I won’t be fishing the trout opener but I will be thinking about it, maybe a little.
We followed this shark around Flamingo last summer, poling along behind it as it silently and casually made its way across the grass flats, probably looking for the same thing we were.
We like pike. The reasons are manifold: It is the first game fish we pursued as kids. Pike eat flies. Big flies. Pike grow big. For a freshwater fish, anyhow. Pike have teeth. They can put the hurt in you, especially if you show up wearing a nancyboy stripping guard. (This means you ZB.) Pike are nasty gangster predatory ambush torpedos. You can sight fish for pike. Pike jump. Sometimes anyway. On three separate but documented and verifiable occasions at least. Pike double over eight weights. Pike put the laughter in “manslaughter.”* *(Actually a fact about Chuck Norris.)
From a 2006 trip in Miami, messed with in PS. (Small Craft Advisories are on the local agenda, so I’m trying to think about fishing, at least.) I believe I finally lost that particular eat-me fly this season; the victim of a poorly tied knot.