Snooktopia IX
If you’ve been a regular reader, you might remember an article I wrote a few years ago about snook fishing in South Florida. The reason I haven’t written about it since is simple — I hadn’t made it back down there. But at the beginning of this year, I made sure to pencil in the annual Snooktopia event on my calendar. This time, I was determined not to let it slip by again.
For those unfamiliar, here’s the rundown. My buddy Bart and his brother Donald, both from Jupiter, Florida, live and breathe snook fishing. Years ago, they decided to organize a gathering of kayak anglers with one shared mission — catch big snook. The first few years we camped, which was rough in the South Florida summer heat. But over time, the event evolved. Now, we rent houses, share the cost, and some of us even bring boats instead of kayaks.
The routine is simple: meet up for lunch on day one, swap stories and gossip from the past year, and then hit the water. The fishing is fun — and punishing. Big snook feed mostly at night, which means long days and longer nights if you want a shot at a trophy. The group motto says it all: “No sleep until a 40-inch snook!” In short, Snooktopia is a gathering of great people, tough fishing, and the pursuit of truly giant fish.
My close buddies have heard plenty about these trips and always wanted to tag along. When I told them I was going this year, Colt immediately said he was in. As the departure date approached, he kept reassuring me that he wasn’t backing out — which was great news, because sixteen hours alone in a truck gets old fast. Then, the day before we left, my other buddy Nate called and asked if we could pick him up at the airport if he flew in. I didn’t hesitate. The more, the merrier — and the better the company for a full-blown snook mission.
After the long drive south, Colt and I unpacked and headed straight to the launch. It didn’t take long to get our bearings and find bait. The goal was large mullet, 8 to 12 inches — perfect snook candy. We loaded the net quickly and started fishing just as the sun began to drop. We set up on a point where three channels converged and waited. After a few quiet hours, we decided to move closer to the bridge to catch the outgoing tide.
Around 10:30 p.m., running on fumes from the overnight drive, Colt felt a heavy thump. I told him, “Feed line and count to five before you set it.” As he reeled down, the line came tight, and a massive head erupted from the water, shaking violently. We both knew immediately — this was a big one. I scrambled for the net and a headlamp while Colt hung on. When she finally came boatside, Colt gasped, “Oh my God!” I slid the net under her, and there she was — a solid 40-inch snook, a true trophy. We snapped a few quick pictures and released her back into the dark water. The adrenaline hit hard, but by midnight we were spent and called it a night.
The next day, we slept in late before Nate arrived. Over lunch, we filled him in on Colt’s fish, and he was fired up. That evening, we caught fresh bait and followed the same game plan — fish until the tide turned. The night dragged by without much action, so we bounced around before settling near a rock wall with good tidal flow. My first cast connected, and a few minutes later I had a 35-inch snook in the boat. Finally, the skunk was off.
The next two nights were a grind — long hours and little sleep — but we stuck it out. Late in the tide, snook and tarpon were blowing up along the wall, but we couldn’t buy a bite. Exhausted, we started for the dock around 4:30 a.m., when Colt suggested one last stop at the bridge. It was a good call. Rafts of mullet were being pushed into the dark side of the bridge, and giant snook were crushing them.
We cut off our weights and started freelining mullet. Within minutes, Nate hooked up — but his line snapped on a piling. I hooked one next and met the same fate. Then Colt lost a good fish, too. Meanwhile, the water was erupting with explosions, and anglers above us on the bridge were hooking up left and right.
Nate cast again and hooked another brute. This time, everything held. The fish dug deep, shaking her head and ripping line. When Colt slipped the net under her, Nate was beyond ecstatic — shaking with excitement, almost unable to hold the fish for photos. It was pure buck fever, the kind only a true angler understands. His snook measured 41 inches, a gorgeous, thick-bodied fish. We landed her, got a few shots, and released her strong.
We stayed until sunrise, pulling hooks on a few more fish but never landing another. The next night played out similarly — a few smaller snook, a handful of missed hookups, and plenty of topwater explosions that kept us casting until dawn. These fish are brutal fighters, even under the best conditions, and we were running on fumes.
After two nights of fishing until daylight, we were completely spent. We caught a few hours of sleep, then began packing up for the long haul home. Across the Snooktopia crew, several others found success, too — at least five more 40-inch snook and several in the upper-30s. It wasn’t our hottest year, but it was still an incredible trip filled with laughter, late nights, and big fish stories.
Now that my buddies have finally experienced Snooktopia, they understand why I’ve made so many pilgrimages south over the years. They also realize how rare it is to catch trophy snook on your first trip. I couldn’t be happier for them — and I’m already counting down the days until Snooktopia X next year.
