Well, its been a rough couple weeks with a lot of work to do as the summer post session comes to an end. Although I haven't had the opportunity to get back out on the water, I never pass up the chance to ensure my gear is in tip top shape and sitting in the garage, ready and waiting to embark on the next hunt. While sitting there in the man cave, I thought about the first time I really had a success fishing trip. I took a two hour car trip with my friends from our base in west Louisiana, down to the shores of a town called Cameron on the Gulf of Mexico. I had read about a large species of fish that is able to be caught on the beach and in the rivers that spill in from the ocean. The hard fighting red drum was our target. We spent the better part of 12 hours racing around to several hot spots that I had learned about online. We finally settled down on a public pier, which we decided would be the location that we would remain for the rest of our trip. At this point, we had caught a few flounder and some other ugly species I had not yet seen, yet still I longed for the sight of the taught line that would give me the fight I was in search of. As the sun began its decent, we began taking turns carrying our equipment to my truck. As I was walking back up the ramp for what would have been the last 5 minutes of our adventure, my friend began to yell. I looked up to see my fishing pole lift off the ground and get caught on the black metal railing that was mounted to the pier. He placed his hand on it so that it would not slip, and I arrived a moment later, pulled the pole off of the railing, and yanked back to set the hook in what felt like a Volkswagon. My heart raced and my blood pumped furiously as the pole was bending almost in half from the struggle of this unknown giant trying to flee capture. My adrenaline was in overdrive, I walked up and down the pier, pulling some line in, then losing some to the mighty fish. We battled back and forth for the better part of half an hour, when finally it broke the surface. It was the biggest fish I had ever seen in person, a giant red drum. My friends lowered the net, and pulled her up onto the pier. Once she cleared the railing, I lost control of myself like a child learning to ride a bike for the first time. My arms were going all over the place, and I began to shout at the top of my lungs. My enthusiasm seemed to spill over onto my friends, and we exchanged grunts and chest bumps in the traditional male ritual of celebration displayed by warriors standing over their kill. If ever there was a moment I would like to go back to, if only for a brief second.