The Legend of half-foot and 9-toe.

Standing in a 9.5ft fiberglass dinghy, roughly 150lbs over capacity without a motor, a relentless Eastern wind pushed the nefarious characters away from the scene of the crime and back towards civilization.

As the darkness enclosed around them in the mangrove wilderness, 9Toe Smothers and Half-Foot Jayne stood with blank stares fixed on the horizon.  An eerie silence descended upon the lagoon.

 Looking out onto the black water, their characteristic rouge cheeks drained to a more ashen shade of what-the-fuck-just-happened grey; there was no need for words.

After intensely flipping flies for 40 of their first 48 hours in paradise and beating up every goddamn inch of mangrove shoreline to no avail, there was no place on earth they’d rather be than this moment. But damn if it weren’t bittersweet.  

9toe had just trout set on the fish they came for— the crown jewel of the backcountry— Magalops Atlanticus.

And a good one, too.

It was a lot like the Game of Thrones episodes where the Red Viper fights the Mountain or the infamous Red Wedding – right when you thought long-awaited victory, justice, and instagram glory were to be restored to the Universe, your favorite character ends up dead in the worst fucking way and the whole world goes to shit….the lines goes slack…the excitement ends….the water which for a fleeting moment was once so full of life turns to black

 In this instance, 9toe and Half-Foot didn’t die horrific, graphic deaths…but try telling that to 9-Toe…..

The Approach

Remick “9-Toe” Smothers and Brogan “Half-Foot” Jayne landed in Sarasota on May 9th at 3pm.  Arriving at a familiar place, they intended to fish hard until Monday before heading their separate ways. There was one thing on their minds—redemption.

See—the previous October, the boys had planned to hit it big. Taking time off from some epic trout fishing in their home waters to chase the leviathans that live in the salt.

They arrived in the SRQ (Sarasota) on a Friday, fished through Sunday, and found themselves on the wrong end of a post-frontal, new moon fueled, high-water shit show that rendered every fish within their vicinity absolutely lock-jawed.  Over the course of 80 odd hours in Paradise, they came away with only a small tarpon to show for their efforts and a few big reds that threw the hook.

 Half-Foot stuck the tarpon on the last day too.

 It was just one of those trips.

Ain’t fishing great?

But this time was going to be different. They were fully prepared.

 9-Toe tied up fewer flies than last time (albeit with more variety and quality) to figure out what would ignite the bite. Depending on what worked, he would tie from there.

 He did better research, this time not picking a random weekend and hoping for ideal conditions – but guaranteeing them.

The first full moon in May can be that good. He read up on fishing reports and tide charts. If only he had shown this sort of dedication in school…

They vowed to be more precise.

Make softer casts.

Strip faster.

And never, ever trout set.

After a dozen or so IPAs and some Sniki Tiki chow that night – the weary travelers hit the hay at 2am.

They’d be on the water before the sun.

 The Cast

The next morning, 9toe and Half-Foot woke to darkness, threw on their fishing shirts and board shorts and hopped in the Ford Echo to make their daily stop at the 7-11 on Midnight Pass Rd. The night before, fueled on ambition…or Sweetwater…they got all their ducks in a row – launching the skiff, stringing up the sticks, and picking up a Styrofoam cooler to act as a drying pad/life line to hydration and caloric intake.

They named it ‘Yeti’. It cost $2 and kept their flies dry and their drinks cold and honorable.

Yeti lived a happy life for four days before former FlyTimesDC contributor Tony Pikos lost his balance while playing with his hang down  and used the dilapidated Styrofoam chalice to break his fall….’Yeti’ was destroyed….and then we bought ‘Yet 2’…..

 Loading up on PURPLE G2, water, ice, sandwiches, cerveza, and breakfast stuffs (new stuffed hash browns are wonderful) the two anglers were ready to get weird on some fish before the sun poked its head over the horizon. They'd repeat this step daily over the duration of the trip. 

The Take

After two days of ABSOLUTELY CRUSHING GIANT REDS, the boys were still in hot pursuit of a date with Megalops Atlanticus.

Looking down at his sunburnt and fire ant bite ridden feet, Half-Foot, who in the exact same spot about an hour earlier had jumped a nice fish, tried to offer up some encouragement. 

“That take was absurd.”

“I know, man. Planet earth shit.” 9toe paused, sighed, got a cigarette out of his pocket, and lit up.

“What happened, dude?”

Looking up at the sky for answers that surely wouldn’t come, 9-Toe sighed heavily. He had two choices. Blame the fish or take blame himself. It was an easy choice, “I just fucking trout set.”

And that was the end of the conversation. 

Redemption


As the ideal moon cycle began to fade, the red bite slowed down. The tarpon, which we had seen somewhat consistently each morning and evening, seemed extinct. Worst of all, Half-Foot had to roll out leaving 9toe to maneuver the vessel while fighting and landing a potential fish solo. Not an ideal situation but not an impossible one. He had done it before. 

After almost a week of perfect weather, a front pushed through. The wind would spike to 25mph from the SW after 9am for two days - leaving a miniscule 3hr window to get bit by a fish that by all means did not want to play. 

Big, white half-n-halfs and a relatively new baitfish pattern 9toe tied up at the Best Western had produced a few takes. In the span of fishing 5 days with Half-Foot, the boys had managed to cast to 10 fish, jump 3 and ultimately fail to bring any to hand. All fish were spotted in the same 100 yard stretch of shoreline. They had somehow figured out a pattern (by eliminating every OTHER square inch of lagoon...) Time was running out. Half-Foot's exit signaling the final 3 days of fishing for 9toe. 

As 9toe launched the skiff that morning - a cool breeze gently rippling the water - he tied on a star**** and began to stealthily place casts on the mangrove ledges. About 10 minutes into his adventure, he came to the tree where just a few days prior - he trout set on the fish of a lifetime, pulling the hook out of the fish's mouth. Making a short, 25ft cast under an overhanging branch, 9toe let the fly descend into the black water for a couple seconds before stripping it back as quickly as he could. 

The fish were on it after the first strip and three juvenile poons (10-20lb class) shot out of the groves to inhale the fly. 

There would be no trout-setting this time. No pilgrim-anticts of any kind. The Fish grabbed the fly, 9toe strip set hard, and the Megalops Atlanticus skied into the early morning light. After a 10 minute tug-of-war in which the fish attempted to pull 9toe and his motor-less vessel into the mangroves - 9toe managed to get the fish to deeper water and eventually brought it to the surface. Locking the fish grip on its prehistoric mouth - he pulled the juvenile dinosaur in the boat and started fawning over it like it was a hot blonde holding a puppy. 

But hey, that's what 4,000 casts and averaging 12hrs a day on the water will do to you. 

After a short photo shoot, 9toe gave the beast a quick smooch and revived it boat side. With a strong kick his prize headed back to its mangrove layer. 

With the tarpon out of the way - 9toe called Half-Foot at 7am to let him know what went down.  Life was good. 

Good things come to those who don't give up.

Stay fly.

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