Hooked Up: December 2025

Howdy y’all. Hope this finds everyone with some spent bullets, broken arrows, and dry, cracked hands from exposure to saltwater. I’ve been in the middle of all of it—trying to fill my fun bank before I’m back in the water every day.

There’s not much cool stuff you can say about aging, but experience and knowledge almost always outweigh the aching joints in the morning. Every time I sit down to write an article, my head starts spinning—reflecting on things I’ve done and seen during this month over many years of stomping through mud and tripping over rocks in Baffin Bay. The vast majority have been fun and memorable, while others have involved everything from boat mishaps, bad weather, and confrontations, to search and rescue operations, and even the deceased. They’ve all made for memories—some just better than others.

As I write this, there’s some really bad weather outside—incredible lightning and much-needed rain. This becomes pretty normal as fronts roll in, when the warm coastal air collides with incoming cold air to create huge disturbances. In recent news, there have been numerous reports of people being struck by lightning while enjoying their passions in the woods and on the water.

Many years ago, before I started guiding, I slipped into a shoreline cove in Alazan around midday. I had caught an 8-pound trout there the day before on a last stop. Unfortunately, I’d been on a schedule and couldn’t stay much longer after catching her. With a front forecasted to hit the next day, I made a point to get back.

As I shut my little boat down, I couldn’t help but give thanks that I was the only boat on the bay. Winds were light but steady, the sky was heavy, and mullet were breaking the surface everywhere. I rolled out with a full-sized Spook and immediately connected with about a 7-pounder. Her commotion must have spooked every fish in the area, because little slicks started popping all around me.

It was at that instant I realized this had potential to be one of those days. Another quick cast produced two more blowups but no hookups. After about thirty casts, I decided to go subsurface with a Fat Boy. As I was tying it on, thunder erupted overhead. The OG guide of the Upper Laguna and Baffin, Capt. Doug Bird, once told me that nothing spooks trout like thunder—and my sensible self was thinking, I need to get out of here.

But of course, the first cast with the Corky produced a trout that was the spitting image of the one from the day before. That was all it took for me to fully commit to the trout instead of what was riding in on the shifting winds of a norther.

I’m not even sure if I had that trout landed when a bolt of lightning hit very close behind me. Everything in front of me lit up like an old flashbulb camera, and for a second I thought God Himself had stepped off the boat to make a wade with me. When I tell you the hair on the back of my neck stood up, I mean it literally stood straight up.

As soon as I released the fish, I was walking on water back to the boat. The crackling air overhead had me digging deep into my spirituality as I threw the rod on the deck. Pulling the anchor to get out of there felt like it took twenty minutes. I unscrewed the tension knobs on my first-generation GPS and pointed it at the floor, literally driving on my knees while looking up at it.

By this time, the light show was like nothing I’d ever seen before—or since. Big booms and cracks all around me, the deck of the boat flashing like stadium lights. I aimed the boat toward the highest bluff and beached it hard. I ran along that embankment and took shelter in a little undercut, where I stayed well over an hour before feeling safe enough to get back on the boat.

By God’s grace, I made it home safely. I learned a great lesson that day—one I still respect to this day, especially with clients aboard. Y’all be safe out there. It’s that time of year.