April 21, 2005 Issue

The highlight of the cobia season on the Gulf coast occurs during the middle of the month of April when the Crab Cruncher Tournament out of Destin and the Outcast Invitational Tournament in Pensacola are held on back-to-back weekends. Both tournaments offer more than $300,000.00 in prize money with 50 boats competing over three days of intense fishing.

Our boat, the Hey Baby, is a 30-foot locally built G and S skiff. It is not only the smallest boat in most of these tournaments; at 33 years old it is also one of the oldest. It is well suited for cobia fishing and doesn’t tend to spook the fish as much as some of the 70-foot yachts we fish against.

During the Crab Cruncher April 8 to 10, we had a fairly boring and mediocre show of fish. On Sunday, the final day of the tournament, we encountered more excitement than our rapidly aging crew should have to handle.

At 9 a.m. just off the beach by the old Spyglass Inn, we spotted a pair of fish swimming down the green reef. I scrambled to the bow of the boat and threw a pinfish to the larger of the two fish. The fish was starved and after charging and missing the bait, thrashed around trying to locate the frantic pinfish. The cobia came out of the water as he engulfed the pinfish in a bite that was as brutal as a blue marlin strike. He was less than 20 feet from the boat and it became obvious that he was not only the largest fish we had seen all year; he was a fish that would win the Crab Cruncher.

Cobia fishing is not overly complicated. Sixty percent of the success in catching a fish involves spotting them. Enticing the fish to bite probably accounts for 30 percent of the equation. Catching a big fish is the easiest part of the whole deal, and after you’ve got one hooked up there is only about a 10 percent chance of losing him during the fight or at the gaff.

We found the fish and had the bite and as I set the hook and scampered back to the cockpit I prepared to fight the monster and collect our winnings. Within 10 seconds of the hook-up, the most gut wrenching sound a fisherman can anticipate occurred. ZZZZZZ- POW! The 30-pound test line exploded like a gunshot. Dejected and shocked I tossed the rod into the salon. In five years Goose and I have lost many fish—but never because of a busted line.

Several hours later, Goose examined the line on the rod that was used to hook the fish. “This ain’t our rod,” he hissed. “Our tackle don’t break.”

One of the passengers who was a guest had brought along his own rod that morning. The wrong rod had been baited with a pinfish and the drag had not been adjusted properly. Had the drag not been hammered down, we would have caught the fish.

We caught four more fish as the day wore on, but late in the afternoon, after fighting another good fish that would have put us in the money, we lost him at the boat, sending our crew into that deep, depressing funk that always comes with lost opportunities.

Todd Allen, the captain of the Big John, didn’t waste his opportunities in the Crab Cruncher. He took home more than $105,000. John Holley, captain of Bob the Boat, won more than $60,000.

We regrouped the next week and took our show to Pensacola for the Outcast Tournament and three days of out-of-town fishing. It is not only a wonderfully planned and well-run tournament, but it gives us a chance to hang out at Dharma Blue, the best restaurant in town.

The first two days of fishing were dreadful. We managed to catch four fish, but they were all too small for the 45-pound minimum. Saturday, the final day of the tournament, started with a blustery 20-knot southeast wind that rocked the Hey Baby and made the poor fishing even more miserable.

My son Eddie and his friend Brodie Debogory from LSU joined Goose, Brantley and myself for the tournament. I hated that they had driven all the way to Pensacola for such dreadful conditions.

The seas calmed in the late afternoon but as we idled along offshore of the hurricane-ravaged Navarre Beach Pier, we were still fishless. I told Eddie and Brodie they had to remain confident, but I’m sure my words lacked conviction.

Eddie told me he was confident—“Confident we’re not going to catch any fish.”

He hadn’t finished his sentence before a nice fish came down a cresting wave. We caught the 49-pounder and as he went in the fish box, Eddie tapped my shoulder. “There’s another one, just offshore,” he said quietly. We caught that one and he weighed 39 pounds.

We had two fish that would make the grade for the tournament. Without two more graders or one big one we still had no chances for any winnings.

Brantley, staring intently into the late afternoon glare, pointed offshore again. “I think there’s a pair of fish out there,” he said.

I took the boat out of gear and looked where Brantley was pointing. “It’s a triple. Eddie, get the eel rod! The big fish is out front.”

Everything was happening so quickly we didn’t have time for nerves to screw anything up. We watched the big fish take the eel. Eddie was scooting down the tower almost before he set the hook. The fight was almost anticlimactic. The fish was beside the boat within five minutes. Brantley made a perfect gaff and as the fish hit the deck the entire crew let go with an emotional roar.

Goose and I figured the fish to be over 70 pounds. But we still had a long way to the weigh station in Pensacola, and it was 5:30 in the afternoon. I called Jeff Shoults, the captain of the Mollie. “How far is it from the Navarre Pier to the Pensacola Pass?” I asked. “Twenty-three miles,” was the reply. Then we had another 12 miles to the weigh station.

We nine-holed the old Cummins engines, rounded the buoy to the Pensacola Pass and sped through the calm waters of the Pensacola Bay. We were the last boat to the weigh station and docked the boat at 6:55, with only five minutes to spare.

The fish weighed 76.3 pounds and our crew won more than $52,000. We had endured 34 hours of abysmal conditions for just a few minutes of pure chaos and adrenaline-fueled tournament cobia fishing. It won’t be long before the prize money will be spent and gone; but the excitement and anticipation of the dash back to the weigh station will be with all of us for a very long time.

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