Judging by her T-shirt, Katie Branyon may have been thinking of snook, but it was redfish that provided most of the action.

Staring teary-eyed into a stiff norther with wind chill 13 degrees below freezing, we zipped along the scenic “Chassa-whiskey” (that’s what many fishermen call it because it’s easier to say and easier to spell than “Chassahowitzka”). Today, I will keep my gloves on—even while baiting my hook with live shrimp—I vowed.

At the helm was Bill Hope, a fishing guide from nearby Brooksville. Clad in thick, insulated overalls, he was the only one of us dressed warmly enough for this kind of weather. Hope pulled into the leeward side of a grassy cove and shut down the outboard on his 24-foot skiff. As he slipped the anchor quietly over the stern, we hauled out the fishing rods and began casting. Jerkbaits would have been good because our involuntary shaking would have supplied all the action needed. After 30 minutes of fruitless fishing while we (along with the fish) thawed, I tried to reassure my brother, also named Bill, who was used to warm South Florida:

“Before this day is over, you’re going to catch so many fish that you’ll forget all about how cold you are.”

Optimism is what keeps anglers going, especially on days like this. Two hours later, as we fought back-to-back reds to the boat after each cast, I reminded him of my prophecy: “See, Bill, I told you that you’d be catching so many fish that you’d forget all about the cold.”

“Well, you were half right,” he said, still shivering as he reeled in another scrappy redfish. I thought I heard him mumble something about going back to South Florida.

It was one of those rare Florida days when no clothes are shucked as the day progresses. If the weather warmed even slightly during the day, I couldn’t tell it. In fact, it seemed to get colder and colder.

As I clumsily threaded a shrimp, tail first, onto a sharp hook (it’s hard to bait a hook while wearing gloves), I ran my hand across my nose to make sure it hadn’t frozen and dropped off in the boat. I also wiggled my toes inside my boots to keep them from freezing.

Hope had made a prophecy of his own that morning, which was now coming to pass. “As cold as the weather is and as low as the water is, we should find the redfish stacked up like cordwood in any deep water we locate,” he’d said. After a couple of unproductive stops, we found our first of several honeyholes.

Every time I looked around, Bill and my nephew Bart Branyon were battling redfish. To stay warm, even the captain was fishing. I watched him haul in a big red while I was fighting another fish of my own. It turned out to be the most action-packed day of redfishing that I have ever experienced—also, the coldest. Each time I cast a live shrimp, I got a hit or a hookup. We had double hookups and even triples many times.

We were rigged up with 4/0 hooks, 20-pound mono leaders and 1⁄8-ounce, sliding sinkers. Hope estimated that we caught at least 150 reds. We kept our limit of one each and released the rest. Along with the reds, we also hauled in some large black drum.

I was especially proud to see my brother Bill catch so many fish that day because it turned out to be his last fishing trip. As we wound up the day back at the dock, my brother looked at me and smiled: “It’s the most fish I’ve ever caught on one trip. However, I’m going back to Fort Lauderdale where’s it’s warm,” he said.

“The fishing is good in the Chassahowitzka River throughout most of the year,” I reassured him. “We’ll come back when it’s warmer,” I promised. How- ever, his sudden death kept me from keeping that prom-ise. In fact, my brother’s death so affected me that it took me a couple of years to go back to the Chassahowitzka, even though it’s one of my favorite fishing sites.

When I returned in early June of 2001, I brought along the memory of that great trip. Also, I took my son Bob and granddaughter Katie to help me share memories of my late brother. We climbed aboard Capt. Hope’s new boat, another 24-foot skiff.

Weather-wise, this day would be a complete contrast to our previous freezing outing, but fishing-wise it would be another good trip. It even got so hot during midday that the captain hoisted the Bimini top, something he doesn’t do very often, as we slathered on more sunscreen.