The bass can't resist the popper.

The bass can't resist the popper.

Going to high school reunions is a phenomenon we all must endure at some point, and so it was with my 20th down in Florida. I guess we had a hell of a class back in the day, as everyone who came back turned out to be pretty solid.

The fly ride.

The fly ride.

I stayed at my buddy Z’s house out in horse country. When you live in horse country you can have cool wheels like a John Deere Gator that your friends can take to explore the resident fly water. Z also has a center console that he took offshore dolphin fishing on Friday morning. I didn’t get there until Friday evening. I had three phone calls from the boat by the time I landed. Which means they were catching fish. Fishing friends don’t call unless to mock you for their success in your absence. Thankfully I got to experience some of their seven boated 10-15 pound mahi on the grill.

A badass oscar that mauled my popper.

A badass oscar that mauled a popper.

Bass fishing became my consolation prize. And because of it I added a new weird Florida invasive to my curriculum vitae. I’ve seen oscars act the badass bully in fish tanks and in the wilds of a Florida ditch it played the part. Rocked the popper and fought disproportionately hard for its size. Good times.