Double Take

“Hey, I need another pin. They’re here. I just lost my bait,” Sam whispered across the 22-foot skiff.

A hushed but audible, “I got you,” replied Alex, who stopped rigging the second rod, reached into the live well, snatched a pinfish and carried it to the bow. The baitfish was carefully transferred from one cut-up pair of hands to another, given a nice piercing through the nose with a 4/0 circle hook, and pitched under the dock to hopefully become what the two teenagers referred to as “snook candy.”

Alex and Sam couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t best friends. They rode bikes and swung on the swings at the playground when they were kids looking for a thrill in their stuffy waterfront community of Emerson Estates on Florida’s west coast. After school, they’d cast frozen shrimp from seawalls or docks, pulling up pinfish, catfish, lizardfish and juvenile mangrove snapper. They were thrilled at the chomp of a sheepshead or the fight of a jack crevalle. They stomped the halls of the same elementary, middle and, now, high school together. They were in their junior year, and their classmates knew at least one thing about them: They loved to fish.

And not just in a kick back, relax, cast out a line and see what happens kind of way. They went to class sporting long-sleeve fishing shirts and boots, sunglasses strung around their necks. They wore their unmanaged hair — Alex’s shoulder length, curly and dirty blonde; Sam’s a little shorter, stringy and faded brown — tied back or loose under baseball caps repping their favorite fishing brands. They drove trucks with rods sticking out of the bed and learned how to back a trailer as soon as they could drive.

Though they’d occasionally attend a party on a weekend or a club meeting after school, they didn’t like the drama that often came with high school, and spent most of their free time on the water. Whether at the helm of one of their parents’ boats, approaching a bank by foot or wading into the shallows, the water called to them like the moon calls the tides.

They had buddies who took them offshore for grouper and other reef fish, which they discovered was an entirely new type of thrill. Last October, they participated in their first kingfish tournament with neighbors. Alex had summer plans to continue tournament fishing with a local bass club. Sam was researching everything necessary to pursue a captain’s license with the intention to start guiding after high school.

While many teens wouldn’t have the con-fidence for such endeavors, Alex and Sam had each other, and that lowered their learning curves. Learning from their own and each other’s mistakes, they improved their skills twice as fast. They bounced ideas off one another and offered encouragement in times of failure.

On this chilly, calm Saturday in February, the high schoolers declined a party invitation, caught bait and headed south after sunset to some docks a few miles away from their homes, where strategically placed lights created large, neon-green circles in the dark water. For three weeks, they had been coming to this spot, and they knew the snook would show up soon. Rigged up and ready to go, Alex walked around the console to stand next to Sam on the bow. “You think I should put on a split shot?”

“If you want,” Sam muttered without breaking concentration.

Alex pitched the free-lined pinfish into the abyss. “I’ll try this first. Last time I …”

Alex was interrupted when Sam’s bait got slammed. The rod bent hard over. The reel buzzed, and the impact of the hit sent a charge through the rod to Sam’s hands which immediately started reeling.

“Fish on!” Sam yelled, no longer caring about keeping quiet. Alex reeled up quickly, rushed to get the net from the port-side compartment and stood next to the angler in the hot seat, awaiting the fish’s arrival.

“How’s your drag?” Alex inquired.

The drag screamed as the fish doubled down. “It’s pretty much locked down. She’s trying to wrap me around the dock, but I’m not gonna let her.” The fish surfaced and shook its head, throwing waves of water.

“Take your time,” Alex urged, “don’t horse it, you gotta tire her out, loosen the drag a little. She’s out of the docks.”

“I had to horse it! That’s what these rods were made for,” Sam said. “But you’re right, I’ll let her get tired so she’s not so green.” The fish showed her long silver figure for a moment before diving under the boat and stripping off more line.

Alex moved out of the way so Sam could follow the fish to the other side of the boat. The fish fought for about five more minutes, running in different directions before tiring out and finally succumbing to the forces pulling against her. Alex scooped the fish into the net head-first, though it didn’t fit. Sam put a thumb in the fish’s mouth, gripped the bottom lip and, supporting the belly, lifted the snook into the boat.

“Oh my God!” Sam said, shaking with adrenaline and wearing a huge smile. “How big do you think?”

“Dude, upper 30s easy. You might have even made it,” Alex replied.

They held the fish up to the vinyl ruler adhered to the inside of the boat. “Forty-two and a half,” shrieked Alex, holding the tail end.

“No way,” Sam said. “Pinched tail?”

“Pinched tail,” Alex confirmed, grabbing a phone from the console to take a picture. Sam was ready, striking a pose with the giant snook. They snapped a couple of photos before returning the fish to the water to revive her. Sam held the fish in the current until she built back enough strength to give a tail-whip salute and swim off into the dark.

“Girl, you did it! You made the 40-inch club!” Alex squealed as she held up a hand for a high five.

Sam, still shaking, slammed Alex’s hand and pulled her in for the most adrenaline-filled hug the girls had ever shared. “So much better than Riley Stanton’s party!”