A snag turned into a heck of battle on my light baitcaster. Throbbing deep, making short bursts, the fish acted like a gag or small goliath—both likely customers in the backcountry in winter. But to my satisfaction—and Kelly’s professional chagrin—the fish identified itself as an 18-pound black drum.

Brian Sylvester hooks up and amires an early-season catch with Capt. Pat Kelly.

“A drum?” Kelly said, laughing. “Don’t you take my picture with this fish! We’re down here for snook, and you catch a drum. Golly!”

Or words to that effect. This one was more than likely too wormy for eating, so after taking numerous photos of our guide with the offending drum, we returned it.

When you’ve spent the better part of the year poking around the grassy, dock-lined Indian River, the Everglades backcountry is a study in contrasts. But even here, Kelly acknowledges that snook react to the passage of a front. They get hungry before it arrives, then clam up when the nor’easter begins. Just like I experienced in my home waters time and again last winter.

Kelly, Sylvester and I struggled to catch fish, and covered at least 40 miles of water in the process. It was a spectacular ride, weaving through tunnels of green, blasting into black bays capped by cloudless blue. Over Plate Creek, we saw a swallow-tail kite, a black-and-white harbinger of spring fishing.

Kelly knew that when the weather finally broke, and the warm southerlies returned, big breeder snook creeping downriver from the backwoods would be exploding on bait schools, fattening up for the summer spawn. Some would also move in from offshore wrecks, where many apparently overwinter.

“The best scenario is moderation after the cold,” Kelly suggested. “In winter, weather is more important than tide. When it warms up, they get hungry.”

There are a few situations when a high barometer and stiff northeast wind work to the snook fisherman’s advantage. On the drive home, Brian and I capitalized on one of them. A thin little canal runs alongside much of the Tamiami Trail, which links Tampa and Miami. Down toward the Marco Island exit, eastward to Ochopee and Wooten’s Lake, the canal drains a vast swath of sawgrass and cattail, and feeds arterial north-south runs that flow all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. The water here is on the fresher side of brackish most of the year, but snook seem to like it well enough. The attraction is an unending supply of little minnows that are easy pickings when the water level is down. A few days of strong northeast wind drives the water level even lower, and the minnows are packed along the mud banks. Which is exactly what we found.

A 7-weight fly rod is an ideal tool here, perfect for casting tiny streamer flies to the busting snook. Brian and I landed and released a dozen or more fish, most in the 12- to 20-inch range, typical for the Trail. Some years bigger snook push up to the head of the Gulf streams, but more often it’s little fish, and lots of action. A chunky 4-pound largemouth bass grabbed my fly right after I released a snook. We stood there casting for a half-hour, then got in my truck and headed for home.

FS