Its January 1987 and I have my little 18' skiff, making trip after trip on the weekends trying to land that 1st seabass of the year. Like any normal guy I have a 9-5 job, Monday through Friday, but Friday night its off to the Islands for some hunting. The skiff holds 55 gallons of gas, reels need new line (before spectra) and terminal tackle gets replaced as needed. Then there is food, beer and the cost of things that break every trip.
Skip forward to March, just ahead of Fred Hall and the first big score on the seabass happens. Unfortunately, I am stuck on the beach with a ...
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