.

Around St. Patrick’s Day, March 17, cobia hunters like the crew of Class Act start watching the water temperature. They know that a 65-degree shoreline reading will usher in the westbound migration along the coast. The current generally runs east, and migrating cobia swim at the surface near the beach to lessen the drag. Cobia fishermen climb tuna towers or other vantage points on their vessels to find the fish. Once spotted, cobia are cast to. “Cobe hunting” is what this manner of fishing has come to be called.

Cobia are usually first sighted off Destin. Then, within days, or even hours, sightings are reported from Panama City to Pensacola. Within the week, they are being sighted around Mexico Beach and Apalachicola. As the temperature warms, the fever intensifies. Several prestigious tournaments take place each year, and Class Act was entered in a pair of month-long events based in Destin.

At water level in rough seas, it would be hard for Davis and Butler to see and cast to the fish. They had to depend on the crew in the tuna tower to spot the cobia, make the cast and set the hook. The loaded rod would be passed down to the cockpit via a pulley system designed by Bryant.

Conditions were less than ideal. Surfing the big boat out through Destin Pass that morning, the crew had talked of canceling the adventure. But, Davis and Kennedy were experienced and Butler was up to the challenge. The skipper knew he needed to keep the boat in cobia waters as much as possible to stay on the tournament leader board.

Two hours and many jarring waves later, no cobia had been located. Just to the west, another boat was spotted fighting two cobia. Even though it put additional pressure on the crew of the Class Act, it proved there were fish in the area. Bryant glanced down at the fishermen in the fighting area of his boat and noticed they were enviously watching the bent rods in the boat to the starboard.

Suddenly, a wad of cobia was spotted between the boats. They were easily within casting distance. The lead cobia was an 80-plus-pounder. A jig was cast and the big cobia turned and inhaled it. It ripped off 15 feet of line and then threw the chartreuse jig. The other two sounded along with the trophy cobia. Suddenly, there were no fish.

Pressure continued to build on the crew.

Fifteen minutes later, Bryant spotted a lone cobia directly in front of the boat. The steady hum of the diesel quickly dropped as he pulled back the throttle. The cobia sounded. Gilbert and Sedivy turned in the tuna tower and watched the water.

As quickly as it had gone down, the cobia returned to the surface. A jig was cast. The cobia ignored the lead and feathers. Gilbert grabbed the rod loaded with the eel and cast to the fish. The cobia could not stand it. It immediately swam to the wiggling bait. The eel did not even have time to dive for the bottom. The cobia slammed it like a bass busting a topwater plug.

The boredom of bouncing on the waves was immediately replaced with the excitement of a good fish on. Gilbert attached the rod to the pulley and headed down the ladder. Sedivy worked the pulley so it would reach the deck at the same time Gilbert did. Bryant watched the 30-pound line, keeping the fighting cobia aft of the Class Act.

Gilbert removed the bouncing rod from the pulley rig and handed it to an excited Butler. Previously, the largest fish she had fought was a two-pound flounder. At first, the power of the co-bia was confusing. Butler’s first actions were completely defensive. Her only thought was how embarrassing it would be to have the big fish rip the rod and reel from her hands.